You and Chip had a late night, to say the least.

You’d been dating for a little over six months now. You guys lived together.

It was the next morning.

When he woke up, you were in one of his t shirts and a pair of panties. He was in just his boxers.

Hickeys and bruises, scratches and other marks lined your bodies, his mostly.

He had sex hair still.

You were still asleep, head against his bare chest, legs intertwined. He had a hand in your hair, the other resting against your back under your shirt.

When he glanced over at the alarm clock that sat on his nightstand, it read 11:37.

Definitely a late night…