Your erotic stories

The alarm. Again. He had heard it now maybe twice before, and always at intervals of 10 minutes. Time just enough to fall back into dreaming--the plot continues but is now informed by that subliminal contingency of just 10 minutes more. Shit. Why don't she turn the fucking thing off?

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In the early grey light of dawn, my eyes travel over her as she sleeps, wispy strands of hair trace patterns on her cheek, a damp spot on the pillow, the saliva of slumber, freckled shoulders naked as the breaking day. We passed the point of turning back; hands held we crossed a bridge, felt its heat as it burnt in the darkness of the night lighting our future.

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