Warmth. Fingers brushing lightly along her arm. The wan light of the dawn piercing her eyelids, and finally, Patrick's voice, thick with sleep, in her ear.
"Morning."
She shivered. "That tickles. What are you doing?"
"Handwriting exercises," he said, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
She laughed into her pillow, remembering their teasing conversation the day before, and rolled to face him. "It's rather early for that, don't you think?"
His hand traveled down her side. "You said I needed practice," he said, tracing the curve of her hip through her nightdress. "You said that my handwriting needed improvement."
"Did I?" She kissed him almost leisurely, one hand creeping into his hair. She was by far no expert in this area, and she had no one to compare Patrick to, but improving things anymore seemed nearly impossible.
However, she wasn't about to object to, well…practicing. She tugged him closer and her hand slid down the soft cotton collar of his pajama top to undo the first button.
His fingers slipped under her nightdress and along the inside of her thigh in light, teasing strokes. "What are you writing?" she murmured, grinning against his lips. "Prescriptions?
"No." His hand moved higher and a wave of heat washed over her body. She gasped and pulled away, trying to gain some equilibrium, but it was difficult. The way Patrick stared at her made her feel like she wasn't wearing anything at all. He stared like he could see past all the layers of blankets, her nightdress and possibly even her skin, down to the desires she had kept secret for so long.
And he loved what he saw.
No need for hiding anymore, she thought, smiling. She lazily traced an "S" on his chest, marking him as hers, and undid a second button. "Letters?" A third and fourth button were easily undone, and she slipped her hand inside the pajama top, fingers brushing over warm skin. His eyes closed.
"Something like that," he said, his voice a husky whisper.
She pressed her lips to his neck in small, sweet kisses and his hands tightened around her waist. "To whom?" she breathed in his ear.
Suddenly she was on her back, Patrick looming over her, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress. "My wife," he growled before giving her a searing kiss. Shelagh responded in kind, opening to him, her tongue lightly stroking his as she ran both hands under his shirt to knead the muscles of his back and shoulders. Teasing Patrick could be fun, she thought as she wound one leg around his hip, but this…this was infinitely better.
But then he pulled away and sat up. She groaned at the loss of contact, tugging at his pajama top to bring him closer, and he smirked.
"Don't you want to know what's in them? The letters?" His fingers traveled a familiar path up her legs, tickling behind her knees, stroking the backs of her thighs.
Enough. She sat up, pulled her nightdress over her head and off in one swift motion and tossed it to the floor. "I think I can guess," she said as she wrapped herself around him. "I'm getting rather good at deciphering your terrible penmanship."