She woke the next morning on the floor beside his bed. Her sleep had been bad; uncomfortable, slightly cold, and she had learnt that Sir snored on and off, loud enough to wake her repeatedly. She hated knowing that she was going to be tired through what promised to be a long, difficult day, but she was somehow still incredibly turned on at his making her sleep on the floor. He had slept through the night on a nice mattress, wrapped in blankets; she had rested fitfully on a thin carpet over hard floorboards. It was so completely unfair, and she seemed to eroticise his unfairness more each time she saw him.