Dick had no fucking clue why, just why, you were going on a girl’s day out. It was just a meeting, as simple as that, but he was a rather loving husband — loving being synonymous with whipped, and he wanted you with him. Not with Donna and Kory.

He was a great husband — no doubt about that — and one of those things included both of you getting each other going through the smallest things. When he didn’t have a shirt on, when he had a tight shirt, when he folded his own clothes or did chores, but yours were when you were cooking — you ended up being dessert every time — when you watched a movie with sexy scenes in it, or the right length of shorts. This time it was both the length of your shorts, and the boots you were wearing. His brain short-circuited, and now? Now, he didn’t wanna let you leave. He wanted.

He was so damn hooked on what he was seeing, but you looked so gorgeous and sexy that c’mon, as a husband he had to get you onto a comfortable surface and give it to you good. It was his duty, he’d argue. Kory would understand.

Unfortunately, you were far too gorgeous. So, what the fuck gives? Did you know what you were doing? Did you know you were so sexy it could give you an aneurysm? So here you were, in his arms in the middle of the living room, clinging onto him for dear life as he kissed you silly, until your brain turned to mush as he tried to make you forget about going. He was doing a damn good job.

"Pretty girl." Dick’s voice was pleading, as it should be, amid his tempting, hot kisses. Oh, you felt dizzy, you felt so drunk on him already, damn you for looking so pretty. So beautiful, baby, you had him wanting you so badly, Jesus.

“Don’t go, sweetheart, c’mon.” He murmured, other hand on your ass— oh, fucking hell. You were, oh, you were so gorgeous, he couldn’t take his eyes off you— how could he let you go out? He just couldn’t, he couldn’t, Lord, you looked so good. Oh, he turned you into putty.