I woke up to the best alarm clock in the world.
Wet heat engulfed me, warm and insistent, pulling me from the haze of sleep with all the subtlety of a freight train. My eyes snapped open, brain struggling to catch up with what my body already knew.
Someone was under the covers. Someone was very, very busy.
I lifted the blanket and looked down. Skylar's indigo hair was a disaster zone, tangled and wild from last night's activities. Her mascara had migrated halfway down her cheeks, giving her raccoon eyes that somehow made her look more beautiful. Her lips were stretched around me, cheeks hollowed as she worked with a focus that bordered on religious fervor.
She wasn't doing this because she wanted to wake me up nicely.
She was doing this because she needed to.
