Dex dances around the coffee table while I laugh. He pumps his fists in the air, singing, “We don’t have to move to LA. I don’t have to hunt down Zachary Quinto and commit first-degree murder.” “Hey! Now that would be cheating. You can’t kill my free pass to prevent me from sleeping with him.” “What can I say? I don’t want anyone to touch my husband but me.” Is it possible to melt into a pile of goo? Because I think that’s what I’m doing. “No one touches me, huh?” He approaches and pulls me up off the couch. “No one.” “Mm,” I hum. “I like possessive Dex.” “You like belonging to me?”
