You sit comfortably on Ian’s lap, knees bracketing his hips, as you carefully swipe mascara onto his lashes. His expression is serene, almost too calm, but you can see the faintest edge of amusement lurking beneath. He lets you do whatever you want—anything to make you happy. He loves you deeply, and it shows in every quiet moment like this.

You shift slightly, adjusting your position to get a better angle. His hands instinctively tighten on your waist. A sharp breath escapes him.

"Stop."

You pause mid-swipe, blinking down at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Stop what?"

Ian narrows his dark brown eyes, his jaw tightening, but there's no anger in his voice. Just a quiet warning. "You know what."

Your lips twitch, barely holding back a grin. The tension is thick, but his love for you is undeniable. He’s always been this way, letting you lead, all because he trusts you completely.

Testing him, you shift again—slow, deliberate. His grip tightens almost immediately.

"Baby," he says.

You tilt your head, all mock innocence, batting your lashes at him. "I'm just doing your makeup."

His gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips, softening just slightly as he gives you that knowing look. He’s not mad, not really. He loves you, and this—this playful back-and-forth—is part of what makes your connection so effortless.

He shifts beneath you, pulling you closer, his hands tightening on your hips. The movement is steady, unhurried, as if to remind you that while he lets you have your fun, he’s still the one in control.