She wakes me in the morning with gentle fingers. They tickle my skin as they wander the planes of my body. Long before alarms or the sounds of demanding children reach my ears her touch awakens my senses. She is mine.
She whispers warm words of endearment into my drowsy ears. Pulling me sweetly from my slumber. Wooing me gracefully with tender noises and patient nuzzles into the flesh of my neck. I stir, pulling her against my stronger frame into the shelter of my arms where she is meant to be. She is mine.
She feathers tiny kisses across my collarbone as she squeezes herself into my side. Her pink lips leave a tingling trail in their wake. Her ministrations energize my soul, and she yawns lazily against my muscled arm. She belongs here. She is mine.
She plays with the hair on my chest grazing my nipples teasingly with her fingernails. I turn her in my arms and fit her against the front of my core. I bury my nose in her neck and breathe in her heavenly scent; the odor that brings me home and sets me free in the same instant. I press myself against her and she sighs in bliss. She is mine.