She had the power in the mornings. He was a slow riser, and that gave her time to prepare, lay in wa

She had the power in the mornings. He was a slow riser, and that gave her time to prepare, lay in wait and tip the deck in her favour. He’d stumble out of hte bedroom, blinking back sleep from his eyes, and she’d already be perfect; showered, dressed, beautiful. He’d still be him, of course, just a few dozen IQ points short of the normal. It was fun, to toy with him, enjoy some of that intensity that so characterised him dialled back a little, like the flame on a gas hob, dial pulled back a few notches. It still burned if she thrust her hand direclty into it, but she had a little more warning if she got too close. This morning she’d been particularly devious, only getting halfway to decent before deciding to stop. The tanktop was his, one of those loose flimsy tops he wore to run in the summer, chest hair thrusting over the neck of it. It put her in mind of Venice Beach, although she’d never been. On her it was almost graceful, suddenly shifting from sportswear to lingerie without too much of a mental leap. It dangled, falling loose in all the right places, and clinging to her where it mattered. He stepped into the kitchen, banging his hip on the counter and doing a clumsy pirouette as he did. The smirk on his face was entirely introspective, fading almost instantly on seeing her. “You’re up to something.” Even with reduced mental capacity, he was still quick. She bit her lip and grinned, the shrug rolling off her shoulders like a mumbled ‘Not Guilty’ in a courtroom. “Whatever gave you that idea?” The melody in her voice was another warning light, but his vision was too blurry to properly see it. She all but pranced over to him, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her hands found his chest, threading fingers through the hair. “You’re always up to something.” He didn’t have to continue, the fact was obvious enough. “But you’re up to a particular something. You’re not demure enough.” Definitions were malleable when he was like this, his vocabulary just as broad, just not as precisely utilised. “I have no idea what you’re on about. Coffee?” He arched a brow but nodded, one hand coming up to his chin, running fingers through the short hairs of his beard. She bounced away, grabbing a mug and handing it to him. He sipped, eyes narrrowed at her. He sipped again. He always slept naked, and rarely got dressed before breakfast. It was one of her favourite quirks, and she took full advantage of it. He enjoyed her leering, and she enjoyed the leer. Right now, though, it played more into her benefit than his. He started to stir. HIs eyebrow grew higher and he glanced down. “You drugged me.” He sounded almost surprised. “Maybe.” She was grinning. He could feel it throb, each pulse another nudge towards exercising the full extent of his dominance. “You are in a colossal amount of trouble.” Her grin grew a little more. “Mhm.” He set the coffee down, reached out and grabbed her wrist, spinning her around with it and pulling her arm tight around her back. “I am going to ruin you for this. You are going to be sore for days.” He forced each word into her ear, the vibrations of his voice running straight down her spine. She could only moan. -- source link
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