“Buy a house with an east-facing bedroom,” they said. “You’ll rise with the sun and your day will always start with brightness,” they said. “They were not night owls,” mused Clara as she pulled the covers over her head. Stretching her lazy muscles, she fondly remembered the evening she had with her boyfriend the day prior.
They’d cooked together, moving easily around the kitchen after months of practice living together, listening to some jazz quartet or another. James used to be a musician but as his day job took over he had become an avid listener in the evening. She couldn’t always remember names though she had to admit he had good taste.
Every now and then, in a lull between his chopping and her stirring, James would turn her to face him and press her back into the counter. His hands would start at her waist and gently explore her, looking into her eyes with love until their lips were brushing each other and opened into a warm kiss. Clara’s arms would wrap comfortably around his neck and his wandering fingers would trace patterns on her back just under her lifted shirt, or stroke the back of her neck, or pull her up to sit on the counter by gripping her cheeks. They loved to kiss, whether it was slow, gentle, emotional, or fierce, heated, and wet. Wrapping her legs around him, or pulling him into her hips, she would always feel him harden at her kisses, fueling her passion for him. Even a few moments into a soft, sweet kiss, Clara could expect a hard, sweet gesture of his body’s reaction waiting for her attention.