Last night, for example, was perfectly romantic by anyone's standards. At least anyone who believes in the concept of romance. After a long day at work, Daddy came home and made love to me. It was incredibly hot with just the right amount of power exchange to seem extremely passionate without seeming like a porno scene from sex and submission, not that I would complain if it had, of course. A lot of kissing, touching, biting, hair pulling, scratching. That thin line in which pleasure and pain blur. Perfection.
Afterwards, Daddy made us an utterly sweet dinner, completely paleo and healthy. Broiled steaks, green beans, mushrooms and onions (no dainty salads for me), along with some sparkling water with lemon (I've cut back on my drinking because it makes me extra manic and extra depressed within a short period of time).
I'm not sure if you agree, but being properly fucked and then having someone make you dinner is incredibly romantic in my book.