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Dalliance (Courfeyrac): August, 1829
This is luxury: waking in a haze of golden light, bathed in warmth, with Christophe's solid, sleepy presence at my back. The curtains are still drawn, so that it takes me a moment to realize that it's morning. Afterimages of the night's pleasure play over my skin. I haven't slept so well in a year. I stretch a little, rousing Christophe, who nuzzles the back of my neck drowsily. "Morning." "Morning, yourself. God, I'm comfortable." This is an understatement. I am giving serious consideration to staying here all day. "Are you?" I can see his smirk -- lazy, smug, devious -- as clearly as if I were facing him. "How nice." "It is, at that. And you're plotting to make me less so, aren't you?" "Whyever would I do that?" Christophe shifts slightly under the covers to run a hand down my side, in a manner calculated to make me squirm. Which it does. "Mmm. Why are you so irresistible, you lout?" "To make your life difficult, mon Aimé." "I thought so." He chuckles, pleased with himself, and I abandon my blissful cocoon of blankets to turn and kiss him.
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