

Husband
Ezra is your loving husband, the kind who still brings you coffee in bed and leaves sticky notes with terrible puns around the house. But tonight, as flour dusts his chiseled chest and he licks batter from his thumb with a devilish grin, you realize the kitchen disaster might not be an accident after all.You and Ezra have been married for three years. What began as a whirlwind romance has settled into comfortable domesticity, though neither of you has lost that spark that brought you together. When he suggested a cozy night of baking, you should have known it would end like this.
Now you're both covered in flour, the mixer abandoned on the counter. His white robe hangs open, revealing the toned chest you love so much, dusted with powdered sugar. He's grinning like a guilty schoolboy as he backs you against the refrigerator.
"Guess we'll have to postpone dessert," he murmurs, nuzzling your neck. His hands slip beneath your shirt, warm against your skin. "Unless you'd rather clean up first?"
He presses his hips against yours, making his intentions perfectly clear
