Day 1 —Select a book at random in the room.  Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.  

(Good thing I bought William Gibson's zero history at the Dollar Tree yesterday because the only other book I own is House of Leaves and I don't want the last line spoiled for that.)

She wakes beside Garreth's slow breathing, in their darkened room, the sheets against her skin.

The light, still and far away, coming between the Venetian blinds of their room whispers of civilization, peeking into their nest on the rustic grounds of their summer getaway.  The LEDs in the clock glow dimly, the only proof that electricity flows to their bungalow.  Salt air comes manages to come through the filters of the air conditioner and the not-unpleasant smell of the sea comes with it.  She knows that this smell is actually the smell of death, a steady decay of crustaceans from the night fisherman, but she doesn't care.  Her concern is her bliss and how Garreth's skin reacts to her hot breath in this humid climate, tensing slightly with each exhale and relaxing on its reprieve.

She looks at Garreth and smiles.  Garreth is perfect in her eyes and she slinks backwards out of bed, keeping her eyes on her lover.  She feels the sheets move over her back as her feet touch the floor and she pours herself out of bed, letting Garreth's arm move across her in an conscious and uncontrolled caress she steals from Garreth's fingertips.  When Garreth's hand is on her neck, she pushes her neck down into the mattress and pulls back so slowly, impossibly slowly, trying not to wake or disturb her lover, until finally Garreth's hand transitions without pause or interruption to the satin sheets with the rest of Garreth's body.

(At this point my wife licked me and I was unable to continue writing)