Context: The morning after the conception of Beatrice Bradley.
Beautiful.
That was the first word that came to his mind, and he knew it would never be enough; there was no word that truly fit just how radiant she really was.
He watched her with half-lidded eyes, her smaller frame cradled in his arms, modestly wrapped in their bed sheets. She was still sound asleep, her lips parted slightly, her shoulders rising and falling every so often. He gently wrapped a lock of her hair around his thumb, familiar and lovely warmth filling his chest.
He was tempted to call his mum and tell her to keep Matt and Angie for another day. As much as he loved his children, he had less time to spend alone with her now that their lives had gotten so busy. But he knew he couldn't be that selfish.
However, waking her would be rather rude on his part…
His fingers were stroking her back, and he found himself getting lost in thought of what had happened yesterday. He replayed the entire day over, smiling to himself, grateful for the precious time they'd had.
He paused when he reached the bedroom door closing, an uncharacteristically fierce blush warming his cheeks. Last night had been…he chuckled quietly, shaking his head. He would have plenty of time later to remember that. He wasn't going to spend the morning doing that when he could focus on his wife.
She stirred slightly, her nose wrinkling for a moment before she settled again. She mumbled something incoherent, moving closer to him and sighing once she had the desired contact. He let out a sigh of his own, not wishing to disturb her peaceful state, but knowing he was cheeky enough that he'd feel no remorse whatsoever.
He gently pushed a few stray strands of hair from her face, leaned down, and pressed his lips to hers.
He pulled away, smiling as her eyes fluttered open. She didn't seem annoyed, as he'd predicted. She blinked a few times, mind still heavy with sleep.
"Good morning," he whispered.
"Morning, love." She yawned. "What time is it?"
"Almost nine. Told my mum we'd get our kids by noon."
"So…why on earth would you wake me…" She trailed off, her lips curling into a smirk. "James Andrew Bradley…"
"Worth a shot, wasn't it?" He kissed her again, moving to her neck. "When else are we going to have time to do this without one or both of those two bursting in at night?"
"You act as if it's their fault."
"It's not. I adore them." He nipped at her collarbone. "But I don't adore when they interrupt me trying to spend quality alone time with my beautiful wife."
She was quiet for a moment, finally pulling him to her face, scattering his cheeks and jaw with light kisses. "Alright, then. But after, we have to get up, okay?"
"Okay."
She pulled him on top of her, her lips at his ear. "I want you to make the sweetest, most passionate love to me that you can. Right now."
He felt a rush of heat deep in his stomach, and his muscles tensed. "I'm happy to oblige, my darling."
He leaned down to kiss her, and after that, they were lost in their embrace.