Wake up.
Facing each other in sleep, it starts with lips brushing. Slowly accidents turn intentional, brushes turn to kisses and hands slowly start to move. Mine over his chest, barely touching, feeling his breath move in and out. His hands move over my hips, gently caressing, following the curves of my body.
Everything is in slow motion. Warm, soft, slow, our movements flow sleepily. Kissing as we touch. Covering each other with lips and hands.
He moves on top of me and enters slowly. He is met with no resistance, my body had been waiting. His weight on me is the only pressure. We lie there, content with being. Slowly we begin to move. Pushing into each other. Quietly building pressure, building pleasure, until we come.
Breath escapes as the only indicator of our pleasure. We roll back to sleep, taking advantage of those last few minutes before I have to leave for work.
It had been a hard week. Exhaustion took over nearly every night.
Slow, unintentional, passionate, and quiet. The kind of sex that is love began the weekend Friday morning. I haven’t been nearly as tired since then.
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