“She doesn’t need makeup,” Happy thinks to himself as he watches you get ready for the club party. A beer in one hand and a joint in the other as he sits on the corner of your bed. He would never tell you not to of course. You needed to look good on his arm, you’re his Ol’ Lady; but he preferred you without, bare skinned and buck naked. Shut away from the world outside where he had your undivided attention and he could keep you safe from harm.
Hes been watching you for twenty minutes now and you’re still not finished. Hell, you hadn’t even started on your hair yet and that was a whole other world of over complication. You were currently working on a thick swathe of black eyeliner that came to a sharp point at the outside corner of your eye and the concentration on your face is adorable. Occasionally you’d stop and tilt your head as you examine your work with a critical eye then begin again, fixing some imperceptible imperfection that will be running down your face in a few hours anyway.
Forty minutes in and you release your hair from the comically large rollers and begin to style your hair. Again, you didn’t need to. A messy bun, piled haphazardly on your head with wispy tendrils framing your face was his favorite but of course you would rather die than be seen like that. Especially not in front of the club girls. Fuck no, he smiles. You needn’t worry about them, they couldn’t ever compare to you.
An hour has gone by and still transfixed; he watches you stand and drop your robe. His cock twitching to life in his jeans when you walk over to the bed, tits bouncing and hips swaying as you approach. His posture changes as you arrive, he sits up a little straighter, caressing your hip as you pass by and begin to dress in the clothes you had set out and judging from your outfit; skinny jeans and a cropped tank, tonight was gonna get messy.
“Can you fasten this for me, Babe?” Her voice brings him gently from his reverie and he stands and takes the silver chain from your hands, the electricity of your touch still rushes straight to his cock. It's why you still have a hold on him. He fastens the cool metal around your throat and revels in the sense of pride that puffs out his chest when he sees his name on the pendant. You’re his.
You finish dressing and look yourself over in the mirror and he shakes his head as you start tweaking your hair and makeup again and he rolls his eyes and walks towards the door. He waits, leaning on the frame as you finish off. The last thing you do before you head out for the night always makes him smile. You check your phone case and make sure you have cash and your atm card stashed then you stuff it into your left bra cup, in the right goes your dab pen and your front door key. As you reach the front door you stop again and check the mirror, spraying a liberal amount of his favorite perfume on your neck and chest before he drags you out by the wrist to his bike.
