He is sleeping

He is sleeping. I can hear his breathing change when he stirs in his bed. If I close my eyes I can see his dark lashes against his pale skin, his heavy shadow, the smoothness of his face, the faint smile on his mouth. He needs twice as much sleep as I do, so I slid out of bed and moved to where I am now, sitting in the sunlight. I wanted to wake him with my mouth and hands, bring that wonderful expression to his face, call forth that pleased purr from him. But I did that yesterday, and he looked a bit tired most of the day, so I've resolved to let him wake himself up. It is difficult, though, because as the sun warms me, his scent is rising from my skin. Our combined scents are rising from my skin, tantalizing me. I want him again. Yesterday he made me keep going. He wanted me completely satisfied, he said. I rode him until my muscles were trembling, until I bled from the wild, heedless slamming of my body down onto him. And then, when I was wrung out, laying face down, he used another entrance, and urged me through two more orgasms before he emptied into me. He let me nap and then we went to dinner. The scent of 'us' was very strong. I could feel the salt of my sweat and his tightening my skin. I ate my sushi and cold soba noodles with unsteady hands. I squirmed a bit in my seat. I kept dropping things. And he smiled. He smiled that self-satisfied smile that a man gets when he knows he has pushed a woman beyond her normal limits, used her well. When we got into bed he asked if I wanted anything else and I answered "snuggle." I put my arm around his chest and tangled my legs with his and slept deeply for my usual five and a half hours. But now I am awake and my body sings with tension and I want to taste the sleep on his skin and breathe in his scent and work my mouth slowly down his body. I want to paint love on his skin with my fingertips, watch it sink into him, see him glow, see the urgency tighten his body, until he reaches for me. Just a little while longer. I can wait. Really....