“Wake, Beloved. I need you,” Erik whispers from behind you.
He buries his face into your neck and peppers kisses down toward your shoulder blades. A large hand runs down your side and grips your thigh lightly.
You stir, groaning and desperate to stay asleep but getting the sense that whatever Erik needed of you was important. He knew you hated to be woken up, he wouldn’t be waking you without reason. You feel him sit up next to you and, sitting up, you rub the sleep from your eyes. You offer a sleepy smile and ask what he requires of you so early.
“Beloved…help me pick which sneakers I have to wear to smoke T'Challa’s ass on the court today.”