Bette

As I slowly stirred from the depths of sleep, my senses were greeted by the familiar surroundings of my own bedroom. The high ceilings soared above, with moldings that spoke of a bygone era’s craftsmanship, a delicate blend of history and modernity that was quintessentially Haussmann. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, lying in the rumpled embrace of the bed, I gazed around the room, taking in the aftermath of a night that had been filled with passion and intimacy.

The mirror that adorned one wall reflected back the image of a room that had borne witness to our most intimate moments. It seemed almost surreal – the juxtaposition of the opulent backdrop against the disheveled evidence of our passion. I caught a glimpse of myself in that mirror, my hair tousled and my expression a blend of contentment and desire.

A trail of discarded items, clothes that could be hers or mine, led from the desk to the bed, a journey marked by half-forgotten steps and possesive passion.

My eyes settled upon Tina’s sleeping figure beside me. A gentle smile tugged at my lips as I watched her, my heart swelling with love and adoration. A sense of profound relief enveloped me, a homecoming that soothed my weary soul.

Her features were softened in slumber, and a cascade of her blonde hair spilled over the pillow. I resisted the urge to reach out and tuck a strand behind her ear, not wanting to disturb her rest. Instead, I contented myself with simply watching, with soaking in the sight of her serene expression and the way the morning light danced across her features.

A soft protest rumbled from her lips as the persistent sound of the alarm clock pierced the tranquility of the room. I chuckled softly under my breath, amused by her resistance to the impending wake-up call. Her brow furrowed, and a playful pout graced her lips as she swatted at the alarm, trying to silence its insistent ringing.

’Mmm, just a few more minutes,’ she murmured in a voice heavy with sleep.

The sheets, once pristine, were now a tangle of fabric that smelled like her and sex. They clung to the contours of our bodies, telling a tale of connection and desire that had unfolded in the quiet hours of the night.