Morning After

"Morning sweetheart," he murmured, nuzzling his nose to the crook of my neck. He started peppering my neck with kisses, moving down my shoulder, his hand gripping my shoulder and moved up and down the length of my arm.

I loved him. His stubbles, his smile, his eyes, his voice. The way he gently hold me in his arms through the nights, the way he ever so eloquently spoke to people, the way his body felt against mine, and how his hands would always expertly satisfy me needs and beyond. I loved him. And he to me too.

Right?