His eyes opened. It was morning too soon. The sun was pouring through the window filling the room with amber light. Somewhere outside a very annoying bird was singing its song. Although he was still groggy from too little sleep, he somehow made up his mind to brick up that window and kill that bird. The bed was warm and the pillows had her scent. Her warm, sweet body lay next to his. Each soft breath and each movement of her shoulders filling him with a sense of home. A sense of having something in his life that was actually worth having. Worth protecting. He wanted to reach out and touch her hair which was tussled and wild across the pillow. To slide his fingers among those curls once again. He wanted her. Hell, he always did. She knew it and she loved it and the best thing of all, the most amazing thing of all, was that this perfect, amazing woman wanted him too. He was jealous. He admitted it. Jealous of every moment he spent without her. Of every touch she gave someone else no matter how innocent. Of every glance she received from another man's eyes. Proud of her. Proud that she belonged to him and him alone. That she repeated that over and over as they kissed, as they held hands, as they danced, as they lay on the couch drowsing in front of the TV. She had no idea how proud that made him feel. How it filled his soul and gave him strength. He felt her body beneath the sheets. 1000 count Egyptian cotton. He could still see her reveling in the softness. Her long legs, small perfect breasts, smooth skin. Stretching her body amid the gathered sheets she was a picture of innocence, of love, of passion, of lust. He could not think of living without her.
Slowly, carefully he slid himself from the bed and made his way to the shower. It was 6 Am and he had to be at work in an hour. He would be working on barely 4 hours of sleep but he could not help feeling wonderful about it. He had spent the night in her arms feeling her lips pressed on his. They had taken each other in that perfect combination of loving, demanding, tender, terrible need. His muscles were still sore and as the hot water steamed over him he thanked God and all the Angels for this woman. She would be angry at him later on for clouding up the bathroom, towels tossed haphazardly across the shower rod to dry. There was always a right way of doing everything it seemed and somehow he (and every other man on the planet) could not manage to follow all these simple rules. It did not matter. He would apologize with a thousand kisses when he got home. Looking down he hoped he could hide that thought in his pants during the day. Although she loved that she still affected him like this every damned hour of the day but it was god-damned embarrassing on the subway. Sliding on his pants he made his way to the kitchen. Today he definitely needed coffee.
She was there of course, already pouring the cream into his cup. The smile on her face brighter than the gates of Heaven and more inviting. Her body slim and perfect in the rumpled purple tank and panties. Long, perfect legs stretching all the way to the floor. He loved simply to look at her. And he knew she was hesitating just a few more seconds just to give him that opportunity. To drink her in with his eyes. Make love to her with his thoughts. He could see her body tensing, shivering slightly as she felt him behind her. Her body reacting to his presence, his desire, his closeness.
She turns to him with a smile, her hair still wild from sleep and his fingers. A lioness' mane of brownish hair and the greenest eyes he had ever seen. She takes his breath away with that smile. Her eyes are bright. Her body pressed along his, soft and strong as she hands him the steaming cup. Her words reach down into his soul as they do every morning filling him with pride and strength. Power to face down the world.
“Good morning, Lover. I am yours.”
Mine.
