"Nothing this pretty could be real."

So damn tired this morning. My head was too heavy to lift off the pillow, yet I struggled up and into my slippers. Our son was already at the table, clinking his spoon in the cereal bowl and making my brain convulse in its un-caffienated state.

"Morning Mom." No a bright smile, no singsongy voice. He's not a morning person either. Yet there we were.

The dog happy-danced at the back door when my Hubby returned home from his third shift job. He occupied my Dell for awhile, and our daughter Kat straggled from her room. She's grumpy too, but, that's nothing new. Then, Hubby took our boy to school and Kat lost herself in the traumatic world of Animal Planet.

Hubby returned home and got into bed. The dog jumped up on one side and I slipped in behind him on the other.

That pillow felt so good against my head, the bed cozy and welcoming. Hips to hips, knees pressed to knees, nestled as tight as spoons -- the only barrier between the flesh was a layer of pajama. I ran my fingers through the hair on his chest, leaned my face closer to smell the warmth rising from his bare shoulder. I love that curve where the neck becomes the shoulder, that long lean muscle. So ready to support my tired head. So strong and resistant to tears. So perfect to bite in a heated moment.

Bite. My mind swum in a swell of heat. My jaws ached. If teeth could yearn, mine yearned for his flesh. That muscle would fit so well between my canines...

Nothing vicious. No blood. Just bite...

I leaned closer still, my nose tickeld by the fine hairs on his skin. My jaw trembled. I closed my eyes, his warmth the only sensation other than the pounding of my heart. Desire burned me.

I pressed my lips to that curve, yet retained the teeth for some other moment. Some moment when he might be awake enough to enjoy my bite.