Motion… Not so much rocking as softly rolling. A sensate lullaby of ship-water movement slowly waking me to powerfully charged awareness.
Sensation… Texture. Scent. Crisp-soft sheets and cool not-yet-dawn air against uncovered bare skin. Downy short-cut male hairs bristling velvet under questing fingertips. Air laden with the complementary fragrance of sharp citrus clean and ocean-heavy sea air arousal.
Awareness. Of the stirring-awake masculine figure at my side, whose head I have been absently petting in my drowsy rousing, of the stinging prickle of desire needling hot across my exposed skin, of the honeyed spice of heady need flowing thick through my veins, intoxicatingly seductive.
And then a voice. “She’s awake.”
