quick breakfast

I really must have been exhausted because you wake starving hungry and there’s no scent of cooking in the air.

This Airbnb is going to get a terrible review.

Your roll onto your back makes the poor abused bed creak and wakes me too. I blink sleep out of my eyes and you get to watch my expression as yesterday spools past my eyes: shock, lust, bashfulness, adoration.

“Good morning, my dear—”

“Starving,” you say swiftly, with a smirk on your face. “But I think you already know that. Good morning.”

“Bugger, I should have set an alarm.” Joints click as I stretch massively. “Was so exhausted! You must be tired, too…”

“Hmm, not so bad.” You slap your belly. Ripples dance up and down your form and are, like the girl who added to them, absorbed by it. “I ate and slept well.”

Your gesture has me turn to you. This is how big you are, now: when I want to rub your belly, I have to reach up. An introductory circle reveals that the skin is no longer sensitive from the ropes. An answering rumble reminds me you did say you were starving.

Your gaze moves from your belly to me and I am already moving. I love you and I treasure the fact that sometimes I just have to act in order to postpone the day you will simply decide to consume me. Today I take initiative by rolling to my knees and digging the heels of both palms into your gravity-smooth dome of a belly. Another gurgle from lower down emphasises that this is a temporary solution; but the moan tells me you wanted it.

“I think you’re bigger this morning,” I say, moulding your tummy like silly putty with twin strokes from abdomen to tits. “I think she lives here, now.” My hands clap on the gorgeous puddling at your flanks where gravity pulls your belly down to the bed.

“Wishful thinking…” you say, but wistfully. Maybe you like the idea of particular prey going particular places. “But Andrew… you know I’m completely empty. What are we going to do about this? Do you think today was a good day for a lie-in?” Your over-sweet smile has daggers in it.

“You’re right,” I concede, leaning down to kiss your belly just above your navel. “But don’t worry. I will have something for you in ten minutes—

“Something warm,” you say, that grin not moving. I stare at your fangs as you speak. “If you bring me cereal I’ll get something warm anyway.”

“Par-baked croissants and pains aux chocolates,” I say quickly, unaware that I’m still staring. “Already laid out on baking trays. Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes.” You take my hand closest to you and kiss the wrist without breaking eye contact. My attempt to control the situation cracks wide open. You practically make me blush. “Don’t make me come looking for you…”

You hold me there… and the instant you let me go I’m in motion, grabbing a dressing gown and slipping into it as I sprint down the stairs.

As I’m banging around in the kitchen I figure out why you didn’t bite: you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself.

Next time I’ll set a breakfast alarm.