I woke up several times last night, so when I finally got up for good I was late and kind of groggy. How I wish I’d woken up in Logan’s arms. How I wish he would have smoothed his lovely cock into my honey-filled cunt. How I wish we would have fucked long and slow until we climaxed together. Then we could have had a little nap and a giggly shower before breakfast.

I had to settle for a quick and lonely cup of coffee.

Day’s done. I don’t have much energy. Not enough coffee? Here’s why.

If someone were watching me on the toilet with the coffee and then wrote about it, maybe it would go like this:

For whatever reason, Faith fails to record the finish of her morning cup of coffee. The spill, a slow drizzle, wends its way down Faith’s firm tummy, coasts the pudgy pubic mound, and seeps into the small crease of clit and cunt, where the caffeinated moisture meets the tip of Faith’s middle finger, lifting up, up, up, again and again, along the small but decidedly erect bud of excited clitoris, until finally it is Faith herself who spills.

Succumbing to orgasm, Faith slumps, sighs, and sighs again. Unless she really gets herself going, she’s going to be late for work.

I did get myself going and I wasn’t late for work, not that it would have mattered. I miss Logan. What’s the point of coming home if he’s not here?