It’s a Sunday morning. A soft rain is falling, the drops tapping against the windowpanes. The bed is so cozy, the freshly laundered sheets smelling of the sweetness of new-mown grass.
You stretch languorously, like a cat, and open your eyes. “Good morning,” the deep chocolate voice rumbles as you smile into his heavy-lidded blue gaze. You reach out a hand and let your fingertips dance along his jawline, heavy with dark stubble.
“Good morning to you, Mr. Gorgeous.”
He gives you a lazy smirk and captures one of your fingers in his mouth, his tongue slowly swirling around it, teeth lightly grazing your flesh.
“Are you hungry?” You say teasingly.
He slides your finger free, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips before he leans in and presses his mouth to yours. It is a soft, sweet, lingering kiss.
“I am very hungry,” he murmurs in your ear, giving your earlobe a quick nip.
“Hmmmm. For–blueberry pancakes?” You ask.
He lifts his disheveled head, his dark-lashed eyes glinting.
“No, not blueberry pancakes.” He nuzzles your neck, giving it warm, moist kisses as those broad, elegant hands move downwards. He’s very good with his hands.
You thread your fingers through his soft hair and drink in its fragrance. Your voice is a little breathless. “French toast?”
“No, not French toast . . .”
He raises his head, his mouth curving into a distinctly naughty smile. “But I do want breakfast in bed . . .”