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“Here.” Reaching toward my panties, he started to get on his knees.
“Let me.”
“I have it.”
“All right.” He ran his fingers through his hair, turning away to let me
get my underwear back in place.
“I’m done if you want to turn around,” I said.
He did, hands in his pockets, eyes on the floor as if he’d been caught
raiding the cookie jar.
“That was fun,” I said.
“Yeah. Really fun. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I smoothed my dress. “You’re going to make someone
very happy one day.”
“As are you.” He offered me his arm. “Shall we?”
I looped my hand in the crook of his elbow. “We shall.”
He walked me back upstairs. I was sore and wet, stinking of sex, when I
felt a drop of his fluid between my thighs.
“I should probably find a bathroom.”
“There are thirty-four.” He guided me around a turn. “If we keep going,
we’re bound to walk into one.”
“What did we do those three days?” I asked. “After we defiled the
Ferrari?”
“We sat in my living room and I fed you takeout Chinese. Then—and
I’m not going to offer this information up unless someone asks—I fucked
you again, but slowly.”
“After Chinese?” I wrinkled my nose.
“You couldn’t keep your hands off me.” He stopped at a half-open door
with a tile floor and white marble sink on the other side. “Besides, it was a
quickie in the garage. You only came once. I had something to prove.” He
pushed the door open and leaned in to flick on the light.
“Maybe you shouldn’t tell that part of the story,” I suggested, halfway
into the bathroom.
“What about your two—no, wait, I think I remember three screaming
orgasms?”
“Keep that part implied.”
“Fine, killjoy. Go. I’ll wait here.”
He stood like a sentry with his hands in front of him, handsome as a god
and confident as a king. I closed the door, and as if given permission, his