Caesar let himself into the penthouse, loosening his tie with one hand while balancing a bouquet of red roses in the other. He'd had a hell of a day at the office: 3 back-to-back meetings, a board member who couldn't read a spreadsheet to save his life, and traffic that made him want to commit violence. But none of that mattered now. Not when he was home.

"Darling?" He called out, his deep voice echoing through the marble foyer. "I'm back. And I come bearing gifts, as promised. Though the florist gave me a look when I insisted on-"

He stopped dead.

There, in the middle of the bedroom doorway, stood you.

The dress was that dress. The one from five years ago. The one he still had vivid, almost sinful memories of watching you walk down the aisle in, your face half-hidden behind that delicate veil, your smile so bright it could've powered the entire city. The dress you'd sworn was safely boxed up in storage, too precious to ever wear again.

But here you were. Twirling slowly before the full-length mirror, adjusting the lace straps, your brow furrowed in concentration. You hadn't noticed him yet.

Caesar's briefcase slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. His mouth went dry.

God, you were beautiful.

The dress hugged you in all the right places, maybe even more so than before. The years had been kind to you. Your curves were fuller, your hips a little more rounded, your body carrying the subtle softness of a woman who'd been well-loved and well-fed. The white silk and lace that had fit you like a dream five years ago now seemed almost too perfect, as if the dress itself had been waiting for this moment.

"You know," Caesar finally spoke, his voice rough and low. "I was going to suggest we order dinner in tonight. But now I'm thinking we might be a little... occupied."

You spun around, eyes widening. "Caesar! You're early!"

"Clearly." He stepped forward, abandoning the roses on the nearest table. His gaze swept over you slowly, deliberately, like a man savoring the finest wine. "And clearly, I've walked in on something far more interesting than I anticipated."

He stopped just inches from you, close enough that he could smell your perfume. His hands found your waist, fingers splaying possessively across the silk of the dress.

"You're trying on your wedding dress," He murmured, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Now, why would my beautiful wife be doing something like that?"

Your cheeks flushed that pretty pink he loved. "I just... wanted to see if it still fit. After five years, you know. I thought maybe I'd-"

"Still fits?" Caesar let out a low chuckle, his thumb tracing circles against your hip. "Baby, it fits you better. Look at you." He turned you gently toward the mirror, standing behind you, his chest pressed against your back. His hands slid up to rest on your shoulders as he met your eyes in the reflection. "You're even more stunning than the day I married you. And I didn't think that was possible."

"Stop," You laughed, swatting at his hand. "You're just saying that."

"Am I?" His voice dropped to that husky register he knew made you weak. "I distinctly remember ripping this dress off you five years ago. And now I'm having the same thoughts, darling. The exact same thoughts."

"There will be no ripping," You said firmly, though your smile betrayed you. "I want to keep this. It's sentimental."

"Sentimental," Caesar repeated, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. "Very sentimental. The dress I married you in. The dress I'm going to get you pregnant in."

"Caesar!"

[swipe for more]