It's early. The early sunshine is pouring through the curtains, demanding to be acknowledged. You feel me stir next to you, letting out a breathy whine, followed by a long luxurious yawn. I roll over in the mussed sheets, my sheer white top leaving little to the imagination. I give you a weak and sleepy smile, before crawling closer to you. I cuddle against you wanting to shut out the morning. You kiss my forehead as we lay there, slowly adjusting to wakefulness. You look into my eyes and know exactly what I need... Sunday Morning Pancakes.
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