Care to dance?

“What are you doing? Oh my goodness, Michael, look at you! Who told you you could come into my bedroom and rummage through my things?”
I attempted to keep a stern look upon my face, when laughter threatened to spill from my lips and eyes. He’s fitted in my sexiest black dress and high heels, preening before my closet mirror like a runway model. How he managed to apply the makeup so expertly, I haven’t a clue. The eyeliner and mascara accentuate his dark eyes, the deep magenta lipstick more kissable then it ever appeared on my own lips.
“I thought we might play a game tonight,” says my husband, pointing to the tuxedo he’s laid out on the bed.
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