Sylusfruitss

he loved you, you loved him; there was no doubt about it.

however, you sometimes wondered how comfortable he actually was with kisses, hugs and more intimate displays of affection, since he hadn't been very lovey-dovey before.

the most he'd do was to take your hand or wrap his arm around your waist, maybe a little kiss on the top of your head from time to time, but that was it.

that's why you never dared attacking him with your love, especially not in public, as you were afraid of making him uncomfortable.

nonetheless, after some days of not seeing him because of work and other responsibilities, you decided to pay him a surprise visit.

you patiently waited at his office, looking around, tracing his desk with your finger, his files, the candy wrappers and empty pastry boxes, and his coat hanging next to the door.

it had his scent, and you briefly pressed your nose against the fabric.

you wished you could hug him right now.

you paced around a little bit more, until his footsteps approached, and he came in, looking exhausted.

you perked up with a soft smile, as soft as his gaze when it landed on you.

he returned your smile and took some shaky steps forward, seemingly about to collapse.

you managed to outstretch your arms for him, and before you knew it, zayne was holding onto you for dear life, his tall body curling against yours.

he cradled your head, inhaled your familiar perfume, and pressed a soft kiss on the very same spot he always kissed.

a greeting, nothing more.

however, when he leaned back to look at you, his hands found your cheeks.

his eyes were about to close, his cheeks had markings from the face mask he wore for, presumably, hours and hours, and his skin was a little bit paler.

he nuzzled your nose with the little bit of strength he had left, lips meeting yours.

again, and again…

and again, and again, and again, until your eyes started getting wider.

he held you even closer, he softly grunted between kisses; whined, even, desperately clutching your cheeks to prolong your proximity.

maybe the exhaustion made him affectionate.

or maybe he was trying to let out all of the sugar he ate and the sweetness inside his body by being as affectionate as a little kitten.

his eyes met yours; and he refused to blink so as not to stop seeing you.

“home…”

he whispered.

it wasn't clear if he was asking to go home with you, or if he was talking about you.

either way, you wasted no time helping him out of his lab coat, so he could clock out without further ado.

sleepy and tired zayne was a nuzzling little beast in comparison to the soft yet cold little snowflake he usually acted like.

you wondered if he would dare do something like that if he was aware and fully conscious, and, thankfully, your doubts didn't last much.

after taking a well-deserved break, both you and zayne woke up at the same time the next morning.

he woke up to the sound of your alarm, you woke up with tiny smooches all over your face.

zayne was fully awake, eyes closed as he pressed soft kisses around your cheeks, your jawline and your neck. his hands drew circles on your waist, and he rubbed the tip of his nose against your skin.

there wasn't a single inch of his body that wasn't close to yours.

he craved your warmth, he craved your comforting presence, he craved the taste of your skin and that particular mix of your natural scent and the fragrance of clean bedsheets.

you couldn't believe your eyes, nor the intimacy of the moment.

you remained totally still, scared of startling him and making him back away, but it was hard not to squirm when his breath tickled your ear, and his lips suckled softly on your skin, creating subtle marks you never expected to get from him.

your heart was racing, your hands were itching to hold him, caress his hair and motivate him to keep going, but you would have hated yourself if you were to burst this loving bubble.

by the time he stopped, his skin was flushed, and his expression turned to one of shame.

“have i awoken you?”

you couldn't lie to that blushy-mushy pretty face.

but you didn't want to make him feel bad, either.

“no, i heard the alarm… your kisses were nice, though.”

he got as red as a cherry, yet instead of pulling away, he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

he, again, nuzzled your skin like a soothing habit of his, his strong arms caressing your sides up and down rhythmically.

“it feels good,” he whispered, making you look down.

“what does, zaynie?”

he shifted slightly, his hazel eyes meeting yours again.

“being this close, kissing you, feeling you…”

his voice trailed off, and he contemplated his words, most likely trying to formulate a difficult question or to get something off his chest.

“may i do it more?”

your heart skipped a bit at his hopeful tone.

how long had he been meaning to ask?

did this mean he'd been waiting for your consent to fully unleash this side of him?

you had way more questions than answers by now, but you were pulled back to reality when he shifted away.

“it is okay if you do not want—”

a squeak fell from your lips as you pulled him closer, eyes narrowed.

“you may! i do want it, please!”

your voice was way more eager than you anticipated, but you didn't care.

you wanted him to feel free to have these outbursts, no matter if they happened once every full moon.

he had your entire consent to be as affectionate in public, in private, when sad, when needy, when happy, when… when anything!

and you knew neither of you would grow used to it; he wouldn't stop blushing after kissing you, no matter if he did it a hundred times, and your heart wouldn't ever beat normally after one of his outbursts, no matter if they happened every day.

his lips met yours in a long, lingering kiss, and he stayed like that with you for more minutes than he should have, given he had another shift to face.

you didn't know if he would ever gain enough confidence to act like this in public, but you did know that, no matter what, you would gratefully quietly accept, encourage and cherish every little kiss and nuzzle that broke through his “icy” walls.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

gosh, he is so pretty.

his side profile, his beaky lips, his sharp jawline, his nose…

the more you look at him, the more you feel like kissing him until he can't breathe.

but, of course, a long, lingering, passionate kiss wouldn't be enough.

not even close.

you need to give him thousands of kisses; one for each happy moment with him, one for each thing you liked about him, one for each kiss he's given you, one for each time he's made you feel good…

and, if your math was mathing, sylus was about to get a million unexpected kisses from your eager lips.

you had to admit it was a bit difficult to trick the man who could read you like a book, but you knew it wasn't impossible; not if you did it when he least expected it.

while he was sleeping.

he has the instincts of a predator, so he never truly rests like a log, unless you're safe in his arms.

but since he left you awake and running around, —because it's quite literally midday— he's alert in case something happens.

you enter the bedroom with quiet footsteps, trying your best not to disturb him much. however, as soon as you take in his sleepy face, your eagerness to kiss him skyrockets.

mouth wide open, eyebrows knitting together, soft snores escaping his lips…

you need to squeak, to take pictures on your phone, yet instead, you carefully sit by his side, gentle hands finding his cheeks.

you prevent him from moving much by cupping his face, and when you lean down, a pair of crimson eyes meet yours in seconds.

shit.

before he can even speak, you rush to kiss him over and over again, your lips frantically meeting his not once, not twice, but thousands of times per second.

you attack his lower lip, his cheeks, the tip of his prominent nose, his eyelids, which are now closed, between his eyebrows…

your speed is truly outstanding; so much so that sylus can't tell where you'll be heading next.

he isn't even fully awake yet, mind you, so you're unconsciously forcing him to process your kiss frenzy with half his brain still asleep.

your kisses become slower, longer, louder.

wet “mwahs” fall from your lips as you linger on all those places you love.

your hands find his hair, your legs straddle him, and sylus has no other choice but to hold you close.

just when you start to think you couldn't be more elated and lost in love, you hear the most precious, rich, velvety sound ever.

his chuckles, and… was that a giggle?

your heart briefly stops beating, but there's no time to stop.

not when he just fueled your love meter with such a cute, genuine reaction.

he fully gave in; he didn't try to pin you down, he didn't try to kiss you back, he was fully succumbing to you and your sudden love attack, thanking you quietly for each kiss.

you end up panting, with a gleeful expression and the brightest of smiles adorning your face. his face glistens with a bit of saliva from those long smooches you gave him, and his cheeks are tainted with the faintest of reds.

it makes his face look even prettier.

his eyes are crinkled up with nothing but adoration, and a few chuckles leave his lips as he sees you struggling to keep to yourself.

you just love him that much; you're practically vibrating.

he is about to speak, probably to ask if you are done, but your lips find his again, answering his unasked question.

after all, you mentally prepared yourself to give him a million kisses; and you weren't even halfway there.~

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary; fingers quickly moving around the keyboard, gaze occasionally traveling to the files perfectly organized over his desk, a small pause to take out some candy from his left bottom drawer…

it was what you usually saw him do whenever you came to visit him during work hours, yet it ignited something primal in you.

the urge to squeeze him, to hold him, to kiss him.

call it cute aggression, call it love levels overflowing; you didn't know what it was, but it was strong, numbing your senses and awakening your loving instincts.

you shifted in your seat, staring at him like a creep, until he met your gaze with a questioning look.

you didn't even register what he asked, because, despite yourself and your self-control, your mind was filled with all the different places you could kiss your amazing boyfriend, and how many kisses it would take to make him melt.

his lips were moving; you weren't listening.

he tilted his head; you tilted yours.

he waved his hand to get your attention; you stood up, walking to him with a purposeful stride.

your hands flew to his cheeks, and it was obvious just how confused zayne was, because he blinked curiously, staring at you as if you were growing a third eye.

his lips parted as he, obviously, needed to ask what was happening, but you silenced him with a long, loving kiss.

he closed his eyes automatically, his hands gently resting on your waist as he pulled you closer, thinking it was just a cute, sudden gesture.

oh, how mistaken he was.

as soon as he pulled you close, you sat on his lap, your inner kissing beast fully unleashed now.

kisses on his lips, all over his cheeks, the bridge and tip of his nose, his forehead, his ears, his neck.

there was not a single inch of skin you didn't reach with your eager lips, and there was also not a single word to describe how zayne was feeling right now.

he shook his head in disbelief; then he tried pulling away to make sure you weren't going crazy.

after all, you knew he had to work, and you usually respected his schedule.

however, you kept going and going, kissing your man, because, at the end of the day, you had the right to, and you needed to pamper him so badly.

the minutes went by, his work now forgotten as he let you work your magic on him, until he relaxed fully; and that's when his smile appeared, followed by the softest of amused laughs.

you leaned back to look at him with awe. the sound was rare, very, very rare, but so precious at the same time… and your kisses were the ones that made him smile.

your heart was full of joy.

you both locked gazes briefly, and zayne could see the surprise and love in your eyes, the same way you could see the adoration and devotion in his.

he leaned in again, putting his glasses aside and staying still, as if giving you permission to keep going.

and you kept going alright, peppering soft and quick little kisses all over his handsome features, making him chuckle and huff out little laughs like never before.

you already lost count of the amount of kisses you were attacking him with, but you were certain that he gave in the minute you kissed him first, and he kept melting more and more the longer you smooched him.

work could wait; this was clearly an emergency: your poor heart was about to explode with overflowing levels of love, and who better than your personal cardiac surgeon to help you feel better?

ah, the miracle of life.

your body endured close to nine months of pain, hypersensitivity, anxiety and the constant, physical changes.

you were lucky enough to have a healthy, supportive and loving husband by your side; one who managed to calm down the wildest of storms.

your baby boy was healthy; chubby, and with a little bit of black hair already on his tiny head. he was definitely his father's son, there was no doubt.

the labor lasted no more than three hours, you were rewarded with your comfort food afterwards, and you came home to a clean environment, lots of premade food containers in the freezer, and any essential item you could've thought of.

your family and friends really outdid themselves.

so, in theory, there was nothing for you to worry about, except for the lack of sleep, the baby's constant hunger and the pesky leaking that ruined your favorite shirts.

…and, of course, your body.

you never considered yourself to have a model-like figure; yet you felt comfortable in your skin. it really helped to have a man who reassured you and reminded you to love every inch of yourself day and night.

however, lately, seeing yourself in the mirror was like staring at a stranger.

loose skin, hanging parts, dark stretch marks you never imagined seeing on yourself.

it was totally normal, despite what those hyper-healthy influencer mommies said on their posts. everybody recovered differently; everybody had different ways to return to their body before pregnancy, and you had yet to discover how.

your mind wasn't in the best place to feel motivated, nor did you have the time or energy to start exercising.

it was clear you were drained with maternity, no matter how privileged your circumstances were to the rest of people.

your husband noticed, and he knew to tread carefully.

he was aware of how postpartum could affect you, and he truly did his best to help you out, to be mindful and extra loving. he was aware he would never fully understand your struggles, but that didn't stop him from being there.

in fact, he took some time away on paternity leave so he could take care of you and your newborn, as his presence did calm you down.

nonetheless, you still felt… like a stranger.

out of your skin, so to speak.

you missed being you, you missed the version of yourself before becoming a mom, and while you loved your baby to death, you still had the right to feel comfortable.

the first thing you tried doing was putting on your old clothes, those you packed away and replaced with maternity ones.

they didn't look the same.

or well, they did, but you felt like an impostor, like they weren't yours anymore.

your husband would compliment you, kiss your forehead and move on, but you remembered how he would carry you, kiss you, initiate things that brought you where you are today.

that doesn't happen anymore.

the second thing you tried was making yourself look prettier.

a little bit of light makeup, maybe even just some chapstick and mascara, a little bit of perfume, some earrings or cute, simple jewelry…

you tried styling your hair, but your baby's fists would pull on it so hard it wasn't worth it.

again, zayne would gently hold you, kiss you so, so softly, caress your hair and make your efforts go noticed…

only to stop there.

was he noticing you looked different too?

maybe he didn't know how to tell you, he didn't want to offend you, or… he didn't find you attractive?

the “baby blues” weren't helping at all. you were more anxious, more susceptible, more exposed to intense, sudden thoughts that you assumed had to be true.

your hormones were all over the place and lust mixing with worry was probably the worst combination possible.

you wanted your man, but you were afraid he didn't want you anymore.

the last and third thing you tried out in a desperate attempt to feel like the desired woman you were before birth, was to try and initiate things yourself.

you put on that white, sheer nightgown he gifted you a year ago, paired up with white, lace-rimmed stockings.

it didn't hide the extra skin, but you knew your husband would encourage you to feel confident.

he loved your body…

he had to; you hoped so with all of your heart.

zayne finally came back from the nursery room, your son peacefully asleep after his dada changed and fed him.

your breath hitched slightly as he froze in place. you were kneeling over the mattress with a vulnerable expression, your figure visible under the sheer fabric.

he was struggling.

he hesitated.

what was that hesitation about?

you shifted uncomfortably; this lingerie used to drive him absolutely insane, yet there he was, only… looking.

did he not like what he was seeing anymore?

maybe you ruined the lingerie by using it with your current figure?

your eyes were tearful now, but you crawled to the end of the bed where he stood. you took his hand, his skin cold to the touch.

“zaynie?” you called out, voice uncertain. “i missed you, missed us…”

no response.

“i… found this and i thought we could… we could be together again, like before.”

and fuck, did it feel awful to beg.

you didn't need to beg for affection, you never had to, not when you were…

when you were you, and not a mom.

his free hand clenched and unclenched by his side, and he softly stepped back, making a broken whimper escape from your parted lips.

“why…? zayne, please—”

“my flower, i… please, do not ask me to do that.”

your heart was breaking.

you leaned back, tears streaming down your face.

“is it because… because of how i look? it is that, isn't it?”

before he could answer, you were already standing up. the sadness abruptly shifted —it became bitter, uncontrollable. red.

“you are a piece of shit.”

it came out before you could think, and your stockinged feet paddled on the floor as you approached him, finger pointing at his shocked figure.

“i gave birth to your child, and this is how you act?!” zayne tried to step closer, but you retreated, like a scared animal. “no! it's not fair! i sacrificed everything! my body, my mental health, my… my autonomy! and all i fucking need is… is for my husband to fuck me!”

his eyes went wide.

you were clearly snapping out of frustration and the abrupt changes your body faced in less than a year.

however, he didn't know how to stop you from breaking down further.

“do i look ugly now? yeah? you hate how my body looks? answer me, zayne! answer me!”

before you could keep going, your son started wailing, having heard the commotion.

you were fuming, chest going up and down furiously, tears and snot covering your enraged face.

zayne hesitated before going to check on the little one, taking some minutes to calm both him and himself down.

you sat down in the bed, shaky hands tugging at your hair desperately.

you messed up, you messed up big time.

zayne would hate you, but he also didn't deny your allegations…

as your body trembled because of your sobs, you finally heard him coming back, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

he kneeled between your legs, and his hands found your thighs. hesitantly, yes, but with gentleness.

“my love…” he began, voice soft. “look at me, i beg you.”

you took your time, still unsure.

what would he say?

that he indeed hated you? that your body was disgusting now?

but you looked up nonetheless, noticing the love and worry in his hazel eyes.

“those words you said… please, do not use them ever again.”

“which ones…?” you whispered. you had said a lot of things, after all.

“i do not hate how your body looks. you look perfect, love—”

you frowned, straightening up.

“cut the bullshit, zayne. you're just telling me that to calm me down, but you… you haven't touched me. you don't even look at me the same as before.”

he nodded quietly.

“i do not. i can not look at you the same way as before, because things have changed.”

you narrow your eyes, following his hands as they traveled up your thighs.

“we have changed, my flower. you… you look radiant, more beautiful than before. you are a different woman; stronger—”

once again, you cut him off sharply.

“zayne, i don't need your compliments. i don't need hollow words, i need actions! i need you to tell me right now,” you stood up, approaching the door. “do you want me, yes or no?”

he stood up as well, staring at you.

he blinked, once, twice, before he stepped closer to you.

his hand closed the door, his gaze never leaving yours.

those eyes… you knew them all too well.

your husband was conflicted.

truth was, he's been restraining himself all along.

he knows your body needs at least six weeks to properly heal, and it has barely been four. he's been wanting to pounce on you from the moment you two returned home with your little one, because he had so many things to thank you for.

he needed to make you feel loved, appreciated, sexy, because you were so hot in his eyes.

your body was deliciously supple, your breasts were calling out his name, your skin looked amazing, and he wanted to trace those stretch marks with his tongue.

he didn't want to hurt you beyond repair, but he couldn't allow his gorgeous wife to feel so unwanted, and to think so lowly of him.

no ma'am.

“zayne—”

“are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, voice quiet but clear.

hungry.

“just answer—”

“are you sure this is what you want? a hundred percent?”

he asked again, and his tall, muscular frame towered over you.

he was exhausted, worried, sleep deprived as well.

that made him wilder; his self-control about to disappear.

“h-how will i know you're not just doing this because i asked you— hmph…!”

he clashed your lips together, effectively shutting you and your mind up.

his tongue made his way past your lips, and when he pulled away, it was only to discard his shirt, so he could pounce on you.

you fell on the bed with a short gasp, your eyes wide as plates.

oh yeah, he wasn't doing this out of pity or because you asked him to;he'd been wanting to do this a long time ago.

zayne was panting, glasses harshly discarded as he hovered over your lingerie-claded body. his hands travelled up and down your waist, squeezing, massaging, fondling over your skin as he explored your new yet familiar figure.

he nuzzled your neck, taking in your scent as his gentle hands now found your breasts.

your darkened, swollen nipples were peeking through the nightgown, and that was the first thing he noticed when he stepped into the room.

his thumbs brushed against them, making you squirm.

“zayne, love, they're sensitive—”

he kissed you again, your legs trapped between his knees as he refused to let go.

“i know,” he trailed down with more wet, needy kisses, not wasting time in licking one of your nipples over the fabric.

you mewled, caressing his hair, even when this was a bad idea and would make you leak.

but zayne didn't care. he wanted to taste his wife, since he knew his lips would find something better than ambrosia itself.

the tip of his tongue circled your other nipple teasingly, before he latched on, the thin fabric being the only barrier between you two.

meanwhile, his hands were lifting up the see-through nightgown, long, precise fingers digging inside your supple flesh with reverence and raw desire.

your legs spread open for him, your bare, meaty and slightly swollen folds already glistening with your fluids.

when your body had anything but the stockings on, he finally picked up the white, small droplets of milk that slid down your big aureola, tasting your milk and humming as if it was sweeter than honey.

he did have a sweet tooth, after all.

still, he avoided touching your nipple directly without anything on, since it could affect the baby's nutrition.

you were now growing restless, since your sensitive body was asking for more and more, but you didn't want to rush what you've been looking for in months.

but he knew. he knew what you needed, and he would give it all to you, but not before making you understand this wasn't just a passionate outburst; this was him making love to the woman he would always adore.

first, he leaned back and took in your body, as if he hadn't been all over you just a few seconds ago. he traced with his fingers, he caressed, he leaned in to softly kiss…

that loose skin, those huge scars, those areas you stared at with disgust, he would cover with his lips.

his nose pressed against your belly, something he did when he wanted to feel your baby kicking and cutely thank him for making both your lives better.

yet now, it wasn't to thank the baby.

it was to thank you.

the heat of the moment was still there, but it felt more vulnerable, more sincere. zayne looked at you as he worshiped the body you didn't recognize, until the sensations came back in, those that made you feel otherworldly.

his warmth, his tenderness, his gratefulness for your mere existence, all multiplied by ten.

he was right: things had changed for the best.

when he pulled away, he gently caressed your cheeks, and you immediately leaned against his touch.

“my flower, i adore you,” he spoke, his nose now nuzzling yours.

“i love you… i am sorry, i said awful things—”

he peppered your face with slow, quiet pecks, quieting you down.

“i was in the wrong. i should have told you from the beginning what was going on,” he whispered. “i was afraid of losing control. i was afraid of hurting you if i happened to be rough or give in to my desires.”

your gaze softened when you heard him.

of course that would be his reasoning, and not all of the unspeakable things you thought of him.

more tears threatened to fall down, but he kissed your eyelids, once again setting up the mood when his hands fondled your inner thighs.

“i do apologize in advance. i really want to satisfy you fully, but i would never put my wishes over your safety.”

you frowned slightly, cocking your head to the side. would he stop now…?

“but, zaynie—”

“you do not need to worry. there are multiple ways to satisfy my precious wife,” he whispered against your ear, before his skilled hands flipped your body around.

he lifted your ass up, keeping your torso down and your legs open wide.

you mewled in surprise, looking back at him with both surprise and desire.

you loved it when he got like this; unpredictable and needy.

his face was inches away from when you needed him the most, folds inviting him to dig as deep as he possibly could, which he did without hesitation.

your eyes shut when he didn't waste time licking or kissing.

no.

he went straight to it, his tongue pushing between your folds and between your tight, warm walls that clenched around him viciously.

his strong hands were over the soft curve of your ass, holding your hips in place, and using it as leverage to keep going, diving deeper inside your divine pussy; his holy grail.

your toes were spreading and then curling, your breasts were leaking all over the pillows, —his, something that would delight him— and you were moaning for more, hips trying to push against his handsome face.

he pulled back against his own will, because he needed to give you more.

his hands pulled down his comfy pants, no boxers in sight.

his cock sprung free, thick, aching to please. he stroked it with one hand as he now licked your folds and nibbled them with his lips, your juices and his saliva dripping down his chin.

he straightened up, once again fighting with himself.

he could make love to you properly; give you what you've been craving for.

but, as a doctor, he knew way better, so, with a pained expression, he gently closed your legs, positioning his cock between your soft, stockinged thighs.

you whined, eyes opening to meet his gaze.

“baby…?”

he leaned in, his chest covering your arched back as he started thrusting between your supple thighs, the nylon rubbing against his reddened tip, which made him groan.

at the same time, the upper side of his cock grinded between your wet folds, veiny shaft creating a delicious friction with your aching clit.

your eyes rolled back at the sensation, but he didn't stop there.

his arm traveled forward, wrapping around your hip so he could rub your clit with his thumb, making you jolt.

it wasn't as fulfilling as having him inside, but god did it feel so good.

you moaned, too lost in pleasure to notice the slight noises coming from the nursery.

they weren't cries, but zayne was alert. the baby would wake up if you didn't quiet down, so he “gently” pushed two fingers inside your mouth with his free hand, both of which you suckled on eagerly.

his cock kept thrusting between your thighs as a hungry beast, his fingers expertly worked on your clit, and now he was pushing his fingers inside and outside your mouth.

you were overstimulated with so many things going on, but this was exactly what you've been hoping for: to be properly loved and claimed by your man.

his breath was hot against your ear, his sweaty skin rubbed against yours with each thrust, and he positioned himself better so he could finger you, two fingers gently sliding in, moving in circles, opening and closing, exploring your tight walls, while the ones on your mouth went deeper, until you choked on them.

his wedding finger rubbed against your lip when his knuckles went way too inside your full mouth, and his balls hit the back of your thighs, the ones you pressed closer together so zaynie could also feel good.

after minutes of incoherent babbling from your end, you finally squealed, your ass perking up as your lower tummy flipped.

you were close.

zayne kissed your nape and marked your neck with dark hickeys, his sharp canines digging inside your skin like never before.

he fingered faster, pulling the index and middle fingers away from your mouth so he could hold your neck gently.

“do it, my flower. you deserve it, you— fuck… you deserve it all.”

you, obediently, let yourself go, loud moans escaping your lips as your orgasm came hard and fast.

your legs were trembling, your balance almost gone now that your entire figure shook like jelly.

he kept fingering you, using his other hand to position his cock between your drenched folds as well, pushing just the tip in much to your surprise.

“z-zayne?”

but he was in a trance, stroking the base of his cock and letting out a soft whimper followed by a wince.

only his tip went in, automatically sucked in by your needy, hungry entrance, and despite the warnings and his better judgment, he came inside.

not deep inside, but inside regardless.

that alone made you moan in pure ecstasy, because you got to feel that warmth you were missing so badly.

when zayne finished, he gently laid on his side and pulled you closer to him, spooning you.

you were still connected; not fully, but enough for your needs to be met for now.

both of you were panting heavily, still in the clouds after so many sensations.

his arms wrapped around your belly, his cheek nuzzled your head, and you caressed his hands gently, feeling blissed out.

this was just a temporary solution to tame the beasts both of you had been restraining for your well-being's sake, but it also helped tremendously with your anxiety and self doubts.

your husband loved you more than ever, and you loved him just as much.

he was also struggling with the many things that came with paternity, yet you knew he was going to always be there for you, no matter what.

you both checked the baby monitor, and your son was calmly sleeping, without a care in the world.

meanwhile, zayne nuzzled his face against his… stained pillow, not caring at all since it had the sweet smell of your milk.

you needed to apologize again, but the moment was way too peaceful to break.

instead, you gently turned around, his cock slipping out of your pussy with a soft plop, and your arms wrapping around his neck.

“thank you,” you mouthed, legs tangling with his.

he smiled faintly, tracing your jawline with the tip of his nose.

“thank you, love,” he mouthed back, pulling you impossibly closer.

he should've done this long ago, but this timing seemed perfect.

your face was now peaceful, away from stress and any lingering sad thought. your breathing slowed down, and your grip on him weakened slightly.

with both the loves of his life fast asleep, he allowed himself to rest as well.

his world revolved around you, after all, and he would spend the rest of his life making sure you never once doubted his love for you, for your strength, and for that divine, wonderful body of yours.

never again. ♡

Your eyes widen and you chuckle shortly. “Did you just refer to yourself in third person?”

He ignores your question, and before you know it, your feet are lifted off the ground and his large palms are holding onto your hips as he sets you down on the counter. 

“What are you doing—” you gasp.

“Show me. I wanna see it.” he requests, completely serious.

“Are you crazy?! Why?”

“Because I don’t believe you. I know that you know I love your bush.”

You scoff at him in disbelief. “I’m not showing you anything!”

“Why? ‘Cause you lied?” he tilts his head closer to you.

“No—because now’s not the time.” you stutter a bit, clearly caught red-handed. 

“Haven’t heard that one before.” He raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “You’re usually eager—”

You cut him off by putting your hands over his mouth. He laughs into them before swiping his tongue, licking them. You pull away immediately, as if you’d been burned. 

A beat of silence passes as you wipe your wet palm against the fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t seem to mind, he doesn’t even flinch, evidently used to it. 

The two of you stare at each other in silence, your hand remains atop his shoulder where you just wiped it. You watch him as he carefully lowers himself on his knees, eyes remaining glued to you the entire time. His hands move to rest on your knees.

You feel your face burn up and immediately tighten your grip on his shoulder. “Okay fine—it was a prank!” you blurt out. 

He freezes in his movements. “Really?”

You look away, and then back at him momentarily to nod. 

His hands still holding your knees, he closes them and rests his forehead against them while breathing out a sigh of relief. “You scared me for a second there.”

You chuckle at the sight, your hand finding its way to his burgundy locks. “That scary, huh?”

He leans into your hand, tilting his head sideways, and stares up at you as you continue brushing your fingers through his hair. “Yeah, you owe me an apology.”

You start scratching a particular spot you knew he liked. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry.”

He hums at the sensation, closing his eyes and enjoying your caress. His wolf ears pop out suddenly, and you notice his tail swishing behind him. When he opens his eyes again, they hold a different intent. A heavier one. 

“I think you’re gonna have to give me more than an apology actually…” he grins.

You quirk an eyebrow, and before you can speak, he stands back up and lifts you into his arms. Your hands immediately find his firm shoulders for balance. 

His face is flushed now, and his eyes are dim. “... can I?” he pleas softly, waiting for your approval. 

Noticing you leaning down towards him, he lowers you so you’re face to face with him. You press your lips to his tenderly. “... yes, you can.”

His breathing is steady and he seems calm, but his rapidly wagging tail behind him gives him away. 

The two of you remain quiet as he carries you to your room and sets you down on the mattress, already understanding each other without using words.

also not proofread, sue me

── ⟢ Xavier

✧ Xavier was confused as to why you were following him to the bathroom in the middle of the night. 

✧ He stopped in his tracks once he stood in the middle of the room and realized you were in the doorframe. 

✧ "You need the toilet too? I can wait,"he offers tired, but you only grin at him as you walk towards him. 

✧ You wrap both arms around his torso and give him puppy eyes - it's nearly impossible for him to say no when you're that sweet. 

✧ "Can I hold it while you pee?" You ask with a mischievous glint in your eyes. 

✧ "Hold what? The roll of toilet paper?" He asked tired, his brain not fully working in this state. 

✧ "No, your dick." You say bluntly and step away from your small hug. 

✧ Xavier's eyes went wide for a moment and he was wide awake after you said that and he gulped, unsure what to answer. 

✧ "Uh… sure?" It was more a question than a statement and he blinked a few times, trying to wrap his head around as to why you would want that. 

✧ You giggled when he stepped closer to the toilet and pulled his pajama pants with his boxers down just enough to get his dick out. 

✧ "Well, do you want to hold it now or? I kinda really need to… yeah," he mumbled, the tips of his ears a cute shade of pink. 

✧ "Xav! It was a joke! But if you insist…" you laugh softly and step behind him, gently grabbing his cock so you can aim it. 

✧ Xavier had a shiver run down his spine when the first few drops turned into a steady stream, closing his eyes to not think about your hand wrapped around his manhood in such a dirty moment. 

✧ He thought it was just a weird dream when he got up in the morning so he never really mentioned it again. 

── ⟢ Zayne

✧ You knew his answer before you even asked but you still happily skipped after him to the bathroom.  

✧ At first Zayne thought you skip past him and into the bedroom or into the kitchen to grab a snack for your movie night. 

✧ But he almost closed the door right in your face when he went into the bathroom. 

✧ "Are you okay?" He asked with one raised brow, giving you a look over, genuinely wondering why you'd follow him into the bathroom. 

✧ "Is it about the call earlier? I told you it's just a coworker who took over one of my patients and-" you cut him off mid sentence, laughing softly.  

✧ "Do you think I'm jealous? I trust you, silly" You said amused which immediately eases the worry in his face. Of course you weren't concerned or jealous but there was this mischievous look on your face.  

✧ "Then what brings you here?" He asked curiously, leaning against the doorframe to stare you down as if he needs to extract your deepest secrets. 

✧ "Can I hold it? While you pee?" You ask as sweet as you can muster and he shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

✧ "You want to hold my penis while I pee?" He asks amused and stands up straight again, still shaking his head in disbelief when you nod eagerly. 

✧ "Absolutely not" His voice sounded strict but the look on his face gave away that he was highly amused.  

✧ You cross your arms over your chest and pout "Then I'll watch" you protest. 

✧ Zayne sighs and gently picks you up to set you down outside of the bathroom where the door closes in your face and the lock shuts close. He won't let you hold it. 

── ⟢ Rafayel

✧ You didn't really want to hold it when he goes to the bathroom you just saw the trend going around on TikTok where people ask their partner that question and thought it's fun. 

✧ Rafayel's reaction to random, unhinged questions are always adorable to you, all pink cheeks and confused eyes. 

✧ So when he strolls into the bathroom for his evening bath, you follow him like a lost puppy, bumping right into him when he abruptly stops. 

✧ lWhat is it, cutie? Wanna join me in the tub?" He asks with a sweet smile and you almost feel bad for what you're about to ask. 

✧ His face changes from soft and gentle to confused and almost repulsed, the apples of his cheeks turning redder by each second until it reaches the tips of his ears and slowly creeps down his neck while avoiding your excited gaze. 

✧ "For a second i thought you asked me if you can hold my… while I…" he didn't even say the absurdity out loud but you only nod with a far too happy grin

✧ "Wait- You were serious?!" His voice rises in pitch which only adds to your amusement. 

✧ So you unbuckle his pants, not planning on doing anything without his consent, just teasing a little. 

✧ "Yes? Is that so weird? I mean you've peed before while I was in the tub when we stayed at that one small hotel room," you remind him that it's technically nothing new. 

✧ Rafayel sighs, it's almost an annoyed whine. He hates saying no to you but this seems so absurd to him. 

✧ "One time. Just this once so you're happy." He mumbles defeated and his blush changes from a soft pink into hues of crimson and deep red. 

✧ You didn't want to chicken out now either so you pulled through with it, giggling when you actually got to hold it

✧ No matter how much Rafayel whines and pouts after, he did kinda like it but he would deny it until he's in his grave. 

── ⟢ Sylus

✧ Sylus is no fun when it comes to pranking, always one step ahead and ready to do the wildest things so you knew he would say yes before you even asked. 

✧ You gave yourself away with batting your lashes pretty - you always do this when you want something.  

✧ "What is it this time, kitten?" He asked with a lopsided smirk, looking you up and down in hopes to find out more. 

✧ At this point you considered chickening out, his know it all attitude ruining the fun for just a moment but you smiled sweetly at him. 

✧ "Sylus, mighty leader of Onychinus, my handsome boyfriend," you started with some flattery, grabbing his chin playfully just to keep him waiting. 

✧ "Would you… let me hold it when you pee?" You ask with a straight face but it only lasted 0.2 seconds until both of you broke the facade. 

✧ Sylus chuckled and shook his head at how ridiculous you sounded but ended up shrugging. 

✧ "You know I won't ever say no to you, especially not when you ask so nicely," he teased and gently grabbed your wrist before dragging you towards the bathroom despite your protest of it being a joke. 

✧ "Oh so you're telling me that you're too scared of getting your hands dirty?" He teases, wanting to see you struggle for the amusement. 

✧ You ended up holding it with a pout, your cheeks burning while Sylus smirked at you, arms crossed over his chest - he didn't think you would actually do it but he didn't mind it at all. 

── ⟢ Caleb

✧ Caleb was in the middle of brushing his teeth when you slipped into the bathroom behind him, leaning against the doorframe with mischief in your eyes.

✧ He paused with the toothbrush still in his mouth and gave you a suspicious glance in the mirror.

✧ "You got that look again," he mumbled despite the minty foam "And that means you're about to say something stupid."

✧ You grinned and walked closer until you were right behind him.

✧ "Can i hold it while you pee?" You asked sweetly and looked at him in the mirror with such an innocent expression.

✧ Caleb almost choked on the toothpaste. He spat it out, wiped his mouth and turned around to stare at you as if you'd grown a second head.

✧ "... You serious?" He asked half in disbelief, but his brows were raised with amusement.

✧ You nodded, trying not to laugh at how genuinely put off he looked.

✧ He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. "That's... weird. Even for you."

✧ You two stood in the bathroom like that for a few more moments until he sighed. "Fine. If it gets this out of your system..." he muttered in defeat, unable to say no to that flicker of hope in your eyes.

✧ You reached for him the moment he pulled his pants down, but the moment your fingers brushed along his shaft, he flinched away.

✧ "Cold hands—Jesus," he said playful and mocking. "Go ahead, aim straight. Don't make a mess or I'll never let you live this down." He mused and waited if you would actually do this.

✧ To his surprise, you actually reached back out and held his dick. He glanced at you the entire time, looking rather amused while you looked concentrated.

✧ "Happy now? Weirdo." he teased when he pulled his pants back up.

── ⟢ Valko

✧ Valko barely made it two steps into the bathroom when you padded in after him, looking like a lost puppy with hopeful eyes.

✧ When he turned around to look at you, he looked like he was already prepared for whatever nonsense you were about to pull.

✧ "What's up? Miss me already?" he asked amused and leaned against the sink

✧ "Can i hold it while you pee?" you asked sweetly but barely managed to keep a straight face.

✧ Valko barked out a laugh, his head falling back as he did so. "You're kidding. No—wait, you're not kidding?!"

✧ He shook his head, still chuckling when he waved you closer. "Alright, come on then. Let's see how well you can aim." he mused, humored by your silly request.

✧ You stepped closer when he tugged his waistband down and the second your hand wrapped around him, he gave an exaggerated shiver.

✧ "Ooh, bold," he teased, voice still laced with a soft laughter. "Didn't think you'd actually go for it. Careful now—don't get stage fright on my account."

✧ Valko smirked down at you the entire time, enjoying how flustered you were getting. When he was done, he gently bumped his shoulder against yours in a teasing manner.

✧ "Not bad, you're hired. Same time tomorrow?" he asked playfully which made you flee the bathroom after washing your hands. This was a no to his job offer.

── ⟢ Rafayel

✧ His kisses start out as soft pecks most of the time

✧ Not quite playful but feather light dotted along your jawline as if he's mapping you out

✧ When he finally kisses the corners of your mouth he likes to hover just a breath away from your lips, making you lean in first.

✧ Rafayel gets lost in your shared kisses fast, letting himself indulge in the sensation of your tongues striking each other.

✧ He does smirk against your lips when you get breathless and he might tease you for it.

✧ "Am I stealing your breath, cutie?" He pecks your lips after but kisses you the way he did just before his mocking.

✧ If you make small sounds or clench your hands into his shirt or hair, he gets absolutely addicted to it, trying to get more out of you.

✧ His hands don't seem to know where they want to linger and stay everywhere for a short while - cupping your cheek, holding your neck, pulling you closer by the small of your back.

✧ If things don't escalate he likes to ease out of it the way he started - heated kisses turn softer until they're mere pecks along your cheek.

── ⟢ Sylus

✧ Sylus kisses start out soft to ease you in slow and gentle but the moment you kiss back he deepens them.

✧ He might deepen the kiss but it's not rushed, every move is slow and measured, meant to build up anticipation for more.

✧ When you lean into him more and kiss him back with more desperation, he's satisfied with himself, loving it when you take what you want.

✧ When it's his turn to give you exactly what you want it's all consuming. It's like he's losing himself in you while trying to resist the undeniable pull of you.

✧ Sylus prefers you to sit on top of him, straddling his lap or hips as he keeps you close, strong hands keeping you grounded to his body.

✧ They don't wander far, mostly keeping to your hips or your lower back, occasionally one hand wanders up your spine to cradle the back of your head like you're his most precious possession (you are).

✧ When he pulls back momentarily to allow you to catch your breath, his eyes are half lidded but his gaze is locked with yours, trying to read your thoughts before he leans back in to give you exactly what you were thinking about.

✧ Sylus also loves to nip at your lip from time to time, teasing you almost in a playful manner that leaves you clutching his shirt but he slips his tongue over your lip before letting it slide against your tongue again, daring you to take the control from him which you rarely ever do.

✧ He doesn't really use words to tease you (so he won't need to break the kiss more than necessary) but he will taunt you afterwards when your cheeks are hot and you're almost out of breath.

✧ He usually stops making out with you before he gets too excited if you catch my drift, but if you want to take things further, all you need to do is to slip your tongue in his mouth and he's on you within a second.

── ⟢ Xavier

✧ Xavier's doesn't hold back at all, unable to help himself the second he has you close.

✧ He leans in without hesitation and it feels like kissing him has become second nature, as if you became the oxygen his lungs crave.

✧ He doesn't start slow or eases in, he's all in from the moment your lips touch.

✧ His hands wander all over your body, unable to find a resting spot - cupping your cheeks, sliding a hand into your hair to tug gently, wrapping an arm around you to pull you impossibly close - no matter what he does, he can't get enough of you.

✧ This doesn't mean that his kisses are hurried or messy however - They're passionate with a hint of softness beneath.

✧ He peppers kisses onto your lips between the deep kisses as if he can't get enough of you even though his lungs demand a breath of air.

✧ If you laugh from how sweet he is with you, he smiles against your lips. Hearing how happy you are is all he wants in life, even better if he's the reason you're giggling.

✧ When you tug on his hair, no matter how gently, he will groan softly against your lips, an admission of how you undo him just with a simple touch.

✧ If you're cuddling in bed and it turns into a make out session, he has a hard time to not lose himself in the intensity of it. Everything is so warm and soft around him, he easily loses track of time, drowning himself in your love.

✧ His tongue tangles with yours almost messily but filled with some sort of desperation only more kisses can fix.

✧ When he does pull away, he pulls you closer by the hips, wanting to tuck you against his body and never let go, but if you want to take things further just snake your hands beneath his shirt.

── ⟢ Zayne

✧ Zayne's kisses start composed to test the waters, see how you react when he kisses you out of the blue while you two were just cooking in the kitchen.

✧ He placed you on top of the kitchen counter and stands firmly between your legs, his hands respectfully resting at your side and the other cupping your cheek.

✧ The moment your arms wrap around his neck, he's done for. You have him in the palm of your hand and you don't even know it yet.

✧ His kisses are slow and sensual, grounding you while tearing the floor from beneath your feet all at the same time. He makes you forget how to breathe.

✧ He hums softly into the kiss when you melt against him, parting your lips to allow his tongue to slip into your mouth.

✧ When he's losing himself in the kissing, it's not all consuming or messy. It feels like devotion, rather than desire when his tongue caresses yours.

✧ You can feel how he grows tense and how his breath hitches when you start letting your hands wander, almost as if he has to concentrate to not lose control completely.

✧ When things get too heated, he slowly eases out of the make out session, his tongue caressing yours softer before withdrawing and giving your lips gentle kisses until he eventually pulls away.

✧ His hair looks like a mess when he pulls away and all it takes is one word from you to escalate things from harmless kissing to much more.

── ⟢ Caleb

✧ Caleb's kisses are confident from the start on, gentle but slightly possessive, making sure you know that you're his.

✧ There's no hesitation in the way his hand cups your face, no second guessing when he leans in - knowing that you'll meet him halfway.

✧ His lips feel warm and unhurried against yours, savoring every moment he can spend with you like this.

✧ One hand rests at the nape of your neck while the other stays planted to your hip, holding you close without urgency, because he's in no rush to let you go any time soon.

✧ When you kiss him back, he smiles into the kiss and finally deepens it, his tongue swiping along your lips asking for entrance you won't deny him.

✧ If your fingers slip into his hair or tug at his collar, he just hums in approval as he pulls you even closer since this is exactly the reaction he needed from you.

✧ When he pulls back to let you breathe, he stays close, lips busying themselves with the sensitive skin of your neck.

✧ "You good?" he asks carefully before kissing you again, softer this time.

✧ He never pulls away completely, always keeping some form of contact—his hand squeezing your hip, his nose brushing against your neck while he kisses your pulse point—reminding you that he is right there.

✧ And if you want more than just making out, you don't even need to ask, Caleb is already grinding himself against you, letting you decide if you move with him to take things further or if you slowly ease out of the heated moment.

── ⟢ Valko

✧ Valko's kisses start playful, just a teasing brush of his lips, barely there and just enough to make you chase him before he finally gives in with a soft chuckle against your lips.

✧ His hands roam freely until settling on your sides, thumbs stroking lazy circles as he deepens the kiss, savoring each reaction and shiver he pulls from you.

✧ But Valko struggles to stay serious for too long—sharp canines gently tugging at your bottom lip in a playful nip, not hard enough to hurt but enough to give him a reaction.

✧ The sound makes his ears twitch, and before you know it, those soft wolf ears have popped up from his hair, betraying just how much he's enjoying this.

✧ He doesn't try to hide them, if anything he leans into your caress, tilting his head to give you better access as his tongue slides against yours with a newfound urge.

✧ His hands wander over your body but ultimately one of then slides up your spine to cradle the back of your head, while the other arm wraps around your waist do keep you close to him.

✧ Valko eventually pulls back to smirk at you when your breath got heavier.

✧ "Getting shy on me already?" he teases amused before diving back in to steal another kiss that leaves you breathless.

✧ His body is painfully aware of every small change in the air, his nose picking up the scent of your arousal before you can even voice out a need for more—the moment you do however, his hips slowly start rutting against you to get you even more needy for him.

One-Shots (>2k words)

Payback (ID!Leon Kennedy) : You walk in on your husband with his secretary, and after storming out on him, you end up at a bar down the street from your office only to run into a fellow D.S.O. employee, Leon Kennedy. You're beyond hurt, and the feeling of betrayal devastates you. He helps you work through those emotions...in his bedroom. If You Lie Down With Me (RE9!Leon Kennedy) : A new house, a moving van, and a very heavy box all lead to your introduction to your older neighbor, Leon. Brooding, burdened, and somewhat reclusive, you find a way to worm yourself into his life and knock down his defenses until he finally lets you in(to his bed). You'll Take Both (DI!Chris Redfield, DI!Leon Kennedy): You’re not quite sure how you ended up in this situation, but in the end, it doesn’t matter, because you’re exactly where you want to be, caught between two men who are very eager to share you. Polar Plunge (RE4!Leon Kennedy) : You, a young DSO agent filling in for an injured superior, find yourself trapped in the snow-banked wilderness of boreal Canada...with is partner, Leon Kennedy. A safe house in the ice-capped woods and the primal need for warmth leads you and Agent Kennedy to make use of all the cabin's amenities. Boarding School (RE9!Leon Kennedy): You want to celebrate your eighteenth birthday with your favorite teacher by surprising him in his office. Playing Dangerous (RE2!Leon Kennedy): He lets you off with a warning...this time Summer Bummer (RE4!Leon Kennedy): Your bodyguard isn't a fan of your poolside shenanigans. Is it Wrong? (RE9 Leon Kennedy x Nanny!Reader): There's a reason you put on makeup when you work for Mr. Kennedy. Night In (ID!Leon Kennedy x Reader): Your father, a very important person who made other important people very angry, deems it necessary for you to be watched by a certain special agent, ruining any plans you had for a fun night out with your friends. Maybe you'll have a fun night in instead... Sinner's Prayer (RE4!Leon Kennedy x Nun!Reader): A mysterious American soldier finds you in a chapel, praying. Your village has been overrun, and this is your only sanctuary left--a little slice of heaven on earth. That is, until said soldier shows you what heaven truly feels like. Born Again (RE4!Leon Kennedy: Your past sexual experiences have been unsavory, to say the least, and without anyone to change your mind, you have long decided that sex is terrible. That is, until you let your very convincing boyfriend try to change your mind. Buyer's Remorse (RE9!Leon Kennedy x Brat!Reader): Leon made you mad, and to punish him, you take his card for a day on the town. He comes home with a vengeance, but it's not in his nature to be mean to you, so he finds another way to get you back under his control. He prefers to kiss and make up. Thirteenth Step (Vendetta!Leon Kennedy): One week. You give Leon one week to prove to you he's serious about quitting his addiction. If he doesn't, you'll walk out the door and never come back. And if he does? Maybe there's a reward waiting for him... Oblivion (RE4!Leon Kennedy): Leon's obsession with you pushes him to new extremes...and you like it? Bump and Grind (RE4!Leon Kennedy x Agent!Reader): During a simple reconnaissance mission at a nightclub, you and Leon are tasked to lay eyes on a target allegedly selling bioweapons on the black market. The two of you don't necessarily get along, so what happens when you have to pretend to be more than agents-at-odds and get comfortable on the dance floor? Interrupted (RE9!Leon Kennedy x Brat!Reader): You're getting on Leon's nerves, interrupting him as he works from home, especially when all he's trying to do is finish up these reports so he can spend time with you. Luckily, he knows how to teach you a lesson. Luckily, that's exactly what you want.

Drabbles (<2k words)

Meeting ended early.

He was out of the meeting he prayed wouldn’t go past five o’clock. The two of you had a dinner date scheduled, tacked on his calendar for weeks now, and it was at risk of being cancelled all because of an impromptu meeting he had been pulled into at half-past four. Leon had been looking forward to this date for a while. He had scouted the location like it was the target in an operation: checking reviews, making sure there were at least three items on the menu he knew you’d like, calling ahead for a reservation at a table not too close to the kitchen or the restrooms. 

Still on for dinner.

You’d hope so, and you told him just that, tapping on the keypad of your phone with painted fingers, lacquered in a bunny-nose pink, touched-up just for the occasion. Since noon, the rest of the day had been jam-packed with primping, starting with a shower so steamy it made sure to smoke out every transgression lingering in your pores. You made sure to scrub yourself baby smooth, double shampoo your post-workout hair, and use the good body wash whose price made you wince at the checkout counter. You exited the foggy glass doors smelling like a spring bloom, gardenia and honeysuckle. 

Long before Leon had alerted you to his imminent return, you had already blown out your hair to silky smooth perfection, painted your face with the skill of the old masters, and stuffed yourself into the same dress you wore the night he found you on your front porch, soaked to the bone from the deluge. The zipper barely made it to the end of the stretch beneath your armpit, inching up the brackets like a salmon swimming upstream. Happy-relationship weight is no joke. With Leon financing most of your meals these days–damn good ones too–you no longer look like the poster child for weight-gain shakes. 

As you walk downstairs to greet Leon at the door when he arrives, the hem of the dress floats around your shins, the chiffon fabric tickling your newly hairless skin. Disembodied footsteps, clad in shiny dress shoes, click up the steps of the front porch, and with the twinkling sound of keys, and the turn of the lock, Leon is home. 

His eyes grow wide as he steps across the threshold, drinking in the sight of you, as you lean onto the crescent-moon entryway table, peering into the mirror that rests on it. He watches your image in the gilded frame, studying the lithe movement of your arm as you slip a pair of dazzling diamond drops into the pierced hole of your ear. Leon gave you the pair a month into dating. Slipped the velvet box out of his suit jacket at the dinner table. Part of you thought he was about to propose. Part of you wished he had. 

It’s taken every atom of strength you can muster not to get on your knees and beg Leon to let you love him as a wife. It wasn’t enough to live with him, to sleep in his bed, to welcome him home almost every evening with arms ready to cure. You need more. 

What’s the hold up?

 Not even a week after he kissed you for the first time, Leon confessed his long-burning infatuation for you, and not a moment after that, he told you he loved you, and had since he first snatched that moving box off your arms. Or was it when he first tasted your baking? Moot. He loves you and you love him. The sun doesn’t set without you reminding each other of that eternal fact. He made you his girlfriend the morning after he took you into his bed. You sold your home to move in with him.

He had mentioned what seems like eons ago that the only reason he bought such a large, suburban dwelling with a fenced backyard and extra bedrooms was to fill it with a family. Would he still want that with you, or has he already closed that chapter of his life? Perhaps you found him too late, and he no longer desires more than a companion he can legally keep at arm’s length.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, setting down his briefcase so he can wrap his hands around your middle and plant a chaste kiss on your temple, mindful not to squish your hair or smear your make-up. “Miss me?” 

You roll your eyes, meeting his gaze in the mirror. Nearly two years of knowing the man and you still cower beneath the eye contact he so insistently provides. Sometimes it’s too much to look in his eyes. Sometimes you’re afraid of what you’ll find there. Before you moved in with him, you only saw sadness, pinpricks of joy worming their way in whenever you were around. After, blissful contentment. 

“Of course I missed you, darling,” you smile, adjusting the diamond necklace around your neck, another unnecessarily expensive gift from Leon. 

I haven’t had anyone to spend my money on in a long time. Let me do this. What kind of woman would you be to turn down jewelry from such an eager benefactor? A silly one. You took the diamonds. 

“Should I go upstairs and change?” He asks, slipping off his tie, pink like a tongue. Silk. He’s wearing his typical desk-day uniform: a black suit and a crisp, white button-down shirt. It’s now unbuttoned at the top, revealing a flash of skin that begs you to touch it. You don’t deny the desires of your flesh and reach up to plant a kiss on the exposed patch of collarbone. His skin is warm, peppered with graying hair. After peppering a trail of kisses from the top of his chest, up his neck, across his jaw, you settle onto his lips, mouths meeting in a game of who can kiss the other the hardest. Leon’s winning this round, his hands coming up to hold your neck, then to cup your cheeks. He groans when you bite his lower lip, but he doesn’t pull away, continuing to hold your body flush to his large chest. It pays the debt accrued from hours of no physical contact. 

“No,” you say, answering his earlier question.

His brows knit, nonplussed and dumb after such a spectacular theater. “What?” 

“Don’t change. You look really good like this. Especially now that I’ve kissed you and gotten you all hot and bothered.”

A daring smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Hot and bothered, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, you’re totally blushing.” He shakes his head at the comment, ever so bashful. “It’s cute.”

“No, what’s cute is you being so modest, wearing hardly any jewelry tonight.” 

He has to be kidding. You’ve reached the limit of how many real diamonds one can wear without looking like an asshole for it.  

“What?” You pull away a couple inches, his hands still at the small of your back, holding you upright. “I’m wearing the earrings and the bracelet you bought me.” The ones that cost as much as the downpayment on your old house. 

He tilts his head back and forth, narrowing his eyes in thought. “I don’t know.” His eyes flutter up and down your outfit, the simple but elegant black dress clinging to your hips, the earrings hugging your lobes, the tennis chain decorating your clavicle. “It’s just so…plain.”

“Plain?” You scoff, the faint huff of annoyance cresting in your throat. One more comment and you’re going to take offense. 

“Yeah. Too plain. You need something else to complete the look.” 

Over the past few months, Leon has gifted you with more jewelry than you know what to do with or where to put. The box you’ve kept since high school, a pink wooden thing featuring a twirling plastic ballerina, is overflowing with glittering jewels far too precious to be stuffed inside it. 

“Leon, I don’t need to put on any more jewelry. This is more than enough for dinner,” you say as you turn back toward the mirror to fluff your hair and re-gloss your lips before the two of you head out for the restaurant. Through the glass, you watch Leon hold open the side of his suit jacket with one hand, the other reaching into the interior pocket.  

“Are you sure?” 

“My jewelry box is literally overflowing, yes, I’m–” 

By the time you turn back toward him, he’s lowered himself onto one knee with a little velvet ringbox pinched between his fingers. You’ve completely gone dumb, unable to speak or squeal or so much as grunt another sound. Jaw slack, and already close to trembling, you watch Leon open the box to reveal a glittering stone. 

“I’m going to keep this brief because I’m not sure how long I can kneel on this knee, and because anything I can say down here is something I’ve already told you a million times over. But, I digress, (Y/N), I love you. You have been a light in my life since you moved next door–a light I didn’t think I would ever know or could ever deserve–and each day, I become a better man for it. You have given me purpose and direction in my life. You make me want to wake up in the morning and come home from work every evening. You make me want to live another day, to be present for every moment. You ground me. I bought this ring way too soon in our relationship, but I’ve been holding on to it for way too long. My knee hurts, so I’m gonna stand up in a second, but not before I ask you…will you make an old man very happy and be his wife?” He pauses to smile. “(Y/N), will you marry me?” 

Completely entrenched in every word that dripped off his tongue, you didn’t even notice the steady stream of tears cascading down your cheeks. Thank goodness for waterproof mascara. The droplets are fierce and salty as they trickle into the crease of your lips, down the curve of your jaw, your neck, drying down in sticky patches.

You’re not sure what to say. Does an answer as simple as “yes” suffice? Do you hug him? Do you kneel down and tackle him to the floor and smother him with kisses? As much as you want to speak, to touch, or caress, all you’re able to do is stand still, your limbs not receiving the waves of commands from your brain. 

“Honey, I’m going to need you to give me an answer. My knee.” 

“Oh, right,” you giggle through a sob clawing its way up your throat. “Yes, Leon, I’ll marry you.” He brings your left hand toward him and slides the ring on your finger. Through wet, cloudy eyes, you look at the stone glinting in the light. The right shape. The right weight. The right everything. It’s so perfectly you. “It’s beautiful, Leon. Thank you.” 

He plants his hands on your hips, groaning under his breath as he lifts himself off the floor, knees popping. He pulls you into an embrace. His chest is wide and strong, a place you also call home beyond the four walls of this house. He smells like the beach–aquatic–like sand and clear skies and a sizzling sun. Juniper and vetiver and salt. 

“No, thank you,” he insists, grabbing your face, tilting your jaw upward to look at him. His eyes are as shiny as the diamond on your finger, sparkling with a damp sheen of tears. You’ve never seen him cry before. How is it that he looks even more gorgeous with tears welling up on his lashes? Frankly, it’s unfair. Everything about Leon is unfair. The finely sculpted muscles across his body, the ancient beauty of his face, the wisdom that comes with his age and experience. It leaves you wondering if you’re the one that doesn’t deserve him. 

“You’ve made me a better man. I mean that.” The crows feet beneath the tail of his brows deepen as he smiles, toothy and wide, like a kid who just got surprised with a trip to Disney World or invited to a free-for-all in a candy store. 

“And you’ve made me happier in the past year than I’ve been in my entire life.” You wrap your arms around your neck, begging him to pull you closer into him. 

“Get back to me when you’re my age and see if that changes.”

“It won’t. I’ll be saying the same thing at forty, at fifty...I could go on and on. You make me so, so happy, Leon. Nothing will change that.” 

He brings you into a kiss, hands now cupping your face, one slithering around your neck. It’s all teeth and tongue, little sparks igniting an all-consuming fire. 

“Should we cancel our reservation and take this upstairs?” He asks into your mouth, lips still half-attached to yours. 

Pulling back, carrying a string of saliva, you furrow your brows. “No way, I did my hair, and I just got this amazing ring I need to take out on the town.” You lift your hand to show Leon the new rock now settling in nicely on your finger. “Wow, it’s heavier than I thought it would be. I’ll have to get used to it.” You pull your hand into a fist and do a few mock bicep curls. 

“Don’t over-exert yourself there, babe. Gotta work your way up to the heavy weights.” 

His laugh harmonizes with yours, filling the downstairs with the sweet symphony of your shared joy. You loop your arm through his crooked elbow as he walks you outside to his car, opening the door and smothering you with a smooch as he buckles you into the seat. You’ve never seen him so giddy. He hums to himself as he backs out of the driveway, hands roaming the parts of your body he has access to as he drives. Your thigh, your knee, your forearm. Your neck. It’s like he’s so worried you’ll dissipate into thin air if he doesn’t tether you to him with his touch. 

“Seriously, though, Leon. This is the most gorgeous ring I’ve ever seen. Did you pick it out yourself?” 

He grins, nodding, very content with his choice of jewel. “I did…well, sort of. There’s this old lady that works at the store, and she helped me narrow down the choices. She’s the one who has been helping me pick out all the jewelry I’ve given you, actually. Funny enough, the ring was the first piece I bought. Every time I returned to get you something else, she would ask if I had proposed already.” He looks over at you, meeting your gaze for a split second before his eyes return to the road. “I was kind of scared to ask. That’s why I kept putting it off.” His smile has faded and his lips are parted as if he’s about to speak again, but he doesn’t. 

“Leon Kennedy, DSO agent extraordinaire, scared of little ol’ me? Color me surprised.”

“Well, you know, you’re…you’re a gem, no pun intended. You’re stunning and young and you’ve got many years ahead of you. I was scared you wouldn’t want to waste them on me.” 

Waste. 

The word flames your skin like water so hot it’s cold, scorching your skin to the bone before you can even feel the danger. 

He passes by a couple open spots in front of the restaurant, foregoing the street parking, knowing he’s not the best at parallel parking, and drives into the lot to the side of the building. He shifts gears, the car coming to a halt, humming itself to sleep before leaving you and Leon sitting in silence. It smells like new leather and his cologne. 

“Leon,” you plead, voice weak. All you can do is look into his eyes and hope yours convey the amount of love you have for him. So much love it hurts to carry it all. So much love you can’t. “Don’t talk like that. Please.” 

He leans back in his seat, palms coming to his thighs. His head turns to look out the window. You see his face reflected in the glass. 

“Leon, look at me.” He does, with a flat smile upon his lips–those perfectly shaped lips that you get to kiss for the rest of your life. You reach out and take his hand, tracing your fingers over the plump veins on the back, the valleys and ridges of his knuckles. “I know we have quite a few years between us, and I’m not going to lie and say I haven’t thought about what happens when you and I both get older and…no, I don’t want to talk about that. What I want to say is that loving you could never be a waste, whether we have ten years together or thirty. I just want to spend every moment with you, Leon. I want everything with you. All of it.”

“You want to get married?”

That makes you laugh, a breathy little half-laugh-half-sigh. “Uh, duh. That’s kind of why I have this rock on my finger.” You flash him the ring, wiggling your fingers. He smiles, hand coming up to touch the ring. He’s beaming, proud of his work, wondering what he did in his life that made him so worthy of meeting you. 

“Tomorrow, then?” 

“Tomorrow?” You repeat, jaw falling open an inch.

“Yeah? Why not? Well, maybe not tomorrow, you know, because sometimes they make you wait once you get the license. Let me check.” He pulls out his phone and immediately opens the search engine, tapping away on the keyboard at the speed of someone who knows exactly what they’re looking for. 

“Leon?” You place a hand on his forearm. He stops typing to look up at you. 

“What?” His eyes are wide, pupils blown, like he can’t wrap his head around why you would be so shocked. 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Yeah. You said you never wanted a big wedding anyway. We get married at the courthouse and we have a celebration with your family and my friends later, if you want. I’m tired of waiting. Let’s do it.” He inhales and exhales a short breath through his nose, shoulders rising and falling alongside it. “I should have asked you to marry me months ago, when I knew it’s what I wanted. Let’s not waste anymore time, okay?” 

He’s also afraid that if he doesn’t take you to that courthouse, say those vows, and get it in writing, the voices in his head will finally convince him that he’s not good enough. For the last year and a half, Leon has been battling those thoughts. He bought the ring on a good day, when he felt confident and was secure in his pursuit of a future with you. Bad days followed, one after the other, and he got comfortable in his schedule of self-flaggelation, deriding himself for being too old, too worn down, too bitter and tired. 

A couple weeks ago, when you were planting something green and leafy in the garden, and Leon was sitting on the deck with a cup of coffee you made for him, he watched as your hands, delicate and nurturing, fostered life. His hands take it. You walked up to him, wearing one of his old white dress shirts, now flaked with soil. There was a mint leaf pinched between your fingers. You squeezed it and punctured it with your nail to activate the scent, then waved it under his nose. The devil on his shoulder couldn’t convince him to leave you in that moment. The day after that, he took the ring box from the highest shelf in his closet, from its hiding place tucked behind some winter sweaters, and began carrying it in his pocket. 

“Okay, yeah.” 

You do a double-take of your surroundings to make sure you’re not sitting in a garage with the engine rolling, actively being poisoned by carbon monoxide. And you’re not drunk…on alcohol at least. No, this is real. You just agreed to marry Leon tomorrow and you meant every word of the deal.

“Really? Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, it says here we can get married as soon as the license is issued. There’s no waiting period. So, we could get the license tomorrow and go straight to the courthouse and–uh–get married.” 

“Is this crazy?”

“Probably but who gives a shit? You’re mine. I’m yours. I want to make it permanent. We do it tomorrow. I’m not waiting any longer to have you.” 

“What if I told you that you could have me now?” 

Like a dog at a whistle–like your seat’s on fire–you lunge across the console and into his lap, shins planted on either side of his thighs, digging into the smooth leather. Your hands immediately find his face, pressing it into yours, mouths standing in position. Teeth and tongue and lips and breath. It feels like the first time, like you’re back on that porch swing, rambling about how you feel and he’s shutting you up with a kiss. Like there’s a swarm of electric eels slithering beneath your skin, lighting you on fire from your toes to the crown of your head, writing down your spine.

Your fingers weave through the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging his head back until it meets the headrest. He’s nearly fresh-shaven, just the dusting of a five-o-clock shadow across his jaw and above his lip. His cheeks are hollow. You kiss him there. 

Leon looks down at his watch, the nicer one he saves for special occasions. A mother of pearl face attached to a chain woven with alternating silver and gold links. “Our reservation’s in ten minutes, baby.”

“That’s all I need.” 

You make quick work of his belt, unfastening the metal buckle, unbuttoning his pants, unzipping the fly. Beneath the starchy fabric of his slacks, are a pair of black briefs and a growing erection straining against them. He bucks his hips, pressing your lower back into the steering wheel, shoving down his pants and underwear in one hasty sweep. You salivate at the sight of his cock, half-hard and already flushed with anticipation. As you stroke him with your hand, paying special attention to the sensitive underside of the shaft, he groans, tossing his head back against the leather, closing his eyes to block out all other distractions. 

“Just like that, baby.” His hand comes on top of yours to help you pump him to full stiffness, guiding you up and down as he sets the pace. Your thumb finds the bead of moisture leaking from the tip, and you swipe it across the head, his hips jerking beneath you. It’s disgusting and perverse how attractive you find it when his body reacts uncontrollably beneath your touch. One morning, when your body found his during the night and your hips sleepily settled against his erection, he woke you up with the most aggressive grinding. He said he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t control it. He just had to release the pressure stirred up by your proximity to him. It’s one of the hottest things he’s ever done. The way he needed you in that moment.

You hike up your dress, until all the fabric is bunched at your hips, and Leon’s hands find your thighs, caressing the fleshy meat, punctuating the gentle rubs with greedy squeezes you’re sure will leave marks. 

“No time for that,” you say, swatting his fingers away from the dampened crotch of your panties. “Need you inside.” 

“But you–”

“Leon.” You shoot him a daring glare. “We have eight minutes, and I want you inside me for every second.” 

“Okay, yeah, yeah,” he pants, pushing aside the fabric, lining himself up with your entry. Even the light brush of his head against your clit is enough to rile your senses. “Are you sure you’re ready? We didn’t–” 

Bothered by his priestly patience, you take over, grabbing his cock and sinking yourself down onto it, taking the full length in one pump. 

He groans into your decolletage, cubbing your clothes breasts as he further sinks into the flesh. The primal sounds reverberate off your cleavage as you bounce up and down, squeezing him with every pass. 

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good. How’d I–fuck–get so lucky?” His hands grab your hips, directing your movements, lowering you down even further so you can grind back and forth. 

“Oh, god,” you moan into his ear, the fingers of one hand digging into his chest. The other hand is cradling his head into your neck, he sows kisses there, tracing his lips up and down the tendon that always makes you jump and seize whenever it is touched. 

He chuckles, the vibrating buzzing against your skin. “No, it’s Leon.” 

Trying to be funny even when he’s getting fucked. Silly old man and his silly old jokes.

You continue grinding back and forth, stealing your pleasure from his lap, your clit rubbing against his pelvis, throbbing at the sensation. The familiar tightness returns to your gut, the muscles of your abdomen contracting as your orgasm builds. 

“I think I’m close,” you huff into his ear, your breath hot and labored as your nose brushes the soft strands of his hair. Leon’s ursine growl sounds through the car’s interior, bouncing off the leather seats, the tinted windows. “Fuck, Leon.”

His hands travel up your waist, snaking around your back. “Let go, pretty girl. I’ve got you.” 

Your clit throbs with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your legs continue to shake as you come down from your high, barely enough strength in your muscles to keep you grinding down on him. Thankfully, Leon takes over, thrusting his hips upward into your sullied pussy, now dripping and eager to be filled. 

“I want you to cum inside me. I want you to be dripping down my legs when I walk into that restaurant so everyone knows I’m yours.” 

His chest shudders, hips lurching, groans getting more unhinged. “Oh, shit, baby, you can’t say stuff like that.” 

“Sure I can,” you coo. The words drip from your pouty lower lip like maple syrup from the puckered mouth of a bottle. “Just like I can say that I want you to cum so deeply inside of me, you give me a baby.” Now you’re just being mean. You know he won’t last very long after that. “I want to have your baby, Leon.”

“Oh s–fuck,” he growls, just as expected. His arms slide under yours, his palms pressing into your shoulders to push you further onto his dick as he finishes with a final few thrusts, mean and deliberate. His upper body seizes, and you can feel the erratic thump of his heart when he holds you flush to his chest, your face buried into the crook of his neck, warm and slightly slick with sweat. “Oh, sweetheart. I love you.” You lean back so his head can hang forward onto your breasts as he regains his strength. Sliding off of his raw cock, you hurriedly pull the crotch of your panties back into position as not to drip onto his nice pants. 

“First time having sex as a fiancée,” you muse, looking down at your lap where your hand rests, the ring glimmering beneath the dim lights beaming down from the lamppost above the car. “Pretty great.” 

He’s not sure if you truly meant that about having his baby, or if it was just a thing you said at the spur of the moment to get him to his climax. Neither of you had really had that discussion, not in detail, at least. He had heard you mention children in passing, way before the two of you started seeing each other, but it might be different now. He hopes you haven’t given up that dream to be with him…or that you might even be willing to explore it with him before it’s too late. Before he gets too old. Before one mission becomes his last. 

You sink back into the passenger seat, breath heavy and shaky, grabbing your purse from the footwell. “Ready?” 

Leon pushes away those thoughts, deciding to focus on the moment the two of you are about to share, a romantic dinner in celebration of your engagement. He’s not going to mention it tonight, though you wish he would, because you meant every word. 

“Yep.”

May

A black dot in the center of his palm. 

A conversation with Sherry and Claire. 

A half-empty bottle of bourbon and the sound of his wife’s wails as her knees buckle beneath the weight of the news. He’s dying.

August

The dot grew into a web of black vines beneath the skin. It’s now on his back, across his ribcage, climbing up his neck.

September

A promise and a plan. 

October 

“Leon, please tell me it’s you.”

“Hi, baby. It’s me.” 

You nearly trip down the bottom step, your feet failing beneath you as you come to a halting stop. The man standing in the foyer looks an awful lot like your husband…if your husband was thirty-five and had better posture. 

“W–who are–Leon?” You spit, a stuttering mess as you try to focus your eyes on the figure before you. He’s wearing the same clothes he left the house in last night. His car is parked out in the driveway, dotted with a fresh splatter of raindrops. His hair is still streaked with gray, the only thing about him that betrays his true age. But his back is straighter. His face is different, fuller and rosier. The fine creases that lined his forehead are now smooth. The cording across his pebbled neck are nearly non-existent. 

“Who else would it be? I’m back.” 

“What’s going on? No, you–you look–what happened to your face?” 

“I got the cure. We all did. I had to fight tooth and nail for it, of course, but I’d be damned if I didn’t make it back home to you.” He opens his arms for you and you don’t waste a moment to run into them. 

“I knew you would,” you cheer, face nestled in the broad width of his chest. He smells like gasoline and dirt. Eyes flicker up to his neck, the few inches left exposed by the collar of his favorite tactical quarter-zip. Now you can really study his skin–skin you had memorized the taste of, the texture, each line and dip and dimple. “Did it…make you younger?” 

“Sort of, I guess. Something about cell rejuvenation. I’m not technically younger, of course, but I feel better. I feel stronger and my back doesn’t hurt as much.” Still only a few steps into the house, the two of you are settled in the foyer, and Leon turns your chin toward the large mirror resting on the entryway table, prompting you to look at your reflection. “And we look closer in age now, so maybe people will stop mistaking me for your dad.” 

It was a one-time thing. Leon took you to brunch on a particularly lovely Sunday morning. Birds were chirping, singing a song to the buttery sun suspended in the cloudless sky. It was early summer and the temperature was a perfect seventy-five degrees. A waitress at the restaurant asked if you were taking your “dad” out to lunch for the special occasion. Surely she had gotten her tables mixed up–a busy day, it happens–but you looked around to see a scattering of fathers sitting with their daughters of all ages. Some were younger, with sprite, elementary-school-aged girls. Others were old with snow white hair and their college girls back home for summer break. It was Father’s Day, and you had completely forgotten. After you stared up at her, nonplussed and wide-eyed, and Leon had cleared his throat in correction, the waitress promptly apologized and spun back into the kitchen like her face was on fire. You made sure to text your actual father a little phrase of celebration and gratitude once the moment was over. 

“Right, sorry. You just–I don’t know–you look different, but it’s you, but it’s…I’ll have to get used to it.” You shake your head, feeling like an idiot for being so concerned over a few missing wrinkles when your husband was at death’s door only a week before. Fingers squeeze his biceps in reassurance. “I’m just so happy you’re back and everyone is safe. You scared the shit out of me. All of you did.” 

He confirms that Claire and Sherry have taken the antiviral with a funny name. Your heart slows for the first time in months, and you were unaware of just how stressed you had come to be. 

Leon could hit himself for ever telling you in the first place. He debated it back and forth–a mental tennis match–when the symptoms first began to rise in black dots on his skin. He knew what the stress would do to you if you found out he was dying without a cure in sight, and slowly watched as it took over both your mind and body. The bones in your wrists began to protrude. Your eyes grew glassy and the skin beneath them, blue and hollow. You weren’t eating–couldn’t–but you said you did anytime he asked, face always awash with guilt when he did. You lied. 

Just like you lied about the double lines that appeared on that little plastic stick you held in shaky hands. It wasn’t supposed to be a lie, not at first. You had planned a surprise when you got the call from the doctor’s office, confirming that those two lines were real, that you didn’t get poked and drawn for nothing, and that you and Leon were really about to start your family. You were going to tell him that night, unable to keep it a secret any longer, and so you purchased a pair of white baby booties from an overly expensive, overly frilly baby boutique in the neighborhood, wrapped them in tissue paper, and placed them in a pretty, white box. He came home from work, looking absolutely wrecked and immediately asked for a drink–something strong–so you put the box away in the back of the closet and let him recover before bombarding him with the news. To your own surprise, he said he also had something he needed to tell you, something important that couldn’t wait. 

It took a week for the blood to appear, running down your legs as you stepped into the first shower you had the energy to take in days. So you sat below a steamy stream of water, curled up against the cold, unwelcoming tile, crying for the loss of your baby and the impending loss of your husband. 

“I’m safe. I’m alive.” He whispers the last phrase like a mantra, wiping the tears off your cheeks with a delicate thumb. “Don’t cry. You don’t have to cry anymore.” 

“I know,” you say through a wet sniffle. Although your nostrils are clogged and your throat is raw, it feels like you can finally breathe. Too long have you felt like there has been a fifty-pound weight on your chest, prohibiting your lungs from expanding to their full capacity. You haven’t been able to take a deep breath in months, not like this. “I know.” 

Leon leans down and kisses you, his lips feeling no different than they did when he left last night. In one day, he was able to save three lives, maybe more. You know he can add yours to the list, because you weren’t sure you could have carried on without him if he didn’t come back. 

His hands cradle your head as he presses your mouth into his. Teeth collide. Tongues mate. His fingers wrap around your neck, one palm traveling down to cup your breast. It’s hungry and mean as it collects your flesh in its fist. 

He growls when you bite his lower lip, teeth needing something to sink into as the ache grows in your core. 

“I haven’t felt this good in a long time, baby.” Even his voice has gone back in time, clearer and stronger as he groans in your ear. You can feel the bulge straining through his pants, pressing into the apex of your thighs. Since the two of you started seeing each other, and having regular sex, it has been harder for Leon to get it up without the help of your hand or mouth, so it’s rare that he has a full erection just from kissing you. “I haven’t felt this…eager in a while.” 

“Take me to the bedroom?” You squeak and he nods before swooping you up in his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. Is he taking the steps two at a time? 

He places you on your shared bed, your back flush against the soft cotton linens. The room smells like him, so does the comforter. Amber and cedar. You had wrapped yourself in the sheets earlier, a cocoon of his scent that lingered in the fabric long after he was gone. 

“I’ll make up for all the pain I caused you, I promise.” His face is wracked with unwarranted guilt. He hides it in the crook of your neck as he plants pointed, decisive kisses there, one languid smooch on the tendon, a sensitive spot he has memorized. You squirm beneath his lips. 

“Don’t–don’t talk like that, Leon,” you warn, voice stuttering as he kisses his way down your chest and abdomen, pushing your body further onto the bed. His self-deprecation is your least favorite quality of his. “You have never hurt me. Never will, as long as you always come back.” 

He hums in agreement, his concentration stolen away by the sight of the underwear you were hiding beneath your pajama shorts: a white pointelle pair with a little pink rosebud on the band. Cute enough to welcome him when he came home, modest enough to wear when they buried your body next to his in the event that he didn’t.

Leon toys with the elastic band stretched across your hip bones, hooking his fingers around it as he pulls them down your thighs, cradling the soaked panties against his cheek. His eyes are closed and he nuzzles his face into the fabric like a cat, eyes closed and groaning through closed lips. 

“God, I missed you,” he says with an exhale before discarding the underwear and shifting his focus back to what was beneath them. “Missed this.” 

By the time he begins playing with your clit, you’re already weeping down your thighs, coating the flesh in a lewd sheen of anticipation. Luckily, Leon is there to lap up your arousal, sweet ambrosia on his tongue, making sure not to let a drop go to waste. 

Two fingers. Three. 

You moan. He moans.

You cry out his name like a confession as he fucks your through your release, fingers relentlessly pumping inside you, tongue rolling across your throbbing clit. It’s too much and not enough. 

“I–I need you inside. Please,” you wail. All he does is chuckle at your desperation, wearing a kind of confidence you haven’t seen before. Must be the facelift boosting his self-esteem. Jerk. 

“Who am I to not give you what you want?” He flips you over so quickly you don’t realize you’re being thrown around until your chest meets the rumpled linens draped across the mattress. The springy material dips on either side of your head as Leon supports himself above you, bending down at the elbows to kiss the length of your spine, stopping at the small of your back to grab your ass and spread your cheeks apart for his impending arrival. He nudges your thighs open with his knee, and with one mean thrust, he’s inside, filling you back up again. You had missed this sensation more than anything else–the communion of your bodies, of the desire, the love that brought you two together. 

“You came back to me,” you say as he collapses on top of you, nose nestled into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of you: jasmine, honey, pink pepper, and sage. A blossoming garden on a spring day. 

“Of course, I did, baby,” he mumbles into your hair before finally rolling over to gift you a better look at his face, one you’ll have to relearn. His freckles seem brighter somehow. A light dusting across his nose and cheeks. A sprinkling on his shoulders. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” 

“Come here,” you command softly, opening up your arms. He rests his head on your chest, forearm wrapped around your waist. Holding him feels necessary right now. 

His hair is silky between your fingers. You study the color: chestnut brown with streaks of blonde and gray, just like before. The silver strands catch in the moonlight seeping through the window. His pale skin practically glows in the sheen, the translucent scars on his shoulders and chest met with a few new cuts, treated and on their way toward healing. 

He doesn’t always come back from missions with wounds, but sometimes he walks through the door nursing a broken rib, sometimes you have to change the bandages on a nick or two. He’s been more careful since you met, even more so since you got married–taken on fewer assignments, asked for longer droughts between missions to focus on research and reports instead, anything he can do at his desk sans machine gun. You wonder if they’ll even send him back out now that he’s come back from the grave, given another chance at life. Or will they try to take it away again? 

“Whenever you get back to the office, you should probably talk to them about scaling back your field work.” 

He nods against your chest, not speaking to refute or agree, not taking the bait. 

“I’ll need you home a lot more.” 

“Right,” he murmurs, drawing circles on your ribs. “Of course.”

“You know, since we’re having a baby and all.” You rake your two front teeth over your bottom lip, digging enamel into flesh to repress the squeal rising in your throat. 

Leon jerks himself upright onto all fours like an excited puppy. All he’s missing is a wagging tail and a sloppy tongue hanging out of his mouth. His eyes are frenzied and wide. “Are you saying you’re–are we…” 

You nod in confirmation, unable to hold back your smile any longer. He pulls you off the pillow and into a hug, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

And he cries into your hair. Such a sap. 

Eighteen Months Later

Julia babbles in your arms as you bounce her on your hip. Her mouth puckers like a rosebud, flushed and pink and utterly kissable as she takes in the environment around her.

“Oh, look, baby, that’s you,” you sing, directing her attention to the mantle, specifically a silver-framed photo of a skinny, red-faced, day-old version of the doughy baby now heavy and healthy in the square of your elbow. “That was the day you were born. Your daddy cried more than I did, just started sobbing as soon as he saw your face. Isn’t that right, baby? He fell in love with you once he saw that pretty face of yours, huh?” 

You squeeze her fat cheeks and she giggles. You’re not sure that sound will ever cease to take your breath away. 

Leon doesn’t have many photos from his childhood, at least, not any that you have seen, and it leaves you to wonder if he resembled her at all when he was her age. She looks like you in some ways more than others, and her button nose is still small the way it is for all nine-month-olds, but her flaxen hair and upturned eyes are definitely from Leon. Nine months and some odd hours of nausea, back pain, and side sleeping, and she comes out looking like her father. 

“Let’s see what else we have here,” you coo, walking her down the mantle, pointing to the array of picture frames crowding the ledge.

“That’s Uncle Chris and Aunt Claire with Daddy in the mountains. You saw them yesterday, didn’t you? And your grandma and grandpa with Uncle Ethan. He’s so, so silly but he hasn’t flunked out of college yet so we’re holding out hope for the kid. Oh, and that’s me. Mama,” you enunciate, determined for her to call out for you first. She babbles, foamy spit on her tongue as she sticks it out, attempting to communicate however her little brain knows how at this age. “And that is Leon Scott Kennedy, your father. Can you say ‘father’ ? How about ‘Leon Kennedy’? ‘Scott’? No? That’s okay. Oh, and that’s us the day we got married. It’s a very funny story, but I’ll save it for another time because it sounds like your daddy’s home.”

The sound of a car door closing outside the window betrays Leon’s arrival, and it’s not long before you hear the lock turning and the sticky sound of the front door opening. He’s dressed in a clean compression shirt and a pair of cargo pants that do anything but hide his petrous thighs and the curve of his pert ass which is somehow bigger than yours. 

“I’m home,” he cheers, setting down his duffel bag. It slumps onto the hardwood next to his boots, taken off and set against the foyer wall, lined up like two soldiers retired from battle. “How are my girls?” 

He walks into the living room and tugs you and the baby into an embrace. The three of you. The perfect family you have given him. 

April, Twelve Years Later

“How about we have another one?” 

The last time you gave into that suggestion, you ended up with an extra baby neither of you had planned. Not risking that again.

“Leon,” you groan, trying to pull away from his hold around your waist. Futile attempt, of course. “We can’t.” He holds your back flush to his chest. 

“Yes, we can.” 

“We have any more and we’ll have to get a bigger car.” 

“Okay” 

“A bigger house.”

“Okay. So?” “We’ll get a bigger car and a bigger house. We’re running out of room here anyway.” 

“No,” you whine, looking around at the home the two of you have built together. The growth chart you kept for each baby, etched in different colored pens on the doorframe of their bedrooms. The clay mug Julia made in art class. Alice’s paintings hung on nearly every wall. Even the toys the twins leave scattered around the living room bring joy to your heart, even if they bring pain to your feet when you stumble over them. “I love this house.” 

“Come on, let’s make it an even number.”

“We have an even number. There’s four of them.”

“Twins don’t count as two, not really.” 

“Tell that to the preschool we pay two grand a month for.” “You do realize they’re all going to get married one day, and as the bride’s family, we are the ones who have to foot the bill for each wedding? Not to mention cars and college funds and graduate programs–because they’re all going to graduate school in one form or another–and makeup and prom dresses and summer camp and soccer. It adds up, Leon.” 

He laughs. “I forget that you never look at our bank account.” 

“Right, I don’t. That’s for management’s eyes only.” 

“How about I manage that ass in our bedroom, huh?” 

“You’re on lunch.”

“Yeah, what do you think I came home to eat?” 

“Beast,” you groan, rolling your eyes and slapping a playful palm on his chest. “You have to get back to the office in thirty minutes.”

He leans in to nibble your ear. “I can get you pregnant in ten. Maybe a boy this time.” 

But was that your mind, or the door to the bedroom that needs its hinges replaced? An intruder or the stream of water hitting your drum at the perfect angle?

Do you turn the faucet off (and do what?) or do you let this play out like you’re some blonde Hitchcockian starlet, stabbed to death in a ceramic grave, embalmed in PVC and soapy loofah net. 

You’d really hate to die all naked and wet like this. And unmoisturized. You make a mental note to include a full-body rub-down with petroleum jelly in your funeral plans. 

You glance over your shoulder, seeing only em empty bathroom through the fog-stained glass. No Norman Bates waiting on the other side of the shower door with a sharp blade in his hand and a cheshire grin on his face. Apparently, it’s not your time.

Swallowing down your paranoia, you turn around to face the cascade of steam and blue-hot pellets that cleans your body of all its sins. Leon calls you ‘Lucifer’, the way you bathe in hellfire. ‘Hotter than a bullet’, he says. Whatever that means. You never ask those types of questions. 

What did you see out there? 

Where did that scar come from? 

How the hell do you know bullets are hot?

You rinse the soap from your front, the suds from your hair, your eyes screwing shut as the shampoo runs down your forehead. And when you open them, now facing the shower door again, you see a heart drawn in the condensation. 

Then, you blink and it’s gone, the heat erasing the dripping strokes you saw only seconds ago. 

Your ancestors outran Malaria so you could be killed in the shower. 

Or.

It’s midnight and you watched a slasher movie while being home, all alone. What did you think was going to happen? And it’s not your fault, really. It was just on the television, one of the few channels that wasn’t flooded with commercials about weight-loss meal plans and insurance claims. 

Turning back toward the stream, you let the water prick your skin. And then, a pair of hands wrap around your waist. 

You’re not imagining things this time around.

“Boo.” 

You spin on your heel, grout and tile scratching the skin on your way around. Blonde, devilishly handsome, and just dim-witted enough to pull something as dumb as sneaking up on someone in the shower. He said he wouldn’t be home for another week. Now he’s here, naked as the day he was born, standing behind you in the shower, with his hands roaming your sides.

I love you, you’re back! 

I hate you, you’re a beast!

A dilemma, indeed.

“Holy shit, Leon,” you gripe, heart beating so fast, it might break free from your chest and run a marathon down the street. “Not fucking funny.” As he laughs, you throw anything you can get your hands on at the clown: a loofah, a bar of soap, almost a shampoo bottle. He grabs your wrists, snatching the bottle from your grasp, returning it to the niche in the wall as he presses pause on his laughing fit to apologize. 

An apology doesn’t carry the same weight if it’s followed up by ‘I had to’ and ‘I just couldn’t help myself’.

“You scared me, Leon. I thought I was about to be a headline on the news or show up on the side of a milk carton.” 

He arches a suspicious brow, the mist from the showerhead catching on the dark, coarse hairs. “Bit old for the milk carton, aren’t you?” 

You land a punch on his chest, knuckle digging straight into sinew. It hurts you more than it hurts him. He only winces so you don’t feel bad about being so weak. “Not. Helping. Asshole!”

“Come on,” he coos, wrapping you in his arms. It’s been nearly a month without seeing him in the flesh, and you’re not going to put up a fight if he wants to hold you, so you let him, sinking into his touch. His skin is warm, smelling like government-issued soap, skin-eating and putrid. It’ll be his second shower of the evening, and the only enjoyable one. “That’s more like it. Happy to see me now?” With his arms still wrapped around you, and yours around him, he smooths the damp hair at the back of your head.

“I would have been happier if you had a collar with a bell,” you say, retreating, letting your eyes fall to his form, drinking it up from the callouses on his toes to the tiny scrape on his forehead.

Another question you never ask: how do you know how to do that? 

To sneak up on people without making a sound? Without so much as a strand of your hair being seen? 

Dipping his chin, letting the water run down his head, drenching the blonde curtains, gluing them to his temples, he chuckles. It’s a dark, vibrational sound that echoes throughout the glass chamber, nearly knocking you off your feet. 

He glances up at you, droplets coating his eyelashes, making his blue eyes all the more piercing. “For you, I’d wear anything around my neck.” 

You pause for a moment, letting those words in their lewdness settle in your stomach. Then, you cackle. Like a witch on a broom, soaring through an inky, Halloween sky, across a big, butterball full moon. “You’re so cheesy, Leon.” His face falls and he rolls his eyes. You never let him off easy when he attempts to play these little games–one-liners and corny jokes to try and set the stage for what he really wants to say…

“Just let me fuck you, okay?” 

There it is.

“That’s all you had to say.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He’s already pumping his half-stiff cock in his hand, it sitting heavy in his palm as it slides back and forth in his fist. “Turn around, princess.” His other hand is positioning you, molding you like a ball of clay, moving your body so that your tits are pressed up against the glass wall, your cheek turned and flat above them. 

He presses his tip through your lips, shoving his length between them, gathering the slick of your arousal before thrusting himself into you, every punishing inch at once, leaving you no moment of reprieve before you’re forced to take it all. The stretch has you purring like a cat, your back arching to find the angle that guarantees almost instant pleasure–the euphoria that comes from feeling full, stuffed to the brim with his cock. 

He pistons in and out of you, muttering a few sweet nothings about the way you feel around him, how much he missed you, how he thought about you and your angelic face every day he was out in the field. You’ve missed the feeling of him inside you so much that you become as drunk as a white-trash divorcée in a bar, singing bad karaoke, pissed off long island iced teas and revenge.

“So tell me, baby, did you miss me?” He asks, nose nuzzling into your cheek as he speaks in your ear. You fail to respond, far too focused on the slow build of your pleasure, hammering the nails into the roller coaster you’ll soon ride up, then down. Unable to shut his mouth for more than five seconds, he returns to your ear, nibbling the lobe before his voice reappears. “Happy I’m home?” 

It’s distracting, sometimes. The way he incessantly pokes and prods while literally poking and prodding. The difference is, one feels good–really, sinfully, it’s-own-circle-of-hell good–and the other one makes that good go poof! 

“Can you just stop asking me questions?” You ask against the glass, backing your hips up just an inch to meet his thrusts half-way. 

He chuckles, the vibrations tickling your cheek, and his hands continue to roam your body, sliding down the sides of your torso, one settling on your throat, the other at the slope of your waist. His fingers just hold your neck, tethering you to him as he presses your front back to the glass, your spine now flush with the line of his abdomen. You can feel his quickening heartbeat against your shoulder blade, paying attention to the rhythm as it grows. 

Leon adjusts the shower head so that the stream of water can cascade down both your bodies, now melded together as one. The sound of his hips slapping your ass as he plummets into you harmonizes with the sound of the wet sheets. 

It takes a while for you to find your high, but once it’s within arm’s reach, you relax your hips and your abdomen, and let your body do the rest of the work. You scream out, crying Leon’s name as his grunts eclipse your whimpers, your walls clamping down on his cock, so tight he can hardly remove himself, and he doesn’t. He finishes violently inside you, growls hot on your neck as he spits out gratitudes to you, to the stars in the sky above, the deities that live among them, for returning him home to you once more. 

“Fuck,” he curses as he finally slides out of your pussy, taking with him the evidence of your mutual ecstasy. “That was so good.”

Planting kisses on your droplet-mottled shoulder, he exchanges the chaste pecks for bites, then kisses again, working his way up the crook of your neck, the curve of your ear. You’ve yet to remove yourself from the glass wall, too jittery to trust yourself not to fall if you do. Plus, you don’t pass up the chance to stay pressed against a hard surface by Leon’s vast chest, savoring the feeling of your skins’ union. 

His hands trail up and down the flesh of your arms, teasing you with the gentle scrape of his nails, the tickling pads of his fingers. Then, as if anything at all needed to be said to punctuate such a beautiful expression of your love, Leon speaks. 

“So, let’s talk more about that collar.”

He’s truly such a beautiful specimen, a fact that all the nosey old ladies in town couldn’t seem to keep to themselves. They would tell him every chance they got just how handsome of a man he is, petting his arm, giving him sloppy, lipstick-stained kisses on his cheek. Of course, to reach him, they'd have to rise to the ball of their Sunday's best (typically a kitten heel with a duck-mouthed toe box), holding down his forearm so he bends at the waist and meets them half-way. 

“Leon, move your leg, I need to get up.” 

He doesn’t fully wake, but he obeys the command, still half asleep, and removes his leg from across your thigh, freeing you from his hold. You want nothing more than to stay in bed all day with him, tossing and turning among the sheets, but alas, duty calls.

You get ready for the day, following your typical routine: freshening your hair, popping on something easy that can survive the bipolar weather of that limbo between summer and autumn. It’s a sundress today, one of Leon’s favorites. 

“I like that one,” is the first thing you hear him say, his body still tucked beneath the comforter when you glance toward the bed. Then, “Where are you going?” 

“Work.”

“Wait, what?” His dark brows cinch and he sits up, leaning back on a flexed arm. “I thought you were off today.” He blinks hard, kneading the heel of his palm into one of his eyes, rubbing the film of sleep from it. 

It’s unfair how handsome he always looks first thing in the morning. Absolutely unfair, but you’ll happily reap the benefits of such an injustice. 

You walk over to the bed after slipping on a pair of earrings. “I was supposed to be, but my cousin called in sick, so my aunt needs another set of hands. Why? Did you have something planned?” 

“Did I have something planned?” He repeats, chuckling, taking your hands into your grasp, tugging on your arms just an inch, threatening to pull you onto the mattress and not let you get up until the sun falls. “Yeah, keeping you in bed all day, making sweet love to you. That’s what I had planned.” He reaches up to suck your lips into a kiss. Such a sap. “Don’t go to work,” he says once he pulls away. 

It’s your turn to laugh, tossing your neck back as you keep your feet planted on the floor, unmoving. “Some of us have to make a living, Leon.” 

“You don’t. I may be retired now but I have more than enough to take care of you.” 

He looks up at you, sincerity welling in his eyes like thick, oily tears on his lashes. 

“Right. We’re not even married.” To everyone else besides the two people in this room, you’re not even dating. “I’m not that stupid.” 

“Hey,” he snaps, offended at the insinuation that he’d lure you from your job, your security, just to leave you and put you out on the street, helpless. He vocalizes the slight against him, and you roll your eyes. “I would never do that to you.” You’re inclined to believe him, never having met such an honorable, dutiful man in your life. If you were to settle down with anyone, you prefer it be with someone like him. 

“They all say that. I know too many girls in this town who have fallen for a handsome city boy like you, up and changed their lives for them, only to have to come crawling back to town with no job, no money, no ring. It won’t be me.” 

He shrugs. “Then I’ll give you a ring.” 

You giggle, patting his head. “You’re sleepy.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“Leon, you don’t even want people to know we’re dating. I’m not sure why you think I’d believe you want to marry me if you can’t even tell old Linda at the diner that you have a girlfriend. Even if it would mean she’d stop trying to set you up with her daughter.” 

“I’m just private about my personal life.” 

You bend at the hips to kiss him on the temple. “I know, honey.” He grabs your wrist as you stand up straight, turning to step away. He doesn’t speak, saying enough with the expression splashed across his face. “You don’t have to explain, Leon, I get it.” 

Coming to a small town, especially being the fresh meat that came in on a storm, paying in cash for three months at the local bed and breakfast, with unexplainable muscles and the kind of face people here have only seen on the television, the spotlight was instantly shone on him. 

Moving here, if just for a summer and a half, was supposed to be relaxing. He wanted to retire in peace, find a cabin further into the woods maybe, where he could chop wood and roast squirrels on a switch over a handmade fire (well, maybe not a squirrel). He wasn’t expecting to be, quite literally, photographed and put in the local newspaper on arrival. 

And he certainly didn’t expect to fall in love with you, the beloved daughter of two of the more prominent citizens–the girl everyone knew and watched grow up from the time you were no taller than a blade of grass. That’s how these small hamlets work. Everyone knows everyone, whether you were born and raised on the town’s soil, or a newcomer with a fancy car and a mysterious past. And nothing–nothing at all–is off-limits. Every juicy detail can be found out, picked apart, and passed around like a plate of rolls at dinner. 

There are no secrets. Privacy is a pipe dream. 

Plus, the two of you aren’t exactly close in age–at all–and he would never forgive himself if the revelation of your relationship with him managed to harm your reputation, or prompt any sort of damaging gossip, which it has the potential to do. He’s not ignorant or selfish enough to ignore that possibility. 

Knowing all of this yourself, you don’t blame Leon for wanting to keep your romance a secret. It’s much easier this way, though a quiet voice at the back of your head wonders if it’s because it’s so easy that makes it attractive to him. Easy to enjoy in peace for a season. Easy to leave without riot when the weather turns bitter. 

There’s nothing to tie him here. No mortgage, no career, no land. He could pack up and leave as quickly as he arrived. 

You, on the other hand, are tethered to this place, whether you like it or not, regardless if you wish for more–like many of the friends you grew up with who left and blossomed in the big city, now living among the clouds in swanky high-rises, carrying alligator briefcases to their corporate jobs. 

You can’t leave. You have the store, passed down from your grandfather’s father, to your father and his brother. It’s a family affair, the whole gang of you practically living inside the four walls. Silk ties and belt loops are in your blood. 

“I have to go.”

“I love you.” 

You look back at him, blowing a kiss his way. He catches it in his hand and places it over his heart. So cheesy. 

“I love you too, Leon.”

The morning has been slow, only a few window shoppers walking by, peering at the displays through the glass. Some regulars have stopped in for some tailoring. Other than that, it’s been quiet, and you’ve reveled in the peace, taking the time to tend to a few housekeeping tasks you’d been putting off.

Your aunt rounds the corner, luring your attention from the register where you were crunching the numbers of last month’s profit and loss. “Honey, will you come take this nice gentleman’s measurements?” She gestures behind her with a thumb. You were so enveloped in your work, you didn’t even hear the front door chime. “I’ve gotta call the warehouse again before they close for lunch.” 

“Sure thing,” you say, hopping off the stool, tossing the pencil down onto the counter. “Make sure to tell them we need to order more of those cotton-blend dress shirts with the wider necks.” 

“Will do, darling,” she responds as you make your wait to the back of the store, passing by racks of sports coats, shelved displays of folded polos where all the colors of the sunset are represented in the fabrics. You weave through another maze of racks, approaching the back of the store. That’s when you see him, your boyfriend behind closed doors, the exciting newcomer beyond them. 

When he sees you from his perch on the pedestal in front of the large, tri-fold mirrors near the dressing rooms, a wicked grin appears on his face, the corner of his mouth quivering in amusement. He’s wearing a plaid button-down shirt, untucked from a pair of navy pants. 

“Good morning,” he greets, that half-smile growing toothier the closer you get toward him as he extends a hand for you to shake. You do, if only to touch him.

“What are you doing here, Leon?” You ask, making sure to keep your voice down as you say his name. 

“I wanted to come by and see the store you’re always talking about.” And then, he shrugs, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt in the mirror. “Plus, I need some larger shirts.” He pats his stomach, the little layer of pudge fed by the diner’s signature apple pie which Leon never goes a day without getting a slice of, and the chocolate chip cookies he begs you to make every Sunday night. “Maybe a couple pairs of pants too. And a gym membership while we’re at it. Good grief.” 

He cinches his brows together at his reflection, puffing his chest on an inhale, watching the way the gaps of fabric between the buttons pucker beneath the tension.

“Looking for anything in particular?” 

You stand behind him, meeting his eyes through the mirror. 

“You look like someone with great taste,” he says. “Just pick out whatever you think will look good. I trust you.”

“Of course,” you say sweetly, clasping your hands in front of you. “Let me see what I can find.”

“Uh, Miss? Don’t you need to take my measurements first?” He bends at the waist to reach toward a limp tape measure hanging from a wooden valet. “Here you go.” 

“Right,” you say with a breath, taking it from him. “I’ll do that.” 

“Starting with the legs, thanks. Might have to kneel down to get the best angle.” 

After taking his measurements from calf to shoulder, you scurried off around the shop with your head down, cheeks aflame, searching for the most expensive pieces you can find, pulling from the shelves with enthusiasm. All cashmere and merino wool, brand names no one in this town can pronounce, and accessories Leon definitely doesn’t need but you will talk into buying anyway. 

When you walk out to the front of the store to grab a specific sweater, business has picked up. Even your father has stopped by to man the register, your mother and aunt working together to tend to the other customers that have come through the doors in drones. 

Finally returning to the dressing rooms with your hands full of clothes, Leon is there waiting, leaning against the wall with one arm folded across his chest and one ankle crossed over the other. He’s on his phone, thumb scrolling down the screen. When you approach, he glances up from the device, removing his back from the wall. 

“Show me what you’ve got,” he says, stepping toward you to relieve your forearms of some of the weight. You move past him quickly, not letting him lift so much as a single shirt, moving all the articles to balance in one hand as you pull back one of the curtains to a dressing room with the other. Hanging all the metal hooks on the rack, you dust off your hands, turning to leave the room. Leon stops you, his body standing in the gap between the long swaths of heavy velvet, barring you from entry back into the store. 

You peer over his shoulder, and though there isn’t anyone there to see, there could just as easily be, and his cover is blown. 

“Excuse me, sir,” you say. He looks down at you with a grin before stepping aside to let you pass. “Let me know if you need different sizes.” 

“Will do. Thank you.” 

He lifts his arms to close the curtains, which in turn lifts the hem of his shirt, giving you a peek at his abdomen. Though there has grown to be a healthy layer of flesh there, it doesn’t hide the muscularity beneath it, a small scattering of hair leading down to the band of his boxers. 

Before you can drool for too long, the makeshift doors of the dressing room close, and a customer approaches you from behind, asking where he can find the hats. 

It’s not long until you’re called back over to the dressing rooms by a voice on the other side of the divider. Leon says your name, a bare arm slipping from between the velvet, his biceps on full display. 

“Hi there. Could you help me with something?” He asks, beckoning you closer with a crooked finger. When you’re close enough, he says in a lower voice, “I can’t quite get my pants unzipped to try on the ones you brought me..” 

You roll your eyes. “Leon, we can’t.” 

Part of you is happy he’s being so bold in public. The other part is humiliated by his choosing to do so when your closest family members are on the other side of the store. 

Still, against your judgment, you enter into the dressing room, taking in the sight of his naked upper body, those broad shoulders, the gentle line of his collarbone, every ridge and valley of his abdomen, contracting and releasing as he shows you the “broken” zipper. 

“Help,” he says, a mocking pout appearing on his lips. “Stuck.” 

“What are you doing, Leon?” You ask, swatting his hands away from the malfunctioning fly, only to find out it’s working perfectly fine. 

“Supporting local businesses,” he quips with a wide, boyish grin. When he smiles like that, it seems to take ten years off his age, the wrinkles on his forehead relaxing though the ones near his eyes deepen. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s like you’re trying to get us caught.” 

He steps toward you, walking you back until your shoulder blades are flush to the wall, the cool plaster on your skin sending a chill across your skin. Goosebumps rise in their wake, but you have a suspicion they’re not from the cold. 

“I’m trying to fuck my girlfriend, like I planned to do. Not my fault you got called into work.” 

His voice is low and gravely, its typical dulcet tone completely overtaken by something utterly dark and wanton. He runs his hands up and down the sides of your middle, pulling and pushing the smocked fabric of your dress with every up and down stroke. 

“Leon.” 

You’re not sure why you moan his name. Perhaps to stop him from continuing. Perhaps to beg him not to. 

“Shh, baby,” he coos, pressing a cupped hand over your mouth. “Can’t let anyone hear us, can we?” 

You shake your head against his palm. 

“That’s it,” he says as you instinctively part your legs to accommodate his thigh, sinking down onto the thick sinew. Your clit catches on the dense fabric of his pants, making you yelp against his hand as you rock your pussy back and forth. “Shh, there you go. Keep going.” 

He continues to whisper praises into your ear as you climb toward your pleasure. Once it’s within arm’s reach, Leon removes his thigh from between yours. Still not able to use your mouth, you express frustration with your brows, bending them at him. 

“Not fair,” you bite when he removes his hand to shove down his pants and, while he’s at it, he yanks down your panties until they pool at your ankles.

“Hush now.” He frees his cock from the restraints of his briefs, pumping the muscle to its full stiffness in his fist. “Move your skirt.” 

You gather the fabric in your hands, pulling it up your legs until it gathers above your hips. Leon lifts one of your legs with a palm pressed into the back of your thigh, keeping your knee raised up by your shoulder as he lines himself with your entrance. 

He taps your cheek, applying the slightest unit of pressure to tilt your gaze toward the mirror. “Watch.” 

You follow his line of sight to your face in the reflection, studying the way your expression contorts as he enters you, his entire length at once, stretching you, threatening to tear you in half with his cock. 

You’ve never had to measure it. After all the years you’ve been helping your family at the store, starting in high school nearly a decade ago, you’ve come to memorize all units of measurement, knowing exactly what an inch looks like. Leon’s got eight and a half of them. 

And every single one is delicious, especially when it plows into you at such a punishing pace. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans lowly in your hear, the sound muffled by your hair. “You’re doing so good. Takin’ it so good.” 

When you open your mouth wide, threatening to yelp, Leon covers it again. “Shh, shh, shh,” he coos. “I thought you said you could be quiet.” 

You shake your head against his palm. There’s no way you can trust yourself not to make sounds akin to those of a dying animal when Leon is pistoning into you at this angle. 

He chuckles. “Alright then, I’ll help you.” 

As he continues to thrust up into you, he keeps his hand on your mouth, the appendage swallowing each and every one of your muted whimpers. 

“Come on me,” he commands in your ear. “Wanna feel you squeezing me as I finish.” 

The two of you reach your respective highs together, Leon coming inside you as your own violent climax gushes around him, sucking every last drop. 

He pants at your shoulder for a while, caressing the thigh you have wrapped around his waist, such soft, soothing touches that nearly lull you into a standing stupor. You fold your arms around his neck, keeping yourself bound to him in fear that if you don’t, your leg, now turned to jelly, might not hold you up.

“Good job, baby,” he says, giving you one last kiss on the cheek before he pulls out, letting the evidence of your combined pleasure leak from your sore hole. 

“I’m taking these, by the way,” he adds slyly, crouching down to manually lift and lower your foot until he can free your ankle from the holes of your panties, stuffing the pair into his pant pocket. When he stands up, knees clicking, he reaches around to grab your ass, taking a handful in his grasp through the fabric of your sundress. “And don’t you dare clean yourself up.” He lowers his mouth to your ear, speaking in a near-whisper. “I want you to feel me dripping down your legs all day long.” 

The words send another wave of desert heat to your stomach, making your swollen clit throb once more, or maybe that’s still a lingering aftershock from one of the more intense climaxes of your life. 

Being with an older man was like nothing you had experienced before when you would date men your own age. You weren’t some proxy mother that had to teach him how to load the dishwasher or separate the whites from the colors so as not to stain all your t-shirts. You didn’t have to pretend to finish every time he padded at your inner thigh, thinking it was turning you on. No fake orgasms, no hoping he actually scrubbed his feet in the shower (and not just let the shampoo from his head trickle down to miraculously clean them), no second-guessing his affection. 

And you didn’t have to wait, there was no chasing after him, sitting by the phone in hopes that he would text or call. The two of you dated for less than a year before moving in together and committing with matching rings and a signed certificate, and though you swore you’d never be one of those girls who jumped into marriage without knowing the guy for at least two laps around the sun, there was something so special about Leon that you felt it almost immediately. He was the one and only man for you. And you, the only one for him. 

He was plagued, however, with the typical anxieties that come with being with someone so much younger than he. He was afraid he would hold you back from experiencing whatever it is twenty-something kids like you get up to these days. And he knew what other people would think, and some chivalrous (call it traditional) part of him didn’t want to tarnish your reputation. But you wouldn’t let him slip away. You doubled-down, adamant that he was who you wanted to be with, no matter the difference in age, the judgmental gazes of onlookers. 

Nothing could shake you, especially not the comments. 

Except for today. 

At work, before you rounded the corner to the break room, you overheard two of your coworkers conversing in hushed tones, one dropping your name, the other giggling. You listen for a few moments as they talk about your relationship with Leon, the man you have depicted in several photographs on your desk, the man you brought to the holiday party last week and introduced to your coworkers for the first time. Everyone seemed to flock to him as soon as he walked in, a magnet to men and women alike. 

“He’s so much older than she is.” It’s Shelby. She’s always had a mean-girl edge to her, one you sniffed out as soon as you began working for the company. “Like thirty years, give or take.”

“What do they even have in common,” the second voice says, the flinty tone easily recognizable as belonging to the receptionist, Trisha. 

“I don’t know. It just always gives me the creeps when an old man goes after a younger girl like that. It’s like they’re trying to live out some father-daughter fantasy or something.” 

“Gross.”

“Exactly.”

You carried around a pit in your stomach for the rest of the day. It gurgled throughout dinner, running your appetite into the ground, and shook with the rock of the car as Leon drove the two of you home from the restaurant. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to read your mind?” He asks, coming up behind you, meeting the reflection of your eyes in the mirror, his hands taking over your trembling fingers as they attempted to unlatch your necklace. After a long day at work, your muscles are tired, your brain fried and in need of eight uninterrupted hours of shut-eye.

“It’s nothing.” 

Setting the chain down, he thins his eyes, bottom lip held hostage by his top teeth. “I don’t think so.” His hands wrap around your waist as he steps forward to rest his chin on your shoulder, inhaling the sweet scent of your hair. “Talk to me.” He plans a light kiss on your earlobe, one at your temple.

“Really, Leon,” you say, shirking away from his grasp. He stays standing by the dresser, lost and confused, as you make your way to the bed, eager to hide beneath the covers and forget that today even happened. “It’s nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.” 

He lowers himself onto the mattress beside your legs, taking your chin in his hand. His eyes, glassy with concern, stare you down, compelling you to speak. 

“Something’s going on with you, and I’d like to know what it is.” 

“So you can fix it?” 

Leon cocks his head to the side, eyes cutting back and forth, testing the idea. “I’d like to. But I can’t do anything until you tell me what’s going on.” 

You swallow hard, still debating whether or not it’s worth repeating. It does bother you, and though you’d love to choke it down and not let something so silly get under your skin, you know it always feels better to let it out, especially with Leon. He has a magic way of healing your every worry and woe. 

“Just some coworkers talking shit, that’s all.” 

Even the memory makes you cringe. 

“Ah,” he says, sitting up straight, stretching his spine. “About?” 

“You. And me.” 

“Right.” He stands up, knees popping, to finish undressing. You watch as he unbuttons his crisp white shirt, revealing his statuesque torso, the lines and ridges of his abdomen, the sheer strength of his shoulders. If only they could see him now, they wouldn’t be calling him “old” or “gross”. You smile smugly at the thought. 

“What were they saying?” 

Taking in a deep, cleansing inhale, you let your wind wander back to the conversation, not wanting to repeat a single word. 

“That our age gap is weird.” 

He rolls his eyes, making work of his belt buckle, the fly of his slacks. “Heard that one before.” 

“That you’re just with me to fulfill some twisted fantasy.” Your voice cracks as you whisper the disgusting details. 

His hands stall at his unzipped fly and he scoffs. “Well, that’s new.” 

“Yeah.” You smooth the comforter across your lap, reclining against the headboard. “I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I guess I just hate that they think that about us.”  

After pulling on a pair of his favorite pajama pants, he joins you under the covers, pulling your body tight to him, your back flush to his bare chest. 

“You don’t have to worry about what other people think, you know that.” 

It’s not a question. You’re ferociously strong, independent, marching to the beat of your own drum. 

“I know.” 

You flip over to face him, cupping his cheek, drinking in the lines between his brows, the faint creases at the corners of his eyes, the strands of snow at his temples. 

“It just hurts to hear people say things like that about you.” 

Because he’s not some predator. He’s your Leon, the most honorable, upstanding man you’ve ever met. He’s the definition of a gentleman, respectful and attentive. Never did he cross a boundary. Never did he try to coerce you into doing anything you didn’t want. Not like the other man you had been with before–always testing your limits, never respecting your word.

Perhaps if you had introduced your past beaus to Shelby and Trisha, they’d see how lucky you are to have a man like Leon in your life. 

The corner of his mouth lifts into a half-smile. “That’s sweet, baby, but you don’t have to get yourself worked up over me. I can handle myself.” 

You know he can. But you wish he didn’t have to. “Will you come to the office tomorrow and beat them up for me?”

“Hey,” he warns lowly, clicking his tongue. “That’s not how we get what we want.”

“Sorry.” 

Though you’re pretty sure that’s exactly what men in his line of work do to meet their goals.

Leon takes in a breath and smirks. “There’s always another way.” 

And right he was. The next morning, three ginormous bouquets of your favorite flower arrived at work. Special instructions dictated that they be delivered by hand to the front desk. Trish had to enlist the help of another coworker to bring them into your office, walking the spectacle of petals right past Shelby’s cubicle. 

“We’re done, Leon.” Your voice is strong, and for a moment, you almost convince yourself that you mean it.

“Baby,” he begs, pulling you back into his arms, yanking your purse from your shoulder and tossing it to the floor. His blue eyes are heavy with desperation, glossy from the dewy influence of alcohol. If he had any more in his system, he might have dropped to his knees and begged you from the floor. “Please don’t leave me. I promise I will do it this time, I swear I will.” He swallows hard, not once breaking eye contact. “I can’t lose you–not you–and I will do anything you want. Just don’t leave me.” 

Tears well on his lashes, something the reddened whites of his eyes. Like a hammer to your heart, like a blade to the strings, the sight shatters your organ into a million pieces. What would you do without Leon? Even though he breaks your heart, he’s always the one who puts it back together. 

He’s your home. Your sanctuary. Your refuge. A broken, needy man who has seen such violent, atrocious things, yet always leaves room to hear your woes, to mend your wounds. And you do the same for him. 

You would do anything for him, which is why you thought finally leaving, once and for all, would be good for him. A kick in the ass. Or perhaps a flame beneath it.

And although you weren’t planning on letting him convince you to stay, you weren’t completely prepared to face what would come after the alternative. 

“Fine,” you relent, shoulders sagging, part of you disappointed in the way you let him convince you to stay, the other part of you relieved that you procrastinated the grief of losing a relationship one more day. “I’ll give you one more chance. But, Leon?” 

He glances down at you, a curtain of dark blonde hair–so dark it’s almost brown–hanging across his temple, covering half of his eye. It doesn’t hide the glimmer of hope that appears there, though. That, you can see, and it ignites the same feeling in you. 

Maybe this is it. 

“I’m serious,” you continue. “No more drinking. I mean it.”

He nods. “Okay. Yes.” 

“Not a single fucking drop, do you hear me?” You press a finger into his chest. “So help me god, Leon, if I catch you even thinking about drinking, I’m out. For good. Got it?” 

You’re not sure how sincere your threats sound anymore–a dime a dozen they are–but you hope the violence in your voice gets your point across. 

“I swear to you,” he starts, taking your hands in his. “I’ll do it this time.” 

“You have a week.” 

“A week?” 

“You can’t do it?” You raise an inquisitive brow, prompting him to continue. 

“No, no,” he corrects quickly. “I can. A week.” 

“I’ll give you one week, and if by the end of those seven days, you’re able to abstain from drinking, I’ll rethink things.” 

His dark brows cinch together. “Rethink things?” 

“I’ll think about staying. But if–and only if–you can prove to me that you can take that first step.”

“Okay, I can do that. See?” He breaks away from you to sink further into the kitchen, raiding his cabinets for any liquor. A couple bottles in the back of the cupboard. A few shot-sized containers of liquor you’d find in a hotel mini bar. He unscrews the caps and flips them all over into the sink. The bottles gurgle as they empty down the drain, and he wrinkles them out, making sure every last drop is gone from the glass walls before chucking them into the trash. “No more.” 

“No more,” you repeat with a nod, not satisfied just yet.  

You remove yourself for the next seven days, burying yourself in work, in spring cleaning every inch of your apartment, in pondering whether you’re prepared for the rest of your life to look like last night. For anyone else, you’d have left in a flash at the first sign of danger. But for Leon? 

He texts you updates about his first step to sobriety. 

A picture of his morning coffee, only flavored with half-and-half and two sugars, not with a shot of Bailey’s. A message warning you that he walked by a bar on his way home from work, and was tempted to go inside, but didn’t. A voicemail detailing his evening, how he ate dinner without a hard beverage to wash it down, showered, and was in bed before midnight, as sober as a baby. 

By the fifth day, he still hadn’t cracked, and your absence from his life was starting to affect you in unexpected ways. He might have had alcohol, but you had him. His touch, his voice, the way he seemed to know your body better than you did. Your own fingers can’t bring you pleasure the way his can…and you’ve tried. Many times. Unsuccessfully. 

On the sixth night, he calls to ask you to join him for dinner, something neither of you have done properly since the dawn of your relationship. Another joy lost to his addiction. Dinners were sloppy, eaten out of styrofoam takeout containers over his coffee table. And then he’d drink. And drink. And drink. It was unappetizing to say the least.

You graciously accept his offer, trying your best to hide the sound of your wide, toothy smile. 

“Alright, tomorrow night, then,” he coos from the other end of the call. “My place. I was thinking we could cook together like we used to.”

Your heart warms at the memory. “I’d like that.”

“Perfect. How does six sound?”

“Six sounds great.”

“Six it is.” He takes a beat, the only thing audible over the line, a short breath. “I love you.” 

“Goodnight, Leon.”  

After work, you immediately run to your closet, hopped up on adrenaline and a bubbling excitement you haven’t felt since the night before your first date with him over a year ago. Nothing seems worthy of the occasion.

Nothing that isn’t lacy and strappy and not safe to wear on the street, at least. But also, nothing that a trench coat can’t hide. 

You pull on something distasteful and cover it with your trench, pairing the get-up with a pair of black heels, and you’re on your way. 

Click-clacking down the corridor of his apartment building, you place a palm over your racing heart, begging it to calm. It doesn’t. In fact, it hastens, especially when you knock on the door and it swings open to reveal Leon, wearing a black henley, sleeves rolled up his forearms. 

“Hi there,” he says, pulling you in for a chaste kiss on the cheek. For the first time in a while, you’re able to smell his cologne on his skin, not the bitter pang of vodka or whatever drink he’d been nursing. “Come in.” 

You step inside, and although you see all the ingredients for dinner, prepped and ready on the kitchen counter, you have something far more delicious in mind. 

With a deep breath, you unlatch the belt of your coat, and the arms Leon extended to politely take it from you, to hang it on the hook by the door, slowly lower as you slide the article off your shoulder, down your arms. The cool air of the apartment nips at your exposed skin, and Leon’s eyes widen, black pupils shot, irises glistening with unanticipated need. 

He attempts to stifle a groan at the sight of you, practically bare save a revealing piece of lingerie that all but leaves anything to the imagination. A black negligee he’s never seen before…or maybe he has and was too drunk to remember. 

“Holy shit.” 

You stifle a giggle, determined to stay in character. “Have you been a good boy this week, Leon?” Your voice is sweeter than maple syrup on a stack of pancakes and he salivates at the sound. 

“Yes ma’am,” he teases, a smirk threatening to appear at the corner of his mouth. 

“Are you lying?” You ask, cocking your head, smiling wide. 

He gestures a cross over his heart. “Wouldn’t dream of it, gorgeous.” 

“Then come claim your reward.” 

A week of sobriety has been good to Leon. Really good. 

Before, it was a coin toss as to whether or not he could get it up, let alone keep it up long enough to put it in. Nights in his bed were fruitless, often ending with a limp dick, a string of slurred apologies, and a car ride home to your vibrator so you could finish yourself off. 

But tonight is different. 

His virility has returned, even visible in the way his muscles move beneath his skin, not longer stained with a sickly pallor due to the liquor running marathons through his bloodstream. His veins are plump, his abdomen lean, the muscles contracting as he takes in deep breaths below you, underneath your fingers splayed across his pecs. 

“Oh shit,” he curses, his hands tight on your hips as they grind against him. The back of his head is buried into the pillow beneath it as he tosses his neck back, the tendons on either side of it flexing. “You feel so good.” 

“I want you to come inside,” you say, the words sliding out on the back of a moan. His eyes blink open and he glances up at you with a gaze that bubbles with incredulity. It’s an act you haven’t let him perform in months, too afraid it would result in tying you to a man who can’t face the frays of life without a low ball glass in his hand, and an oily shot of liquor in his throat. And maybe you’re jumping the gun because, hell, it’s only been a week, and maybe you’re the one that’s under the influence, cockdrunk and drooling. But you want it. 

“Are you–shit–are you sure?” He hisses through gritted teeth, the question followed by a slurring string of incoherent mumbling. 

“So sure.” 

You switch the movement of your hips from riding him back and forth to bouncing up and down on the full length of his stiff cock. It’s a guarantee that he always finishes within a minute of you pulling out this move, and tonight is no different.

His biceps flex, the muscles in his stomach tense, and his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist as he aids your ministrations. An ursine growl escapes this throat as he swears he’s about to finish. 

“Come on baby, you deserve it,” you coo, thighs beginning to burn, but you don’t care. “Come for me.” 

From below, he thrusts aggressively into your dripping cunt, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. One. Two. Three. You lose count, caught up in the whirlwind of your own pleasure that builds and releases in what feels like seconds, barely conscious when he lets out a final, primal growl and finishes, all warm and sticky inside you. 

His gaze cuts to the bed, where a few formal gowns are tossed across the comforter, bags and tissue paper scattered along the floor. He crosses the room, stepping toward the edge of the mattress, fingers grazing the assortment of textures and colors. 

“My cousin’s wedding is next week. I’m a bridesmaid, remember?” 

“Ah,” he says, mouth falling open. “I thought you all had to match each other–like the same color or something.” 

He plays with the skirt of one of the dresses, a chartreuse chiffon fabric–a color that is very popular this year à la the saleswoman who helped you pick it out. You’re not convinced. 

“Not anymore. Apparently it’s all the rage these days to have a mis-matched bridal party. Something about pinterest, I don’t know.” Your voice trails off as you head back to the standing mirror in the corner of the room, taking another look at the gown meeting your curves. It’s hot pink, the color an immaculate complement to your complexion, yet the shape is a little matronly. 

“You look beautiful,” he says, contacting your eyes in the reflection. “I like it.” 

Oh, Leon, you think. “It’s a little frumpy.” You smooth the fabric over your hips, officially signing the veto order. “Help me unzip?” 

He nods, approaching from behind, hands immediately finding the zipper between your shoulder blades. Instant relief courses through you as the fabric releases from your skin. A knuckle brushes up and down your spine before Leon helps guide the sleeves down your arms. 

“Try on another one,” he commands softly at your ear, hands returning to the balls of your shoulders to squeeze. 

You pull off the pink dress entirely, putting it back on the hanger and in its respective garment bag and into the ‘no’ pile. Leon paces back and forth around the bed, surveying the array of gowns, eventually deciding on which one he wants to see you in next, pointing to a shimmery gold dress with thick straps and a bandage-style body that is sure to hug your every curve. There’s no surprise why he picked that one. 

He helps you slip into the gown, crouching by your feet, holding the skirt open for you to step into, gliding it up your calves, your thighs, your middle, aiding you in pulling on the straps. 

“Gorgeous,” he says with a smile, spinning you around, dipping you back to plant a long, savored kiss on your lips. “But I don’t think this is the one.” 

He lets you back up, and you glance at him from beneath cinched brows. “Why not?” You turn your head to the side to catch your figure in the mirror across the room, taking in the way the fabric conforms to the slope of your hips, the length of your waist. A strong contender. “I think it looks great. Really great.”