The open window fights valiantly against the stench of sex, sweat, and booze. The chilly autumn breeze hits my face, carrying the stinging threat of winter with its touch. I smile and tug the curtain back closed again, pulling hard to overcome the sticky ring. For a moment, the light falls upon her face and she murmurs sleepily. I slip back into bed, pulling the blanket back up, making sure her narrow shoulders are covered, her hair is smooth, her face is calm.
"You're cold", she whispers sleepily.
I shush her and kiss her cheek.
She is warm against me, warm and small and fragile. Perfectly shaped, delightfully curved. I study her through the distant shiftings of light drifting through the curtains. Dark hair frames her narrow face, frazzled through a night of tossing and turning. Tight lips, sharp chin, angular shoulders. She's skinny, never eating enough. I mentally review her schedule. Her first meeting is at 11 today. I have time sufficient to cook her something nice for breakfast.
Somewhere outside, a gentle hammering gives away the presence of construction. We need better soundproofing. She doesn't seem to notice. Instead, she nestles closer and settles again, her breathing steadying. I'm spooning her, one arm below and one above. I pull her tight. She likes that. She's smiling softly, nothing like the struggled breathing that gives away the failures of her body and mind. I think she had a nightmare last night. She talked to herself in her sleep after we finished fucking, whispering wordlessly and angrily. I wish she could see herself the way that I do. I love her so much.
Extracting myself to go cook without disturbing her is difficult, but nothing I haven't done before.
I turn the music up a little to cover the sizzle of the eggs, her favourite band blaring something between rock and pop, a gentle piece about love. Omelette slightly crunchy just the way she likes it, onions, mushrooms, spinach, crumbled sausage, feta, and 3 eggs. Topped with green onions, salsa, and more cheese, served along potatoes. It comes together quickly and automatically. I've done this a thousand times.
I check on her while I cook. She's starting to stir now, rolling over at my entry and clutching me as I depart the bed again. I pet her hair and kiss her forehead and promise I'll be back.
Finally, I turn off the stove, open the curtains, and slip back into bed ignoring her groans at the force of the light. My hands wrap her lithe body and I kiss the nape of her neck, teasing tender flesh with quick flicks of my tongue. I know her weakspots and work a trail over the taught muscles of her back, bent from hours hunched over a computer, up to her cute little ears, where nibbling on an earlobe starts to emit gasps and moans. She turns and loses herself in me for a moment, tongues entwining, her hands feeling the hardness of my bones, running down my flanks and sides. We kiss for a long time until she gasps for air and I squeeze her while she breathes.
"Made you breakfast", I whisper in her ear.
"Oh", she whispers back seemingly confused, and then we're kissing again, her hands gripping my butt tightly to pull me closer, her tongue hungry for my flesh. I let her have it for a moment and then pull back.
"You should eat. You said you wanted to be out by 9 this morning."
"Nooooooo, I wanna stay here with you and get kisses."
I sit up. "I know, love. I know."
She groans, rolls over, and hugs me, face pressed into my bare thigh. I feel the slip of her tongue press into me for a moment, and then I stand.
"Come on, babe."
She moans, but stands. For a second anyway, before she stumbles into me. I catch her easily and hold her up. "You okay?"
She grumbles something back. I shift myself behind her, plant a hand on each shoulder, and guide her into the kitchen. There's a plate, cutlery, and glass of orange juice already waiting on the counter for her. I expertly flip out the omelette and a scoop of fried potatoes onto the plate. It looks like something out of a restaurant. She smiles.
I watch her while she eats. She wakes up slowly, transforming from a grumbly cuddly mess into the sharp smart thing I know her to be. I love her so much. Sure, she's not a morning person. But that's why she has me.
I make her a sandwich while she gets dressed. I stack it carefully, a slice of sourdough, garlic aioli, two layers of cheese, salami, lettuce, tomato, pickles, onions, a pinch of salt, and another piece of bread adorned with aioli, all toasted slightly. Slice it diagonally for effect and pack it next to her favourite flavour of chips.
Finally, she's ready. I smile as she opens the door, preparing to head out without looking back. She hesitates on the door-frame for just a second, and then turns. "Oh hey, by the way. I have a date tonight."
"Oh! That's exciting!"
"Uh, yeah. So, uh, I won't be needing you tonight. Or tomorrow, hopefully."
"Of course, mistress."
And then she was gone. I clean the kitchen to perfection, climb into my box, plug in to charge, and turn myself off. As my consciousness fades, the last thing I feel is the sweet taste of autumn. She has already closed the window.