Page 95 of Fair Trade


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“Yes, you do.” I cradle her face in my hands and kiss her gently.

She moves slightly and places a quick kiss to her tattooed name. “I love you.”

My chest threatens to explode with happiness. “I know.” She quirks a brow. “You got your hair wet just to tell me.”

She laughs, and the motion has us both wincing.

I slide out of her, and she makes a small sound of protest.

“Are you sore? Was I too rough?” I ask as I scan her body for signs of discomfort.

She rolls her eyes. “You’ve kept me deprived of that kind of sex for far too long. Try to withhold from me one more time and see what happens.”

I chuckle. “Is that a threat, my sweet little wife?”

She smiles, a real, adorable, unguarded smile, and I find myself doing the same. She untangles herself from my body and stands on unsteady legs. “Oh hush. And pass me the shampoo. Tomorrow was hair wash day anyway, so I was really only moving my schedule up.”

I pour a generous amount of shampoo into my hands.

“Hey, watch it! That stuff’s expensive.”

I give her an unimpressed look. “I think I can swing it.”

She mutters something about stupid billionaires, but I cut her off when I start massaging the shampoo into her scalp. “I’m sorry. What were you saying, Angel?”

“Nothing. You must be hearing things. It’s that post-sex delirium getting to you.”

I swat her ass, and she squeals.

After I rinse out her conditioner, I step out of the shower and hold up a towel for her. She wraps it around herself, then takes the second one offered for her hair.

“You know, you could have put a towel around that monster cock that’s pointing my way before handing me mine.”

I look down at my bobbing length and shrug. “My wife always comes first.” I wink salaciously at her as she finishes towel drying her hair, only to toss it my way.

“My husband. The little exhibitionist.” She pulls out a hair dryer. “Can you get us some water? I’m going to diffuse my hair before bed, don’t want to catch that cold you had earlier.” My smile widens, and Luisa catches my eye in the mirror. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’ll tell you later. After I tell you about my dust allergy.”

forty-nine

Dominican Thanksgiving came andwent in a blur.

I played dominoes with Luisa’s dad and uncles and even managed to win a few times. I wooed the aunts by showing off the limited number of merengue moves I remembered from when I was a kid. And Daisy surprised us with an appearance after Damien was snowed in while working some nonexistent campaign trail out in Albany and couldn’t join her for the small festivity she had planned for them. Luckily Luisa found out via the women’s group chat and barged into the apartment Daisy shares with Damien and brought her over to our place with a weekend bag in tow.

It was nice to see my sister interact with my new family. I almost shed a tear when I saw her hang on to Clarissa for a few beats longer than usual when Luisa’s mother pulled her in for a hug to greet her. Pretty sure I had to clear my throat when Clarissa only held her tighter.

We all laughed, and the women cried—happy tears, of course—and had possibly the best holiday of my life.

Now we’re deep into dreary December, and I find myself staring at my wife as she moves around the kitchen.

She catches me staring and smiles. “I made coffee.” She raises a mug in my direction and I meet her over by the counter.

I take the offered cup and fake pout. “No milk?”

She chuckles as she softly blows on the steaming liquid in her mug. “I can’t believe you let me put milk in your coffee when you’re lactose intolerant. And that I had to find out via a drunken email.”

I take her cup from her hands and place both on the counter, then pull her into my arms. “The things we do for love, I suppose.” I kiss her and enjoy the smile I feel on her lips as she kisses me back.