Liam slept badly that night. He tossed and turned, staring up at the ceiling in the dim moonlight.
He turned to Eva. She was sleeping peacefully, facing him. Her hair had fallen across her face, making it seem as if she were secretly watching him, hiding her gaze behind the strands.

Liam gently brushed the hair from her face and kissed her lips, so softly she wouldn’t wake.

Soundlessly, with only his lips, he whispered:
“Writing erotica… Maybe it’s the only thing I’m good at.”

He looked at Eva once more, a faint smile on his lips, and closed his eyes.

     In the morning, Eva stepped out of the shower, wrapped in her favorite kitten-print towel — the one Liam teasingly called her “kitty.” She caught the scent of coffee — not the homemade kind.

She turned toward the bed. On the nightstand sat two paper cups and a neat little box with a red stamp: Elite Taste.

“Liam…?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the box.
“Liiiii-am…?” she repeated, finally mustering the courage to turn around.

Liam was sitting in the armchair in the middle of the room, wearing a radiant, slightly guilty smile.

“I wrote the first chapter of my erotic novel,” he announced enthusiastically. “And there’s a new scene…”

Eva silently pointed at the box. She remembered how he’d mentioned that exact pastry all week,  every time the topic of money for treatment came up.

“You inspired me,” Liam said, opening his laptop. “Listen…”

He began to read:
“Lana was sitting in a coffee shop with her best friend, Marina. They were finishing their cappuccinos.”

“‘And then he says…’” Liam tried to mimic a woman’s voice. “‘Take your phone and take a selfie!’ Lana said.”
“‘What?!’ Marina was shocked. ‘He was going down on her at the time!’”

Liam glanced at Eva, closed the laptop, and, still smiling, began to approach her slowly, speaking the next lines with each step:
“Marina blushed. An image formed in her mind… But instead of Lana, she saw herself. It wasn’t envy. It was desire…”

He reached Eva and kissed her greedily, passionately, cupping her face in his palms.
Breaking away, he led her backward toward the bedroom, still whispering:
“Marina wasn’t listening to Lana anymore. She was drowning in her fantasies…”

He led Eva to the bed and unwrapped the towel from her body, a body that didn’t just arouse him; it flared inside him like a solar storm.

He sat her down, picked up the cream-filled pastry, delicate, sweet, her favorite, and held it out to her.

Eva was breathing heavily. Liam handed her the phone, leaned in, and whispered in her ear:
“Right before you’re about to peak – take a selfie.”

He began to kiss her, her neck, her breasts, moving lower and lower toward her legs, spreading them slightly.

Eva bit into the pastry. The flavor spread over her tongue; the soft dough melted in her mouth.
Her body responded with a shiver. Quiet, drawn-out “mmms” escaped her, alternating with short gasps and broken ah… sounds.

Nearly dropping the phone, she remembered why it was in her hand. She turned on the camera, tried to take a picture, but her fingers were trembling. Her other hand clutched the pastry.
A click. Then another. And another…
The phone had already slipped onto the bed, but her finger kept tapping the shutter.

“‘And then he made me post the selfie across all my socials with the hashtag #SweetMorning,’” Liam said, mimicking the woman’s voice again.

“You should post yours, too,” he added in his own voice, with a slight smile.

“Liam… you… you’re unbelievable!” Eva said, struggling to find the words. “I will never forget this pastry.”

She scrolled through the photos. Out of eleven, only one was usable: her, with a faint, barely perceptible smile, and the pastry. The rest were blurred, aimed at the ceiling, or just black screens.

“Post it,” Liam nodded, still smiling.

“But it’s… intimate.”
“It’s just you and the pastry.”

Eva looked at the photo again.
It showed her face, full of pleasure. Real. Unguarded.
The kind of pleasure everyone who had ever doubted sensuality needed to see.

She posted the picture to all her social media with the required hashtag.

“Now every time you look at that photo…” Liam said, gazing out the window, “you’ll remember. Maybe my readers will, too. Soon #SweetMorning will be the most popular hashtag. Everyone deserves passion like this.”

Eva laughed and wrapped the towel around herself again.
“You’ve got some Napoleonic ambitions,” she smiled. “You even splurged on my favorite pastry.”

“Consider it an investment in my craft,” Liam chuckled.

“Great,” she said, covering herself and moving closer. “I’ll be sure to remind you of this ‘investment’ the next time your card gets declined at the pharmacy.”

She meant it as a joke, but something else appeared in her gaze — a softness, a warmth.
She walked up and hugged him from behind.

“But if you really do become a famous writer… because of these ‘pastries’…”
“I’d be willing to have another. With a sweet filling.”

“And the hashtag?”
“Definitely. So everyone knows what a #SweetMorning looks like when you’re loved.”