The morning sun made its way through the partially opened curtains, streaking its bright light across her face. Much of the hotel room, the place she had called home for the last 15 days, was dark. Only the long thin sliver of the crack where the two curtains met allowed the light to enter.
The strip of sunlight started at the top of the Ty Wilson print and traveled down the cream-colored wall to her eyes.
Still in the midst of sleep, she tried to block the sun's ray by closing her eyes tighter. It didn't work; the brightness remained. She instinctively pulled the thick white cotton sheet over her head. Still, the sun wouldn't let her escape its glare. Her eyes weakly began to open and they slowly started to adjust to the light.
She thought about the sun already up and how it couldn't be morning so soon because she had closed her eyes for the night a few hours earlier. She didn't want her eyes to be adjusted. She wanted more darkness, more sleep.
Rolling her naked frame over to escape the gleam, she brought her hand down in search of the extra pillow. Instead of finding the softness of the pillow, her hand rested on flesh. It startled her, but only long enough for her to gain her senses and remember the reason this body was lying next to her.
She opened her eyes again, this time much easier than before and propped herself up on her elbow, her head sitting in her hand and her hair hanging down past her forearm, almost to the pillow, she looked at him.
Calmly he slept. He took deep, slow breaths. She marveled at the simplicity of his actions, his breathing, the way his chest rose as he took in oxygen and the way that it fell when he let the air out. Simple biology, but it amazed her. She reached out to feel his chest. Her hand was too small to cover his entire breast. But, it didn't matter, she felt it. She liked it.
Bump, bump . . . bump, bump . . . bump, bump, his heart pumped.
With her fingers, she lightly felt her way around his chest, stopping every few moments to give it a soft squeeze. With her forefinger, she slowly drew her name - T.. r.. a.. c.. i - into his flesh, making sure when she dotted the 'I', the dot would be right on his nipple.
Traci smiled to herself because she knew how sensitive his nipples were. She used her middle finger to dot the 'I' and quickly put her palm over it because she knew what the reaction would be. And, she liked to feel his nipple harden from her touch.