Something about waking up in bed to a aging storm just outside my window just does it for me. Really, s*x during a storm is unmatched.
And just like it has for the past week or so, the storm wakes me.
The heavy weather has finally broken and brought with it fresh relief. I slide out of bed and sit behind the curtains. The window seat surrounds me, a little box of moonlight and flickering lightning.
Thunder rolls the pouring rain from the clouds and I can see it spitting and bouncing on the street, when the moonlight allows. I grow cold, n*****s stiff, shoulders shivery. But I don’t go back to bed.
The street is deserted, all cats and foxes sheltering from the storm. The room lies dark behind the thick curtains.
This is the witching hour.
I hear the sheets move at the stir of a bod
