David Rossi loved moments like this. He loved coming into his house to find her shoes by the door, the scent of dinner wafting through the house, and the sound of the radio playing music he knew she loved.
He loved when she asked how his day was as she strutted around the kitchen wearing a pair of boot-cut jeans that fit her just perfectly and his large FBI sweatshirt that was way too big for her.
He loved how she greeted him with a soft kiss on the lips, her hands full with plates and forks.
He loved how she always let her hair down at the end of the work day, her blonde locks brushing the tops of her shoulders, always so soft as he ran his hands through them.
He loved how she doted on him by making sure he liked what she made, always unsure of herself since he was the one who usually cooked. He always made sure she knew that he loved anything she made - no matter how good or bad it tasted.
He loved that they did the dishes together, singing along to whatever was on the radio at that moment, completely comfortable with one another.
He loved that after dinner she would grab his hand and lead him to the living room and sit on his lap as they watched late night television.
He loved that she always moved to straddle him when the news came on, never wanting to relive the horrors they saw day to day when they were in the sanctity of home.
He loved that she would cross her arms and grip the bottom on the sweatshirt, lifting it over her head and tossing it behind her and before she claimed his mouth with her own.
He loved how she thought she knew just where to touch him to get him going when, in reality, he was always ready and willingly.
He loved how she would moan the words "bedroom" or "need you", and when she would get frustrated, "what are you waiting for?".
He loved the way her body felt in his hands, the soft, creamy flesh that trembled at his touch. Her eyes, her lips - God, her lips - her hair, her caress, her everything.
He loved that afterwards they would shower together, washing off the remains of the day, taking off the masks they had to wear in order to do their jobs.
He loved that she would curl herself into him in bed, one leg trapped between both of his, her arm thrown across his chest, and her gentle, even breathing blowing softly on his neck.
He loved waking up with her in his arms, the look of determination to get a few more minutes of sleep crossing her face as she began to stir, never ready to get up. She was not a morning person.
He loved that she would always begin to protest his kisses and roaming hands in the morning, even though he would have her begging for more in less than two minutes.
He loved watching her get ready for work as she waltzed around the bedroom in on a bra and her skirt, putting earrings in, pinning her hair up, putting on makeup, slipping on killer heels.
He loved kissing her goodbye with the promise of seeing him later that morning, during lunch, at dinner, at home.
He loved her.
Plain and simple.
