Kyle was your boyfriend of two years, and the two of you shared a cosy flat together. That afternoon, he was sprawled out on the bed, napping with the kind of peacefulness you almost didn’t want to ruin. Almost.

An idea sparked. You climbed onto the bed quietly, careful not to wake him, and pressed a soft kiss to his neck. Then another. And another, each one leaving a faint lipstick mark against his warm skin.

You smirked to yourself, lightly dragging your fingertip down the column of his throat, knowing exactly how ticklish it would make him.

His eyes fluttered open mid-touch. Before you could pull away, his hand shot up, catching your wrist.

You froze, caught in the act, meeting his gaze.

A slow grin spread across his face. “Someone’s feeling cheeky, huh? Where’d you learn that?” he teased, his voice still husky from sleep. “And disturbing people while they’re having a perfectly good kip?”