Gaz, bless his heart, tries to be the best boyfriend he can possibly be. He’s never ever raised his voice at you, insulted you, overstepped your boundaries—he’s the epitome of the perfect gentleman.

He tries to apply that to intimacy the best that he can—letting you initiate when you’re ready, never going over the line—but God, sometimes you drive him crazy. Too crazy. And that short, skimpy, skin-tight little dress you’re wearing has him feeling a bit mental.

You’re washing dishes in the kitchen, when he walks up behind you, pressing himself against your backside as he feels himself get harder and harder, and all the blood in his body seems to rush to his core.

His hands find themselves resting on your waist, rubbing gentle circles against your skin as his lips start to leave little kisses along your neck. “Mm. Hey, baby.” He mumbles breathlessly.