It’s rarely cold where I live, so I sleep naked year-round. Bare skin, sheets clinging, a thin scrap of fabric to contain the mess my body makes at night while I dream of you. My panties are meant to contain the slick when I wake already wet, already aching.
But this time? I’m not wearing any. Maybe it’s because I want you to find me wanting, even before I’ve even fully woken.
I’m on my side when I feel you behind me. Your heat first, broad and unmistakable, seeping into my back as you press close beneath the blankets. I’m still heavy with sleep, but my body knows you immediately. I know the hard line of you as it settles against my ass: the pulse, the warmth, the quiet insistence of it.
I stir, but not enough to wake.
I draw one leg up toward my chest in a lazy stretch that isn’t a stretch at all, and press back into you—arching, opening myself by instinct.
Your fingers slide between my thighs slowly, almost absentmindedly, and you find exactly what you expect. I’m slick and ready. I’m always like this for you, especially first thing in the morning.
My body wakes before my thoughts do.
It would be so easy to slide inside me.
You don’t.
Instead, your breath fans warmly over my shoulder as you kiss a slow and unhurried path to my pulse. You let me squirm as you guide your cock through my slick. A slow, deliberate slide through all of me, painting my cunt in my own obscenity with just enough pressure for me to feel. For me to want more.
I whimper, soft and wet, and lift my leg higher. Arch deeper. My body does the begging for me.
Permission granted.
You press against my entrance, hold there, and a hand finds my hip. Your grip is firm enough to keep me from pushing back and taking more than you’re ready to give.
Not yet.
You’re so warm behind me, tucked under the blankets, pressed flush against my spine. You wait patiently, until you feel the tension melt from my body. Until my breathing slows. Until I soften against you.
Then I whisper what you’ve been waiting to hear, more exhale than sound:
“Please…”
When you finally press in, it’s slow.
Excruciatingly so.
I feel myself part for you. I feel my body open, and accept you inch by inch—gripping you, pulling you deeper, already begging for more. You barely move. My breath catches for an immeasurable moment, held tight in my chest, before it slips free in a low, helpless moan.
“God, yes…”
You take your time with me. This isn’t just a fuck, it’s a claim made carefully. Your hand leaves my hip and drifts between my thighs. For a breath, I think you’re going to touch my clit. Circle it. Tease me right to the edge until I’m trembling and begging to cum.
But that’s not where your hand settles.
The heel of your palm presses heavy against my clit. There’s pressure, but no movement. You’ve stilled inside me, making sure you’re buried as deep as the position allows.
I feel you throbbing. I feel the heat of you. And despite your obvious need—you stop.
Your fingers stretch wide over my labia, framing where we’re joined, and then they simply rest there. Holding me open, cradling the place where we meet in your palm. You want me to feel all of it, all of you.
Then your teeth catch my earlobe, and you bite with just enough pressure for me to acknowledge, before your lips graze the shell of my ear.
“Mine.”
You’ll know my acceptance the instant my body answers.
In the way my cunt tightens around you. In the way my moan breaks louder this time, desperate, as I try to press back and take more. That single word hits somewhere deep. It’s dangerous. For a moment I swear it might undo me right then.
And it doesn’t take long, not with your claim humming between us. Your tongue drags greedily along the length of my throat, tasting me. Your fingers slide up, find the throb of my clit, and begin to circle.
You know I like it slow, especially in the morning. You don’t disappoint.
You thrust with measured intent, and every drag of your cock hits right at the origin of my ache. That place that’s been quietly throbbing since before I woke. Each stroke pulls a shaky breath from me, and still, you take your time. You find the rhythm that coaxes my body into wakefulness.
You fuck me open to start the day. Let me find the shape of morning while trembling against you, plaint and warm, wrapped in your heat beneath the sheets.
And when I finally cum, when my body tightens and breaks around you…
You stay, still deep, still present. Letting me ride out the aftershocks while you move just enough to keep me anchored in the present. Enough to remind me whose arms I’m in while I find awareness by degrees.
You coax me onto my belly, guiding me there with a gentle nudge at my waist. I go willingly, breath still uneven, sheets cool beneath my skin as I shift. You settle behind me, your presence unmistakable between my splayed legs.
I wonder if it pleases you: the way I scramble impatiently. The way I come up onto my knees without being guided. How I lift my ass high and arch deep. My back bows like my body is pulling itself open for you. Like the animal in me remembers what you want before my mind catches up.
Your patience is gone.
When you enter me, it’s not slow or teasing. It’s one smooth, relentless push—all the way, all at once—filling me completely in one stroke. The sudden fullness steals the sound from my throat, forcing it down into the sheets in a broken gasp, just as you intended.
You grip the meat of my ass, and pull me back onto your cock. You fuck me hard, like you mean to break me open. There’s no patience now, no restraint. Just deep, brutal thrusts that punch the air from my lungs and rattle my spine. Each one drives me further into the mattress, splits me wide around you until my eyes roll helplessly. Every nerve is lit, every sound choked.
And I can’t stop them. I can’t stop my body from shaking.
You hold yourself right on the edge, control clenched tight even as you pull me apart. You slow just enough for the need to build into something feral. Until my hands betray me, fumbling beneath me, frantic fingers finding my clit and rubbing hard.
My whole body quakes when I cum again. It’s not pretty. It’s not graceful.
I’m gasping, clenching around you, desperate to pull you deeper.
That’s when you give in. Your cock swells, throbs, and you bury yourself to the hilt.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you groan as you fill me, your grip tightening on my hips.
You hold there a moment longer, breath still ragged as the last of it leaves you. When you roll beside me, it’s careful—like you’re suddenly aware of how spent I am.
Your arm comes around my waist and pulls me back against your chest. It’s not demanding, just solid. You’re warm. I’m pliant as you tuck me in close, my back fitting to you like it was made for the shape of you.
A hand slides slowly up my side to ground me. Your thumb brushes lazy, absent patterns into my skin while my breathing evens.
“You’re incredible,” you murmur softly, and the praise settles warmly behind my ribs.
You press a kiss into my hair, and another into the curve where my neck meets my shoulder.
We stay like that for a while. Long enough for the tremors to fade. Long enough for my body to remember where it is, who it’s with, and that it’s Saturday. I melt into you, boneless, spent and safe. I let myself be gathered. I let the world narrow to the sound of your breathing, and the slow sweep of your fingers.
Your devotion is freely given. It’s not something I ever have to earn.
“I love you,” you whisper into my hair.
I tip my head back against your shoulder, and let myself fall into the lull of your touch, your heat.
“Yeah, me you too.”
