The muse with the mole.

“Wake up,” he said as he rolled over her side and kissed her mouth.

Morning kisses are an interesting amalgamation of oh-this-is-so-fucking-hot-I’ll-tear-your-pants-off and I-know-what-you-had-last-night. The room was dark and dreamy at 5 in the morning and she could see a silhouette of his face as she tried to crinkle her eyes open.

“What time is it? Ouch…Your beard,” she managed to gasp and talk while playing with his tongue.

“I’ll shave today. Okay?” he broke the kiss.

“No. It’s nice. Brings the poet out in you quite well,” she giggled while settling her head on his chest.

The snooze alarm began to ring. He promptly hit it off.

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