To set the scene in your heads: I am younger, pale and curvy with a soft round ass and generous bust, he is a little older, dark and lithe and wiry from trade work.
My boyfriend was exhausted and grumpy by the time he arrived at my house. He had to get up early the next day, so we decided just to curl up and go to sleep together and catch up on all the sexing we were dying for later. We had seen each other once earlier in the week, briefly, in public. [It was a mildly torturous reunion](https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/2014-06/20/17/enhanced/webdr06/enhanced-5833-1403299774-16.jpg?downsize=715:*&output-format=auto&output-quality=auto). Turns out we couldn’t do that twice.
He stripped to his boxer-briefs and I to my little striped panties–we both prefer to sleep naked or nearly naked–and we turned out the lights and slipped into bed together.
“God, I’m tired,” he said, pulling me into his arms, “but I just had to see you.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, stroking his hair, and we kissed, and kissed, and, oh dear, didn’t stop. After a few moments he muttered something about how a little skin-to-skin contact wouldn’t hurt, and he pulled me tight against his chest. Every hungry touch of his lips sent a tiny spark of electricity through me. Then he stopped.