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"Just wanted to be clear, pretty girl. I'll never shareevenan inch of you. Anyone attempting to touch you would be inviting death," I'd replied gravely.
Killing might not be my favorite past-time. But for her, I would become a pro.
"Good," she'd purred, "because I would kill anyone who touched you, too."
Though I'd been serious about murdering anyone who tried to put a finger on her, I couldn't help but laugh when the same line had come from her lips. Mostly because imagining my tiny wife attempting any type of murder is hilarious.
"I'd pay money to see that," I'd joked, after which she'd tackled me, playfully getting on top of me before things had quickly heated up.
But all our discussions on the matter had given me the green light to proceed with this one step.
Friday evening finally comes around, and though I'm still not as excited about going to a club where everyone can see my little treasure, I'm willing to make a small compromise as long as she's happy.
Making myself comfortable on the sofa in our living room, I wait as Noelle starts her fashion try on. We may go, but that doesn't mean she can wearanything.
"Next," I tell her when I see where the hem of her skirt lands—barely covering her ass.
"You're no fun," she laughs, but there's no trace of condemnation in her voice. If anything, she has a mischievous expression on her face as she puts on yet another outrageous outfit.
Almostas if she was doing it on purpose.
"Next," I say to the following one too. And the next, and the one after.
"Noelle," I growl at her when she comes out wearing a flimsy see through top and yet another mini skirt for the tenth time.
Getting up, I go to her side, assessing her from head to toe.
"This isn't going to work," I tell her seriously, taking her hand and leading her back to the closet before going through all her clothes.
She leans against the door of the closet, a smile playing on her lips.
"Surprise me, my dear husband. What is club appropriate wear?" she challenges, and I can tell she's enjoying teasing me a little too much.
"You're really testing my patience, minx," I shake my head at her.
Rummaging through her clothes, I select two outfits that I consider semi-appropriate. I know I can't very well ask her to dress as a nun, much as I'd like nothing else.
"This or this," I hold up the two dresses. "You can choose. See, I'm not that tyrannical," I wink at her.
Both are black, long-sleeved, with a high neckline and midi length. Already I'm thinking of everyone who's going to see her shapely legs, and that doesn't help the tension in my body subside.
"Fine," she huffs at me, taking one of them from my hand and putting it on.
Fuck, but even her brusque and angry movements as she removes her previous garments are hot as fuck.
When she's done dressing, she adds a pair of Mary-Jane heels that are only a couple inches high. I'm guessing she's learned her lesson since last time.
Seeing me stare, she gives me a light twirl, looking like a goddamn fairy princess.
"Satisfied now?"
"Not quite," I smile knowingly. "Be a good girl and go sit on the sofa."
She frowns, tilting her head and watching me in confusion for a second before shrugging and doing as told.
She takes a seat, daintily arranging herself, her back straight, her generous tits outlining the front of her dress despite the fact that no skin is showing. Still, her posture is perfect—perfectly ladylike.
"Lean back," I command in a low tone.
