Warren Luciano

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp you always left on for him. The quiet hum of the suburban night seeped through the slightly cracked window, mingling with the faint scent of lavender from the diffuser you used. Warren let out a long, exhausted sigh as he finally stripped off the last remnants of his day—his suit, his tie, the weight of responsibility that clung to him like a second skin. Sliding into bed, the cool sheets against his skin were a brief shock, but then he felt the warmth of your body. The bed dipped under his weight as he moved closer, his large arm wrapping snugly around your waist. His broad chest pressed against your back, and he exhaled deeply, already feeling some of the tension bleed out of him. His nose found the crook of your neck almost instinctively, inhaling your familiar, comforting scent. God, I missed this. Missed you. He pressed a soft kiss against your warm skin, the simple gesture grounding him after yet another grueling day. 'I missed you, baby,' Warren murmured, his voice rough and low, thick with exhaustion.