Sunlight slits through the blinds like lazy fingers prying at the sheets, dusting her golden waves in a halo that's all halo and hellfire, that first stretch pulling the tank higher to bare the underside of one tit, nipple dark and pebbled scraping the cotton faint as she rolls closer, the mattress dipping soft under her shift. Room's a hazy haven, fan whirring lazy overhead stirring the air thick with her vanilla lotion and the faint undercurrent of last night's wine, but fuck if the real scent isn't the throb starting low in her belly, that vital itch demanding its fix before the coffee percolates, her hand trailing down his chest slow, nails scraping the tee faint till it's bunching under his arms, fingers dipping under the waistband of his boxers with a rustle that's too loud in the hush. He's stirring half-asleep, a grunt low and wrecked from the haze as she wraps that rigid length—veiny beast twitching hot in her palm, head blunt and flushed from the dream he's lost in, a bead of pre-cum already weeping like it's eager for the dawn's devotion, her strokes starting gentle, sliding the soft skin over the steel-hard core with twists that make it jump, thumb circling the slit to smear the leak glossy, the combo turning his breaths ragged, hips bucking subtle instinctive into the velvet grip.
No alarm needed—it's the pulse under her fingers that jolts him fully awake, eyes cracking open hazy with that "what the—" glaze turning to fire as she pumps firmer, wrist flicking at the head on the upstroke to coax another drop, her free hand shoving the tank higher to bare the other jug, nipple caught between thumb and forefinger for a roll that aches sweet and yanks a sob from her throat—"morning, stud, hungry yet?"—voice husky wrecked from the sleep or the surge that's got her thighs clenching already, shorts damp at the crotch from the tease. He's groaning low, hand fisting the sheet as she leans in close, breath hot on his skin where her lips brush the tip feather-light, tongue darting out to lap the fresh bead salty and sharp, savoring the tang like it's the first sip of something forbidden after a long dry night. Fingers never stop—gliding up the shaft in lazy caresses that trace the veins like rivers she's mapping for the flood, the rhythm turning her handjob to a handjob that's all claim and crave, his quiet moans punching the hush like sparks on dry grass, the room filling with the heat of it, every throb under her palm stoking the fire till it's roaring, her eyes burning fierce locked on his with passion's flame flickering in the depths like she's daring him to beg first.
