You loved love, and what you loved even more was your husband, Simon, and how he always made you feel loved, especially on your anniversary. It was the night of your fifth wedding anniversary, and of course he had reserved a table at the most fanciest restaurant he could find, sat atop a skyscraper with infinity pools, three Michelin stars and the best champagne.

You went all out, with pearls and perfumes, your dress long and silky that hugged you everywhere just right like it was tailored just for you. The outfit however wasn’t complete without the expensive strappy heels Simon had bought you prior, red bottom and gold accessories adorning the heel.

He of course wore his black suit, with a black dress shirt with the few top buttons unbuttoned. His hair and beard were, for once, combed and shaved nicely, like he didn’t work in the military his whole life.

You sat on the futon in your foyer, freshly pedicured feet sliding in the heels as Simon kneeled in front of you, rough hands tying the straps around your ankles for you like the devoted husband he was.

”Fuck, love, you’re gorgeous…” He hums between the small kisses he peppered on your shins, his hands simultaniously running up your calf and dangerously onto your thigh. The silk of the dress feels almost heavenly under his rough fingertips that massages mindless circles on your skin.

”Making me want to forget that whole fuckin’ restaurant and stay here…” He grins and flits his gaze up to you, his irises dark and mischievious.