The morning light spilled through the curtains, warm and golden, wrapping
their kitchen in a soft hush. She sat at the table, legs crossed, fingers curled
around her favorite ceramic mug — still empty. Her eyes followed him as he moved
about the kitchen, shirtless, casual, but with a certain deliberateness in his step.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, smirking just enough. "You want it how
you always do?" he asked, voice low, teasing. She tilted her head, her smile
slow and knowing. "You know exactly how I like it." He approached, cradling the
delicate ritual like a gift only the two of them understood — a secret language written
in glances, gestures, years of trust. The act was outrageous, absurd to anyone
else. But to them, it was devotion. Bold. Tender. Ridiculous. Beautiful. When he
placed the mug before her, she looked down into it like it held the universe. “Made
with love,” he said. She met his eyes and lifted it to her lips, reverent,
amused, a little breathless. “Always.” She sipped slowly, deliberately, letting the
warmth slide over her tongue like a secret only they shared. Her eyes fluttered
closed for just a moment — not from the taste, but from the way he was watching her.
Devotion in his gaze, ridiculous and sincere. “You spoil me,” she murmured, setting
the mug down with a soft clink. “I worship you,” he replied, stepping closer.
“In my own... unconventional ways.” She laughed — the kind of laugh that only
comes from years of knowing someone inside out. “Unconventional is an
understatement. But I wouldn’t change a thing.” He knelt beside her chair, resting his head
lightly against her thigh, like a man in prayer. “I love how nothing shocks you
anymore.”
their kitchen in a soft hush. She sat at the table, legs crossed, fingers curled
around her favorite ceramic mug — still empty. Her eyes followed him as he moved
about the kitchen, shirtless, casual, but with a certain deliberateness in his step.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, smirking just enough. "You want it how
you always do?" he asked, voice low, teasing. She tilted her head, her smile
slow and knowing. "You know exactly how I like it." He approached, cradling the
delicate ritual like a gift only the two of them understood — a secret language written
in glances, gestures, years of trust. The act was outrageous, absurd to anyone
else. But to them, it was devotion. Bold. Tender. Ridiculous. Beautiful. When he
placed the mug before her, she looked down into it like it held the universe. “Made
with love,” he said. She met his eyes and lifted it to her lips, reverent,
amused, a little breathless. “Always.” She sipped slowly, deliberately, letting the
warmth slide over her tongue like a secret only they shared. Her eyes fluttered
closed for just a moment — not from the taste, but from the way he was watching her.
Devotion in his gaze, ridiculous and sincere. “You spoil me,” she murmured, setting
the mug down with a soft clink. “I worship you,” he replied, stepping closer.
“In my own... unconventional ways.” She laughed — the kind of laugh that only
comes from years of knowing someone inside out. “Unconventional is an
understatement. But I wouldn’t change a thing.” He knelt beside her chair, resting his head
lightly against her thigh, like a man in prayer. “I love how nothing shocks you
anymore.”
