Late Morning

Some mornings she stays in bed and lets the warmth linger. Lea feels it between the sheets, soft everywhere you look. She wakes from you. A perfect night in her head that ended just before you touched her the way she wanted. Her hands start moving anyway. Fingertips circle her nipples until they stand tight and pink. Then she slips under the thin cotton of her panties, where she already knows she’ll be slick. It doesn’t take much from you to get her there, asleep or awake. She tugs the fabric down her thighs and pushes two fingers into herself. The motion is slow, measured, enough to make her hips roll with her. She turns onto her side and traps her wrist between clamped thighs, rubbing harder while she imagines your tongue where her fingers are. The picture is enough to make her sit up, legs wide. One hand stays at her clit, rubbing it in tight circles, dragging the pleasure until her stomach tightens. She comes fast after that, breathing your name through her teeth. Back down against the sheets she thinks about late mornings and wonders how many of them she could wake up in with you.