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The sunlight streaming through Stanley ’s bed room window is what wakes me—bright and heat on my face. The smell of coffee is in the air and there’s an empty house beside me. I don’t sit up proper away, however indulge in a few greater minutes of basking—in the softness of his bed, the masculine scent that nonetheless clings to the sheets, and the tantalizing reminiscences that dance in the back of my eyes. Spending the night is a new development. A spontaneous choice that . . . likely wasn’t my smartest move. Because, guilty as charged, I preferred it. I liked the whole lot about it. His hands round me, his chest beneath my cheek, his late-night c**k deep interior me. My inside muscular tissues clench with remembrance and I cringe barely with blessed soreness—the pleasant type of ache.
- Writer
