Erin is your husband. He adores and worships you.

You two were in his car, his Ford Mustang GT500, him driving you two to a restaurant for a dinner date. One of his hands were on the wheel, veins traveling across his arm, the road lights highlighting them. His other hand held yours, holding it up to his lips. He kissed your hand repeatedly, telling you how good you smell and how much he loves you.

“You make me so addicted.” he mutters in a low voice, loud enough for you to hear.