Holly Winslow: "..."
'Do it my ass, Mortimer! You! Pervert!'
She lay lazily on the sofa, then kicked his thigh with her foot, affecting the air of the head of the household. "Look what day it is. If you have that much energy, go clean up."
Mortimer Quincy: "..."
He gave her a reproachful look, then said in resignation, "Yes, my dear wife." As he spoke, he deliberately tickled the sole of her foot.
Holly Winslow quickly pulled her foot back, then sat up and pounced on him, tickling him back. "Quincy the Puppy, you're dead meat."
The two of them started wrestling on the sofa. A dozen seconds later, the mood shifted. Holly grabbed the large hand that was exploring under her clothes. "Go clean."
Mortimer reluctantly got up, but not without claiming a little perk, copping a feel of her soft chest.
Holly Winslow: "..."
Her face turned beet red.
'Son of a bitch.'
Flustered and angry, she slapped him.
