I have a snippet of The Sorcerer's Guardian for you today. Savarin and Loriot were sent on a journey by the prince, during which they irritated each other and eventually fell into bed, with the agreement that their affair would last only until they returned home. They arrived back home at the end of their journey late at night, and spent what remained of the night at Savarin's house. This scene takes place early the next morning. (I went a little over six sentences this week—sorry!)
An arm snaked around his waist and a firm body pressed against his back. Loriot stiffened but then immediately relaxed back into Savarin, letting himself enjoy the contact.
“Why are you awake?” Savarin asked, his voice sleep-roughened. “It’s too early after such a late night.”
“I’m too used to waking early.” A pang of regret tightened his insides. If he’d gone home last night, he would have been woken up with Alain bounding into his room to welcome him home. He should have gone home. What was the point of spending one last night with Savarin, as enjoyable as it had been, when this—whatever this was—was about to end and he had a child at home waiting for him?