I open my eyes. It is late morning and the sounds of smaller footsteps drum over our heads. I look over through a cloud of hair and he is awake, shirtless and on his side. He is laying on his bent arm, watching me with his bedroom eyes again. Glinting blue and black, willing me awake. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Hi.” When he looks at me like this, it always gives me a jolt at the center of my chest, and up my spine.

I smile, stretch and take inventory. He waits, knowing it will take me a few moments to fully spin up. I can feel that my cheeks under me are still pink. My stomach, arm, thigh and shoulder muscles are tight. My wrists feel as if there is still something holding them. I am not sore, but sensitive. I am enjoying the feeling. I flex and stretch to fully delight in it. I think of how I earned every bit of it and my usual morning arousal heightens. I rub my legs together, arch a little and the sense of need rises. My tight boy-cut panties appear to be trying to escape on their own. My legs are as usual uncovered, and when I throw aside the light sheet over my torso, my lacy tank has climbed up to become a flimsy bra holding back hardening nipples. He looks at me, smiles that sly little crooked grin and says “Oh, Hi!” I turn towards him and find my voice. “Hi,” I exhale.

We calculate the amount of time we have until the smaller footsteps will come skipping towards our room. We are hidden behind bookshelves, buying us time to duck and cover. We waste none of this time.