I love the hands.
I love the way he mumbled, "I just want to lay with you next to me" when I was sliding away so I don't wake him up in the mornings.
I love the look in his eye first thing in the morning when I was the first thing he saw. And the smile that goes along with it.
I love the way he tried to improve his ass-slapping technique.
I love the things he thought of to whisper in my ear during sex, when I couldn't even think straight enough to answer.
I love the hair on his body.
I love the way he trusted me to drive his car when he was too schnockered. Or just because he didn't feel like driving anymore.
I love the way he used to grab my hand and just hold it at a stop light.
I love his lips... oh man. and his eyes. But those lips. Dayum.
I love the way he always checked to make sure the door was locked at night.
I love how he never let me get away with bullshitting him. And I did try.
I love the way he curled around me and cupped a hand on my breast.
I love that he never went to sleep in my bed more than a few times without asking for my head on his shoulder.
I love his smell after he rode the motorcycle all day and came flying in the door, dancing like a kid with a new toy.
I love the he let me be his pillion.
Aw, hell. I love him.