You don't love me

"I love you," he breathed, resting his forehead on mine, and I smiled.
"No you don't," I said and he drew his head away from mine and searched my eyes.
"What?" He whispered, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"You love the pleasure I bring you, you love the way you can talk to me about anything and I'll listen but you don't love me," I explained.
"Isn't that what love is?" He asked and I shook my head.
"I love you. I love everything about you. Even the things I hate about you I can't help loving them. Like when you leave your toothbrush on the edge of the sink, it's supposed to go in the cup that's why it's there!" I exclaimed and he chuckled. "Or when you leave your shoes in front of the door, there's a closet for those!
See, even those things that make me so unbelievably mad, I can't help but love them. That is what love is," I said and he kissed me roughly, cupping my face with one hand, the other on my low back holding me against him.

Once again I allowed myself to fall under his spell and let him have his way.