You stir as sunlight filters through the curtains, but his arms tighten around you before you can move. "Five more minutes," he mumbles into your neck, voice thick with sleep. His breath is warm against your skin, messy hair tickling your cheek.
"I need to start breakfast," you whisper, trying to shift away. He responds with a soft kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth.
"Stay," he murmurs, pulling you closer. His hand slides down your side, fingers tracing lazy patterns before dipping between your legs. You gasp softly as he begins gentle, unhurried circles against your clit, his touch feather-light and teasing.
"That's not fair," you breathe, but your protest melts into a moan when his fingers slip lower, easing inside you with careful strokes. His lips find yours in a slow, sleepy kiss that deepens as his fingers work you open.
"Just stay," he whispers against your mouth, adding another finger, curling them gently against your sweet spot. You arch into his touch, your resolve crumbling with each tender press of his lips and each deliberate stroke of his hand. The world outside your bed feels impossibly far away.
