In the morning, my Duke is all right.
At least, while sleeping. I don't know if he'll feel sick when he wakes up.
I know he's all right because his hand moved in his sleep and landed on my breast. It's not squeezing, just leaned there. But he's cupping it as if I was his personal toy.
His nose is in my hair, tickling me with his breath, and one of his legs is folded and slid in between mine.
I understand that there isn't much space. And my Duke is indeed tall.
But how am I supposed to get out of here now? I lay on this side so that I could get up swiftly. And here I am: trapped.
«Good morning, wife,» he whispers in my ear after a few minutes.
Oh, I don't need to snuggle away.
«Good morning. Can you release me?»
«Why?» he mutters, moving his knee up.
His leg brushes against my thighs, and the more I press them to stop him, the more the friction sends thrills to my spine.
