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Laszlo

There's a mouth on my cock.

That's the only fact I've established since waking, but it's a strong one, so I keep my eyes shut and don't move. The mouth is warm and the movement slow. Whoever this is has decided we're in no rush this morning, and for once I'm inclined to agree with the plan.

My hand finds the back of her head. I know this hair. I could pick it out of a line-up blindfolded.

My Manon is in my bed, her mouth stuffed with my cock. I keep my eyes shut a little longer. I'm a greedy man.

She hums as if she's felt me wake and finds it funny. The sound travels up my spine and takes my restraint with it.

"I knew I could wake you up like this," Manon says, and takes me deeper all the way to the back of her throat.

I open my eyes and lift the sheet. She's got me with her gaze holding mine. My breathing is heavy and I tell myself not to move, because I'm ready to fucking come in her mouth with my dignity fully intact.

"You've surgery at nine," I manage.

She answers by sliding her mouth all the way down, and the rest of the thought dies in me. She's not in any hurry. She takes her time, working me with her mouth and her hand both, her tongue dragging up the underside every time she pulls off. She keeps her eyes on mine the whole while, daring me to look away. I can't. I don't want to. So I fist her hair, just to have something to hold on to. She moans, and my control slips.

"Manon." I’m hoarse. "I'm close."

She takes me deeper instead, hollows her cheeks, drags one nail up the inside of my thigh, and the last shred of my composure evaporates. I come hard, down her throat, hips coming off the bed, her palm flat on my stomach holding me through it. She takes all of it. Every pulse and every drop while I grunt with pleasure. She swallows, her throat working around me until there's nothing left, and only then lets go of my shaft.

She sits back on her heels. Drags her thumb across her lower lip, catches what she missed, and licks it clean, watching me the entire time.

I stare at the ceiling until I can breathe again. This fucking woman ruined me this morning. Normally I'm the one that is awake first, five am sharp unless I’m working through the night. Then I watch her sleep. What the fuck happened to my routine?

"You didn’t set the alarm."

"I forgot. I woke up anyway and said your name, twice, but you looked cute sleeping." She reaches past me for the water.

"I don't remember that."

"You grunted and put your face in the pillow."

"I was relaxed and that happens rarely, but it's your fault so you should be proud of yourself." I get an arm round her and haul her down onto my chest before she starts getting on with her day, because I know how this goes—showered, gone, and elbow-deep in someone's chest across town by midday. She lands with a noise of complaint and lets me keep her there, which I don't take for granted. A year ago I'd have settled for the sound of her car driving off. I'm aware of the upgrade.

She smells like my soap. I put my mouth in her hair and decline to examine what that does to the lower part of my body, especially my cock, before the first expresso. I just came in her mouth, but that doesn’t matter.

"Stay," I tell her and it's not a question. Questions have never been my strength.

"I have a nine-hour list and a resident who has a history of fainting." She nuzzles her face in my neck. "One of us is useful to the living."

"I'm useful constantly. No complaints, no follow-up, never a phone call at two in the morning."

"You've found the one clientele that can't leave you." She chuckles at that. "It suits you."

That's closer to the bone than she knows, or exactly as close as she intends. "Low."

"Accurate, though."

I slide the strap of the thing she sleeps in off her shoulder, over the mark I gave her last night, and press my mouth to it. She tips her head to give me more of her throat. I take it slowly, savoring her, then I stop and just hold her, because there was a whole year I thought I'd never get to do this again.

“I see, Mrs. Novak.”

"Not currently married, incidentally." She props up on an elbow, her hair is a total catastrophe this morning, a crease from the pillow down one cheek. "There are signed pages, Laszlo. Several of them."

"Paperwork." I catch her hand and put my mouth to the inside of her wrist, where I can feel her pulse. "Signed pages I can live with. A divorce I can't un-sign, more's the pity. But I can marry you again by lunch, if you'll have me."