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“What I mean is, insomnia doesn’t bother me. Sleep is an overindulgence for the weak. I have business—”

“To conduct,” she finishes for me. “Just what kind of business? The world will never know!”

“Are you going to mouth off the whole movie?” I ask in another effort to lighten the air. “It’ll be over by the time you finish talking.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware you were watchingwithme.”

“That was the agreement, was it not? Turn up the volume.”

She obliges, reaching for the remote. I settle against the sofa cushions. In seconds I’m engrossed in a movie I’ve seen a thousand and one times. She may have me beat on number of viewings by how often she quotes lines along with the movie.

The first time, I glanced at her in mild surprise. By the fourth or fifth time, I’m joining her. It becomes a test of who knows the next line better, earning a laugh from us. WhenReservoir Dogsfinishes, she asks if I’d like to watchPulp Fiction.

I check the time. “You’re not ready to overindulge in eight hours of sleep?”

“You call it overindulge, I call it beauty rest.”

“You have enough beauty as is.”

That throws her off. It’s not the first time I’ve said such a thing today, but so far, she’s been shocked each time. I’ve learned her tells for when she’s flustered—she blinks many times, her lips part, and her honey complexion flushes with a reddish undertone. Right now, she runs a finger through a loopy curl and then putsPulp Fictionon.

As the movie begins, I’m thinking of what Robby said earlier. Is it true what he implied? Am I pussy-whipped? Am I thinking with my cock like acabron?

I glance at Falynn. It’s true I want a taste of that delicious honey between those thighs. I want to run my hands down that delectable fat ass and watch it jiggle when I smack my palm to it. I want to grip her throat and push my tongue into her mouth, kissing her hard, forcing a soft little moan from her mouth. I want…to do so many things to her. The list goes on for miles.

I feel a tug in my pants, my cock twitching to remind me it’s been five whole days without satisfaction. For a man who has pussy lined up coast to coast, five days is a long time. Too long to go. I can always find a bimbo on the casino floor, or even one at the Dollhouse, but…

Falynn. She’s the one I crave. No one else will do ’til I have a taste of her.

The movie plays, and once again, we are immersed. We laugh along with a few of the scenes, sit on the edge of our seats at the thrilling parts, and share fun trivia about the movie. At one point, I undo the top buttons of my shirt and roll up the sleeves. I make us drinks. Falynn orders dessert from room service.

During the infamous dance scene between John Travolta and Uma Thurman, Falynn shares it’s her favorite scene.

“I just love the bad dancing,” she gushes, brown eyes bright. “Neither of them take themselves too seriously.”

I nod along, letting a question slip. “Have you always been a dancer? Is it something you’ve always liked?”

“Dancing is in my blood,” she says, shrugging. “My mom was a dancer. So was my grandmother. I wanted to be a lawyer.”

“You still can.”

“Doubtful. As you can see, my life is a hot mess.”

“And you think no lawyers have hot messes for lives? Do you think lawyers are perfect?”

“I think most lawyers don’t strip for money. Most don’t escort on the side. Most don’t get mixed up with men on the other side of the law.”

“Am I the man on the other side of the law?” I’m half amused by the inclusion.

“Actually, I meant Enzo. But thanks for admitting you’re a lawbreaker.”

I smirk. “We all break the law sometimes.”

“Speak for yourself! I don’t so much as jay walk.”

“No, you just date felons.”

Her eyes narrow and she folds her arms. “Touché, but also kinda a low blow.”

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