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“I think you’re right,” she answers, and makes her way to the couch.
She pulls the afghan from atop the ottoman and spreads it out on the couch. While I’m getting settled in—read that as undressing—she uses my preoccupation to seize full control over our movie-watching itinerary.
I really could not care less what we watch.
That’s what I honestly think, right before she turns around with When Harry Met Sally in her hands.
She’s actually suggesting a movie which is famous for, among other things, Meg Ryan demonstrating how easy it is for a woman to fake an orgasm. There are ways a person can tell if he’s not a complete idiot, but still, I’m not a fan of the pairing.
“I know you’re probably not into chick flicks, but this is my favorite movie ever,” she tells me.
Fuck.
Now I can’t possibly protest, and she’s going to be watching to see how I react to it.
“It’s been a little while since I’ve seen it,” I tell her.
It seems like my best play. We’ll still end up watching it, but if I don’t end up with some massive, life-altering epiphany which leads me to tears, it won’t be such a big deal. I’ve already seen it before, so it couldn’t possibly strike me that deeply, right?
Then again, maybe she’s expecting me to have a stronger reaction to the movie because I’m watching it with her.
This is a fucking minefield, and I’m actually dreading watching what I’ll admit to be a classic movie that I quite enjoy when not under these horrific conditions.
Don’t tell anyone I said that.
Any of it.
Thanks.
She puts the movie in, and I lie down on the couch. I lift the blanket as she comes close, and as she stops to get down to her bra and panties, I start thinking that maybe I’m thinking about this whole situation in the wrong way.
We don’t see very much of the movie.
Chapter Seventeen
It’s Complicated
Leila
The last time I looked at the screen in any meaningful way was about five minutes into the movie.
The movie’s been over for a while, and we’re still enjoying the foreplay.
I don’t know whether it’s because he’s with me or whether I simply pigeonholed him that first day he came to the apartment, his tattoos suggesting a sense of unsavoriness about his character, but he is already the most thoughtful lover I’ve ever had.
We threw off the afghan a while ago, but there’s no lack of warmth between our bodies.
Right now, I’m straddling his wonderfully curious mouth and taking his hard cock into my own. I never liked the term “69,” but the performance, the experience, that’s something else entirely.
As he explores my folds with his lips and tongue, I feel that familiar shiver that so recently I’d all but forgotten. And as that shiver turns into a soft explosion, I take him ever deeper into my mouth, using the reverberations of my own response to encourage his.
I’m not expecting it when it happens. All I can do is hang on and move as necessary while he grasps me tightly with his arms, arching my back and supporting myself as he sits, and then holding on tight as he stands.
His grip is firm and I’m not afraid of heights, but returning to suck and play with him while suspended in his arms as he again uses his deft tongue to keep my fire stoked is a little disorienting.
He pulls his head back just far enough and just long enough to ask me if I’m okay.
I’m more than okay.
