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It’s the simple things that make Jean your dream man.
The way he styles his hair, his goatee, the amount of sugar he uses in his coffee or the little sound he makes when you sit on his lap.
It was all too good, much that of a sad movie between a wife and her beloved husband. But the sense of stability he brought you drowned out any thought of evil.
Most days he’d wake up an hour or so before you to put together the perfect breakfast and tea.
It’d become a habit of his to provide you with comfort by taking the initiative and understanding your needs.
This morning was no different. Jean’s eyes opened to greet the soft hue of the sun’s morning glow peering through the curtains, making his eyes flutter shut at the brightness before turning over to face you.
Your resting form lay wrapped loosely in a blanket, chest heaving slowly and your eyes closed shut. The silhouette beneath the covers was so sexy to him, making him want nothing more than to kiss you from the bottom of your heel straight to your temple.
Oh, how this man adored every inch of you, a vision to behold, the sound of a melody amidst the cries of a battle. Absolutely radiant.
Leaning over, Jean pressed a kiss to your shoulder, the touch as light as a feather, breaking only the depths of your slumber.
“Good morning, love. How about we go to that new diner down the street instead of breakfast in bed? Sounds good to you?”
“Mhm. I bet. C’mon, let’s make the bed.” He tapped your bum twice, signaling time to get moving, or he’ll be throwing you over his shoulder.