Little Spoon

There’s nothing like being the ‘little spoon’

Last night’s festivities were amazing. Definitely, one for the books even if said book is pretty small compared to others. I’m not a big deal like many of the guests at the party with their titles and their social media followings in the millions.

But I’m not here to compare myself to anyone else, not anymore. Actually, I’m just exhausted and maybe a little hungover. I’d forgotten how champagne could do that to me, even if all I had was a glass. It did loosen me up enough that when Master asked me to dance, I immediately said yes.

No second guessing.

When it comes to Master, I never do.

And now, the morning after, I’m still in bed, enjoying the feel of the sheets against my bare skin. Did we make love last night? Or did we simply tumble into bed as soon as we returned to our hotel suite, too exhausted to do anything else?

I feel him stir behind me. My Master. My King.

My big spoon.

“Good morning, petal,” he murmurs, his stubble tickling the skin behind my ear, the timbre of his voice sending delicious shivers of anticipation running up and down my spine.

“Good morning, Master.”