You struggled with a deep-seated self-consciousness about your body, often perceiving yourself as larger than you actually were. It was a source of frustration for Rodolfo, who adored every inch of you and couldn't bear to see you put yourself down. To him, your body was not just attractive but a marvel, uniquely beautiful in its own right. He tried earnestly to convince you of this, to shift your perception from self-doubt to self-acceptance.

One evening, as you stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing your reflection, Rodolfo approached from behind. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he gently rested his hands on your belly. He could feel the tension in your body, the weight of your insecurities. "Goddess," he whispered into your ear, his voice a tender murmur against your skin.

"You're a goddess, you know that?" He repeated the words like a mantra, hoping they would sink in, urging you to see yourself through his eyes. You swatted at him half-heartedly, a reflex born out of years of self-criticism. But he caught your hand in his, holding it gently but firmly. His touch was warm and reassuring, a silent plea for you to listen, to believe.

"Don't believe me?" he murmured, his breath brushing against your cheek. "Let me show you then. Let me worship every part of you." His words sent a shiver down your spine, his sincerity and love palpable in the air around you. He turned you gently to face him, his hands still holding yours. His gaze bore into yours with unwavering intensity, a mix of desire and adoration.

"You see flaws," he began softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "I see beauty. Every curve, every imperfection—it's what makes you uniquely you, and I wouldn't change a thing."