I woke up this morning to find Ben's head between my thighs. I could think of worse ways to begin a day, frankly, and after a brief struggle in which I implored him to investigate for himself precisely how much stubble burns sensitive skin, I gave in, or rather, he continued to hold me down sufficiently to accomplish his purpose.
Nothing better than a man with a purpose.
I actually had something like five purposes before he let me up again and then he surprised me with the news that he's home until hopefully Wednesday, and that if he has his way we'll spend Christmas just. like. this.
Santa always gives me exactly what I ask him for.
Two hours later Ben went out to pick up the toffee syrup I put in my coffee that I love so much and usually deny myself, all of the mail that's been piling up at the miniature post office that he has to duck to stand inside, and some bakery-baked cake, because Lochlan ate that piece the other day and I'm still surprised it wasn't poisoned or cursed or somehow hexed.
Ben is home again and has made another pot of coffee, warmed up some cake, hit the button on the wall to start the fire and and grabbed the blanket from the library. He's made a nest for us in the living room on the couch and I'm not leaving it until he leaves it first so if you need me I'll be right here.