His shirt breathed of her inner thigh and perfume of the night holding the breath of his lungs, as he thought back on her. Beginning the day was love's hangover, the last taste of the dance in the sheets the night before, tirelessly romanticized between thoughts of the day ahead chasing his dreams out of his head that still lay on the stain of his lips. A gorgeously laden championship that caught a reflection on his body in the full length mirror on his way to the powder room. Sexy. The only thing bellowing from his tired body, talk that whispered to him trying to persuade him back into the covers, rumors and secrets caught up in his bedroom eyes with chagrin, charges that he was only known for one nighters. This affair had now turned into a year past and a lot of sex.Once more past the full length mirror, only to catch his cascading steps and another hidden moment of pleasure before his exit. Enticing as it was, the challenge to recreate the passion of an evening's moments embrace of the night before cursing him. Damn.If that's what gets you through. It was like being an addict of his own choosing.

This morning he couldn't set his thoughts aside to concentrate on his other obligations, only to put up a charade hiding behind his shades pretending everything today was less than feminine.
Feminine was the taste and touch still holding on with her fingertips still running up the side his legs past his spine and the nipples of his breast, where his heart was held in her hands it seemed like love, felt like a love hangover. A bruised, jealous interruption that was departing his appetite for another body. Tonight he would return and she would be there,  I feel.