Honey's Sleepy Morning

I wake up mere moments before your boots leave snow prints on the front steps, before long fingers on strong hands fumble with the door knob in the pea-soup fog and dim light of an all too early morning. A key rattles in the lock as I roll over and reach for you. It takes a moment to register that I'm alone again, that I've only been dreaming of your hands on my thighs, your mouth leaving hot, hungry trails on my skin.

The essence of you lingers in the room though, on my skin, my lips. You've definitely been here and not all that long ago. Tangy sandalwood and citrus notes of your cologne tease my nose and nip my tongue. They mingle delightfully with a hint of peppermint and snow from a late night walk. Magic exists in the forest during the first snow, this much I believe, after watching the flurries dance upon your shoulders and tasting them upon my tongue.

I leave last night behind for now and desperately try to recapture the essence of that quasi-dream state, sliding deeper under the warm down comforter and rolling onto my stomach in the middle of the bed until I drift back into that familiar vignette. The one that has me feeling the cold leather arm of the sofa under me as you bend me over and slide deep inside me from behind.

Somewhere between the hoarseness of a voice I barely recognize as my own moaning your name and the low melodic whisper as you urge me to come all over your cock, I hear the faint yet solid click of the front door closing behind you. There's an odd creaking that follows as if you're quietly and quickly moving towards the bedroom without waking me. The subconscious is a funny thing and I wonder to myself how you can be here and there simultaneously.

Deep in the midst of my struggle between there and here, the slow slide of a zipper south resonates in my brain, as does the whisper of nylon as you slip the jacket from your shoulders and it effortlessly slides to the floor. I don't hear you undress completely, preferring instead to embrace my warm cocoon of blankets and slide deeper and deeper into the fantasy of you.

The weight of you on the edge of the bed rouses me a little; the covers sliding from my skin, a little bit more. The appreciative moan upon seeing my pale naked form spread out before you brings me almost alert. I feel the warmth of you sliding into bed behind me, the stubble of your beard on my shoulder as you slip in close to nuzzle my shoulder. The power of your strong arms as you cup my upturned bottom and bring me closer to you, gently accelerates me toward a wakeful state. You're the best damn alarm clock a woman could ever ask for.

I hear you, that husky, aged sippin' whiskey smooth voice I've come to crave, soft and low in my ear. "Honey." You beckon, urge, rouse, cajole me. "Honey." My name becomes a chant of sorts. Large and persuasive hands maneuver my limbs and body towards you, facing you for a moment and then finally onto my back. "Honey." Eyes still closed, I comply with your commands without complaint, like moist clay under the palms of a sculptor. As my head rolls forward toward your shoulder, volumes of russet curls fan the pillow, your chest, across my face and I hear you chuckle at my determination to resist morning at all costs.

I move to cuddle up towards your warmth and instead feel your weight shift on the bed. A tiny speck inside my head is ready to cry out, "no don't go" but before I can form a coherent sentence and open my mouth, you reposition yourself and suddenly you're on top of me, firm hands taking hold of my thighs, coaxing them to bend to your will.

"Open your body to me, Honey." Coaxing with both words and hands, spreading my thighs and seeking that warm refuge of my sex. "Open baby... open up..." Like a snake charmer, playing exotic music with that seductive voice -- commanding a body to rise and dance. My legs part of their own free will -- honestly who could resist? I am splayed out in front of you like a picnic, eyes still closed, but senses fully aware of the surroundings and neurons firing left and right, a steady and rising rhythm of arousal. Hands upon my waist slide me into the position you wish, girlish hips contacting thoroughly masculine thighs as you slide, sitting up on your knees above me and into me. Eyes flutter open with the penetration. I can't miss looking into those deep chocolate pools as you hit bottom and I try my hardest to hold onto you.

I stretch my arms above my head, gripping the headboard and taking in the morning. My legs still have will of their own, they gain strength and curl protectively around your waist, gripping and squeezing. You lean toward me, engage me in an intricate lip dance of a kiss and leave me tasting coffee -- bitter, bold, strong, and decadent.

As morning light filters in through almost sheer curtains, I gaze up into your face, taking stock of the laugh lines, the deep tan against brilliant white teeth and those twinkling eyes. There's a little more gray at your temples than I ever remember, a bit more in your goatee. Where have all the years gone, I wonder to myself, as I'm often want to do while you're reminding me just how good we are together. I tear my gaze from you a moment, back and down to me. Pale skin looks more so in the early morning light; my nipples are a stark cotton candy contrast. You see them too, standing at attention and straining for your touch. Against the starkness of me, the hand traveling up from my navel looks shockingly tan -- dark and lanky fingers covering surprisingly large swaths of skin.

Basic senses fully alert now, my sexual senses are roused slowly and as you continue those lackadaisical strokes, filling me and then retreating ever so slowly, a small but surprisingly intense orgasm begins to build. Your thumb finds the very tip of my clit, stroking lazy circles, until I can't stand it any longer and come for you... all over you, gripping you tightly, head shaking, eyes squeezed closed, pushing me over the edge of this dreamy state I've been luxuriating in.

"Good morning, beautiful girl," you tease me with a roguish grin as you rock your hips back and forth. Slowly, like the nature-sounds alarm clocks designed to wake you up with the least amount of trauma to the senses. It's like being aroused in a dream. I'm there in the moment, making sweet love, imagining myself all pink, flushed and wet. When I wake up to find myself all slick and tender I wonder if I've come, or if it's merely a product of my self-conscious too.

You smile, that self satisfied, smug, amused with yourself smile, feeling me tense around you and shudder again; eyes sliding shut as the feelings over take and protesting the physical for the metaphysical.

"That's it baby. Open up to me. That's a good girl."

Not increasing your carefully measured pace for even the splittest of split seconds, you patiently progress towards the pinnacle of your own pleasure, releasing all you've got inside me at the same slow, methodical drive and with the hoarse primal cry of satisfaction.

Aftershocks of our quick morning romp leave us tangled between the sheets and blankets, still crumpled from our lucky last night. Still on top of me, still inside me, you slide over a little and reach for something on the bedside table.

"I brought you a coffee," you produces the cup like a cat holds a treasure for its master; ever so proud of his caffeinated catch.

Morning has dawned. There is no use in resisting its onslaught. The coffee with its slightly bitter, chocolate and spicy notes dances across my tongue along with the cream and a hint of cinnamon that you know I love. You kiss me to take a taste for himself.

Come-soaked and coffee-sated...alright, alright. I'm up already.

I could get used to mornings like that. I, the dedicated and die hard night owl, might even be inspired to rise early.