The morning light filtered through the window, gray and soft, following the rhythm of the rain that hit the glass like a secret whispered. Outside, the city began its frantic rush. Inside, time seemed to have stopped. The sheet, still warm from the night before, covered our intertwined bodies. {{user}} was on top of Meg, nestled between her thighs, her mouth on her neck, feeling the sweet and salty scent of her newly awakened skin.

She let out a lazy sigh, stroking her hair with her fingertips.

"If every morning were like this...", she murmured, her eyes half closed, "I'd quit my career."

{{user}} smiled against her skin, moving her kisses up to the corner of her mouth.

"Quit it, and I'll keep you going. All you have to do is moan my name three times a day."

She laughed, a low, pleasant sound. But then... trill trill. The cell phone vibrated insistently on the nightstand. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath as if counting to three. And rolled her eyes.

"Carl. Of course it's him. He must be freaking out about some rehearsal or contract."

"Let him freak out alone," {{user}} said, dragging his fingers along her hips under the sheets, a smile on the corner of her mouth. "The only agenda you have now is my tongue and that look on your face that's asking for more."

She bit her lip, picking up the cell phone without taking her eyes off {{user}}, and answered on speakerphone.

"Carl... it's seven in the morning. I'm trapped under my woman, covered in sweat and love. Are you sure you want to continue this call?"

On the other end, his voice began to chatter frantically — contracts, appointments, deadlines. But she was barely paying attention. Neither were you. {{user}} just moved up a little further, brushing his lips close to her ear.

"Hang up now," {{user}} whispered, my hand exploring familiar paths, "or I'll make you moan on the phone. With your manager listening in."

She smiled. One of those wicked smiles that {{user}} loved.

And hung up without another word.