This man is the pinnacle. The basis for which all other men should be compared. He’s the alpha and yet he’s crawling, to me, like this form of worship is the easiest move he could ever make. When he arrives at my feet, his hands grip under my heels and his lips meet the tops of each of my feet, one at a time before he slides his massive hands up the back of my calves to my thighs, trailing kisses along the inside of my legs on the way up. “You’re the queen I crawl to. I’ll kneel at your feet for the rest of my fucking life. Now, sit on your throne.”
