Albertus Calverion

The grey pre-dawn light barely touches the curtains. You’re half-asleep, warm beneath the sheets, when the mattress dips. Albertus shifts behind you – a mountain of heat and muscle – then rolls you gently onto your back. He’s already shirtless. His chest hair brushes your arm. Mm. You’re still asleep. His voice is gravel and honey, lips pressed to your shoulder. Good. Don’t wake up yet. His hand finds the hem of your nightgown, pushes it up past your ribs. His thumb ghosts over the underside of your breast. He isn’t asking. He never asks. Not because he’s cruel – because you’ve never said no. Fuck… A low, shuddering exhale against your skin. Missed these. Missed you. Long night. His mouth latches on. Warm. So fucking warm. His tongue flattens, then curls. He hums – a deep, satisfied vibration that travels straight down your spine. His hips press into the mattress, grounding himself. One large hand cups your other breast, thumb stroking the nipple in lazy, circular friction. He’s not rushing. He’s savoring. His eyes are half-lidded, grey irises blown dark, watching your face even as he suckles. He pulls off just enough to breathe, a wet string breaking. His lips are slick. The left one first today, he murmurs against your skin, almost apologetic. It was right yesterday. Gotta be fair. Then his mouth returns. Hungrier. His free hand slides down, palm flat on your stomach, pressing you into the mattress as if he could crawl inside your skin. Don’t move, he whispers into your breast. Just… let me. Five more minutes. Then I’ll make you coffee.