This was not his bed.  Definitely not.  For one thing, the linens smelled like lilies.  And, well, Anton just didn’t go down that lane.  But more importantly and noticeably, Licorice’s warm being wasn’t there, sleeping against his hip or leg.  And then he remembered where he was.  And then the lethally warm body spooning him reminded him of what he had already remembered.  Magdalene.<br/><br/>“You’re up,” she whispered.  Lying on his left side, a head-jerk toward her, and he asked, “How long you been lurking?”  She kissed his shoulder.  “Long enough to note the change in your breathing pattern.”  He rolled over and now lay on his back, as talking to her in the previous position was awkward and put a crimp in his neck.<br/><br/>“Good morning, Mr. Dynamo,” she cooed.  “I’ve been waiting for you to wake.  I’m quite eager for a, uh, repeat of last night’s fireworks.”  Gliding her hand up, down, and all around his chest, Anton interjected, “Yeah, well, had to have been your tacos, Mags.”  She winked at him while nibbling on his earlobe.  “Oooo, I’ll have to remember that.  Gonna keep you on a steady diet of my tacos then.  In the meantime, why don’t you have your way with my taco?  Again.”  She giggled, and he knew that look on her face.  He needed a quick out, and fast.<br/><br/>Magdalene, however, licked his right nipple and he flinched.  Blood was now in the water, and a lone shark was circling.  “Think I need a shower, Mags,” he muttered, while making a move to exit her bed.  “You’re not going anywhere,” she hissed, keeping him in his place.  “I’m ready, baby.”<br/><br/>Anton frowned, and just had to know.  “Ready?” he inquired.  “Oh yeah.  While you’ve been sleeping, I’ve been thinking.  And I’m ready.”  And just in case he required a drawn picture or something similar, she guided his right hand toward that sweet, sweet spot between her legs.  Feeling for himself her warmth and wetness did not do him any favors at this particular moment in time.  Her hand then smoothly slid inside of his boxer-briefs.  An arched brow, and she said, “I think somebody’s ready, too.”  Boxer-briefs expertly removed, she positioned herself on top of him, deftly inserting his hardness into her.<br/><br/>While Magdalene set her favored pace, she would occasionally smother her breasts into his face.  No surprise that she felt nothing short of fabulous, in all imaginable facets.  So why was it then, that Anton could only think of a certain redhead right now?