Quentin rose with the arrival of the sun, as he so often did (except perhaps in the depths of winter, where that would cost him too many hours) The thick curtains were left drawn throughout the night so that when dawn broke and the soft light of the street lamps several floors below was replaced by the rather harsher rays, it snapped him into instant wakefulness. The first thing he noticed was the weight down near his feet, which - after a couple of blinks to clear the sleep from his eyes - resolved itself to be Zoey. As he shuffled up in his bed to use the thick pillows as a support for his back, his eyes flickered to her chest and the white, waxen sheet clinging to it. In some places it had fallen so thick that it was forming small mounds of it; in others it was just a few specks that'd spattered across her skin, and he knew these would be the more shocking and painful of them. Still... She had been diligent.<br/><br/>His foot bucked, and though she wasn't lying *on* it the bed was disturbed enough to grab her attention. It was accompanied by an annoyed little hiss that made it entirely clearly he demanded her attention, regardless of how well she'd been sleeping. At least he wasn't angry, yet. "Get up here, girl. I would have your tits on my chest, your arse in my hands and your lips awaiting the attention of my own." And, according to his tone, he would have them immediately. "How was your candle last night? As you going to play nicely today, slave?"<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>