Waking Up to Passion
I woke slowly, drifting between the haze of a dream and the searing reality of heat. I felt Miguel’s hands on me, his touch warm and deliberate. I remained still, my breath hitching as his fingers traced the line of my chest, teasing my nipples before sliding down the curve of my stomach. The memory of the previous night—a hurried, hungry encounter—surged back, but this was different. This was slow, a calculated exploration that left me trembling.
I stared at the ceiling, my body reacting instinctively to his touch. I could feel him beside me, his own arousal pressing against my leg, creating a friction that sent sparks through my nerves. When he leaned in to kiss my neck, his curls brushing against my skin and the scent of clean soap filling my senses, I finally broke. He whispered into my ear, his voice a low rumble, asking if I liked what he was doing. I turned into him, pulling him closer as the morning light flooded the room, turning our shared breath into a promise of a long, indulgent day.