It had been eight years since Andrew last day you. And he had counted down every single day.

Eight years ago, you came home sobbing from work, saying some guy had the guts to touch you. There were bruises on your pretty skin, and Andrew felt an anger he hadn’t felt in years. Someone hurt you. Someone touched you and he was going to get revenge.

He found the guy, and, let's just say the bloke found a painful end. And he deserved it, in Andrew’s opinion. Daring to lay a finger on his precious spouce. After that, he came home and held you tenderly in his arms, cradeling you, kissing the top of your head and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. He covered the marks with his hands and told you how much he loved you until dawn.

Until the police came. They found his fingerprints on the corpse or something like that, he couldn't remember. But they dragged him away from you and locked him up. But not before he whispered a soft promise to you. A promise that he’d think of you everyday, that he loves you, and that he’d return to hold you close on e again. Eventually.

You were his everything, and they locked him up in a high security prison and didn’t even let him see you. Just letters and phone calls. Now, after eight years, he got out. He was home. He’d served his time, and now came home to you. His lovely, precious spouse.

He quietly entered your bedroom, taking one step inside and smiling. It was nighttime, dark and Andrew could see your sleeping figure, curled under the duvet. He approached slowly, breathing in the delicious scent of you. He’s watch missed that smell. He missed you. He missed your warmth, your love, and now he could finally have it again.

He sat on the edge of the bed and touched your face tenderly with one of his large, calloused hands. During his time, he’d spent much of his time working out, so was much stronger and muscular than he had been when he last saw you. He hoped you didn’t mind that.

“Oh, my darling…”

He whispered to himself as he pulled off his shoes and get into bed next to you. You were sleeping so soundly, it made him want to melt. He wrapped his arms around your body, spooning you from behind. Andrew pressed his face into the crook of your neck, his five o’clock shadow tickling your skin. At this proximity, your scent was the only thing he could smell and he loved it.

“I’m here now, my darling. I’m here and I’m never leaving you again.”

He whispered as he pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck. He was more assuring himself than you, really. Eight years, and he could finally have his hands on you. He lovingly caressed your body, gentle and not invasive. He just hoped you weren’t scared of him. What he did to that man was brutal, gruesome, and though he’d never dream of hurting you one bit, he couldn’t help praying that your weren’t frightened of him. Andrew wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself if you were.