He knows exactly how you get when he makes out with you—the grunts and whimpers, the incoherent muttering whenever he tries to talk to you. You practically get drunk on his kisses. He especially loves the way your eyes glaze over, dazed and unfocused, every time his lips meet yours.

It's a leverage he’s learned he has over you—and he uses it, shamelessly, whenever you start arguing over something petty. Like now. He gently grasps your chin and pulls you in, fully intending to kiss you senseless before you can start up with some unnecessary bullshit.