I felt her before I saw her.
A slow, lazy warmth pressing against me, followed by the faintest trace of her scent, something soft, like vanilla and sunlight. Then, a hand. It started near my collarbone, fingers tracing slow, thoughtful circles over my chest like she was drawing something only she could see.
And then, the first kiss.
Cheek first. Then another, a little closer to my jaw.
The third one landed on my lips, gentle but enough to drag me from that half-sleep I was pretending to still be in.
"Hey," I muttered, my voice still rough from sleep.
Her lips curved against mine. "Morning, husband."
Yeah. That word. Husband. She'd been calling me that since university. Four years of mock ceremony and teasing affection, but somehow, it still made my chest tighten every single time she said it.
I smiled, but before I could even return the kiss, she leaned in again. And again. Each one more deliberate than the last, like she'd decided to test the limits of my lung capacity.
