Early morning, before the streets outside our window fill with morning commuters or churgoers, I feel him reach for me. From a sound sleep (which are rare) I hear his call and begin to stir. Our new sheets rustle softly as he lowers the covers and grasps my nipple as he whispers in my ear his sudden need for me.

We rarely make love in the dark. He rarely reaches for me in the light of day, much less in the wee hours of the morning. I wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass us by for a few more minutes of sleep.

I pause to kiss him as I roll over and spread my legs wide in invitation. No hurry, no rush, just sweet sleepy sensuality as he strokes the small of my back. His hands linger briefly then make their way to the place where the evidence of our sexual chemistry begins to roll down my inner thighs.

One second his fingers are on my clit and the next he’s filling me with himself. A moan comes from somewhere in the dark and I barely recognize the sound of my own voice. As I teeter on the edge of release his hands flex and relax then grab at my ass almost as if he’s holding on for dear life. A stream of white hot fire deep within the velvet walls that hold him firmly and it’s over.

Minutes, maybe hours, pass with his body pinning mine to the bed as sleep keeps us from bothering with such trivial things as urination and comfortable positions. Laying close, skin on skin, enjoying the lingering effects of love and passion in the darkness of our small room is all we need. It’s more than enough. It’s everything.