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Seventy-eight
In the early hours of the morning, when the sun has barely risen from its slumber, I wait until Brandon walks into our bedroom before letting my towel pool at my feet. His scent permeates the air, I don't turn to him but I catch a passing glimpse of him in the mirror.
Dressed in a navy blue suit fitted to his body, he is ready for work. I let my hairbrush slide to the floor and squat to retrieve it, making sure to give him a full view of my ass. Our eyes meet in the mirror when I stand, he thrusts his hands into his pockets, offers me a smile. His tie is loose, I should help him with it but I can't bring myself to move.
"Good morning, wife. How was your night?"
I set the brush to the table and finger comb my curls, loving the attention my naked back is attracting. Seconds roll by, I drape the towel on the chair and offer him a forced smile.
"Fine," I reply. He loves my hair down so I put it up in a knot at the centre of my head.
The twitch of
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