I love the way you do that...the way you punish me. The crinkle that forms so delicately between your eyebrows when you're trying to look stern. The twitching of your lips when you try not to smile at my playful antics...

Wrapped in a white cloud and smothered in warmth I lay asleep. My naked skin peeking out from beneath the comforter here and there, showing tidbits you'd tasted the night before: the curve of my hip, the back of my knee, the rise of my breast.

In the background of my half dream there's a sudden noise, as if a thousand bees are bearing down on me. With a soft grunt of distress I come fully awake, my eyes squinting against the light.

You're shaving. Disposing of the morning stubble I haven't yet had a chance to enjoy.

Reluctantly I roll over and stare at the lazy circles the ceiling fan is making. My thoughts turn to you and the gentleness of your hands. Hands that could cause great damage if they chose to, but are always so gentle, so soft and yielding when on my easily bruised flesh.

A sigh escapes as the buzzing stops. I should get up. I have hours before work, but I should get dressed and start the day.

I smell you before I hear you. Mouthwash and aftershave mingled and tossed about by the fan. My eyes slowly drift down until they rest on yours. You're standing in the doorway staring back at me.

Heat flashes through me.

A smile spreads across my face as an idea begins to form.

...I love it when you punish me for not letting you get to work on time. I love it when you punish me for making you leave the party early. I love it when you punish me for renting movies that go unseen. I love it when you punish me, because you punish me with kisses.

By request.

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