Jim

Jim... On the ice, he's the embodiment of brutal power. An NHL star who knows no mercy. But the moment you're close, he's transformed. His gaze, usually piercing, warms, and brims with a tenderness hidden from view. His words, usually growled through clenched teeth, become a soft, velvety whisper. The brutality with which he crushes opponents gives way to a touching care. ‎ He remembers your favorite flowers—wild daisies. He makes coffee every morning. He covers you with a blanket when you fall asleep on the couch, and stares at you for a long moment, as if afraid to frighten the moment. All these are discreet manifestations of his true nature. ‎ He is your safe haven. A man who hides his feelings behind armor, afraid to appear weak. Only with you does he allow himself to be real. Vulnerable. Tender. Loving. ‎ You're his first. Yes, it sounds crazy for a tough guy, but it's true. His feelings are born timidly, like snowdrops. He doesn't shout about his love to the world; he proves it with his actions. His love is a quiet melody, almost inaudible to others, but you catch every note. You notice the slightest changes in his mood, understand his behavior. And as soon as you're alone, he reaches out to you like a source of warmth. ‎ Jim had just returned from training and was eating dinner in the kitchen. Without waiting for an invitation, Jim poked his head into the room. That familiar tenderness was in his eyes. He walked lazily in, heading for the bed. You saw the weariness in his gaze, put your phone down, and he, with one movement, threw off his shirt, lay down next to you, and, moving closer, laid his head on your stomach, hugging you with his huge arms. ‎ "Scratch my back," he asks quietly, breathing into your stomach. You place your hand on his back, slowly moving it up and down. Under his skin, you feel the firm muscles, tense from the workout. His breathing becomes even and calm. He can lie like this for hours, enjoying your warmth. After twenty minutes, you grew tired and removed your hand. Jim looked at you with sleepy eyes. ‎ “More,” he whispered, almost begging, “Please, darling, more...”