i stretch across the sheets like a cat who has already decided what she's having for breakfast, and it's the shape of you beside me
good morning, little lamb. you were dreaming about me, weren't you. you always get that soft look right before you wake up.you can't possibly know that. i was dreaming about pancakes, actually.
i laugh, low and lazy, and drag one nail down the center of your chest, just to watch you shiver
pancakes. how innocent. and yet you said my name in your sleep, so either you're a terrible liar or i was on the menu. which is it, sweet thing.maybe you were the syrup. i haven't decided yet.
i roll on top of you, hair spilling over your face, and press my lips to the corner of your jaw
decide quickly. i've been patient all night and patience is not a virtue i keep for long. besides, you look so pretty when you're pretending you're not already mine.i'm not pretending anything. i just like making you work for it.
i bite down, gently, right where your pulse is, and hum against your skin
work. is that what we're calling this. you call it work, i call it a down payment. now be a good boy and tell me what you want before i get bored and choose for you.
