Morning Glory


I love the smell of the nape of his neck, where his shoulder rises to meet the ends of his curly blonde hair. I want to curl up like a cat and spend those first moments of the day there, his golden skin caressing against my soft pale cheek. Watching him sleep is peaceful, so much so that it feels like an invasion of privacy sometimes as I admire his long fair eyelashes and the sprinkling of stubble across his jaw. I’m always drawn back to his full lips, how inviting they are even whilst he sleeps. 

It’s winter and this is when he sleeps with a t-shirt on. Where he comes from winter still involves sun and warmth, here in Glasgow winter just means it’s a bit chillier and you’d be best wearing your Big Coat. His t-shirt isn’t tight nor is it baggy, it just fits. I don’t sleep with a shirt on when he does because the feeling of my bare breasts brushing up against the soft cotton of his tee is as invigorating as I imagine those Herbal Essences showers to be.

My face lines up perfectly with my favourite part of his body and I lay a kiss in the crook of his neck and I slip my arm around his hips, tuck my hand inside the waistband of his boxer shorts and press myself up against his broad back. 

His hand always comes to meet mine and our fingers intertwine for a brief moment, he lets out a soft moan of satisfaction as he feels my nipples against his back and he turns to face me. 

“Good morning.” His gruff voice croaks before he places his lips against mine and pulls away, leaving me wanting his tongue. His attention travels downward until he reaches my breasts, my nipples standing at full attention as he closes his lips around one, pinching the other between his fingers. He rolls me on to my back, his weight resting between my legs. I can’t resist running my fingers through his mass of curls as he sucks and licks his way towards my inevitable orgasm. 

I move my hips back and forth as he tortures me with his mouth. He rubs himself against me, nudging my thighs a little wider and lets me feel his hardening cock pushing against his boxers. He moves up and slips his tongue between my lips as I busy myself pulling at his waistband, tugging his boxers down just below his bum. He sits back, kneeling between my legs and off come my knickers and he rests in the middle of my thighs, his hard cock rubbing against my pussy just oh so wonderfully. We kiss, we tug, we moan and I come before he’s even inside me. 

“Good girl…” he breathily whispers, sucking my bottom lip in the midst of my orgasm. He pushed himself inside me just as I was coming down off of my pink cloud of delight and I couldn’t resist a peek at his face as he felt my pussy tighten around him. We lay still for a second, appreciating how the quiet room amplified every little sound.

Making out with him on top of me, fucking me, is one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. His powerful frame, naturally muscular from all those years of playing rugby, thick thighs and mop of curly blonde hair dangling across his sweaty forehead… oh God, I could go on all day about his piercing blue eyes.

He also knows just how to kiss a woman, specifically this one. My mind goes blank and my senses go in to overdrive; the smell of his sweat, his skin, his hair. The sounds he makes when he fucks his hips against mine, moaning with pleasure and sighing as he gets closer to coming. (He knows how hot I find those sounds.) The sensation of his t-shirt sticking to his torso, the material the only thing separating us as he thrusts in to me again and again. Don’t ask me why, but looking at him when we fuck and him only wearing a t-shirt does things to me. 

Another orgasm surprises us both after he slowly rotates his hips. I come hard, gasping in to his mouth as he smiles. I know he in revelling in the knowledge he has such power over me when we fuck, that one small manoeuvre can render me helpless. 

I grasp his t-shirt, the damp cotton balled-up in my fist and pull him in to me. My legs are draped over the back of his thighs and I meet his thrusts. I watch as his back stiffens and he clenches his jaw, the beads of sweat trickling down his neck and disappearing into his tee. I feel the tensing of his thighs under my own as he readies us both, his moans burning in to my memory for later. I beg for him to come.