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“So it doesn’t bother you?”
“No, I prefer it that way, actually.”
I don’t think he believes me. I show him by undoing his belt. He doesn’t help. “Here?”
“Is there somewhere else you prefer?”
He shakes his head. “Gives me a good reason to get rid of this couch.”
I don’t say anything to that. I’m too busy shedding my clothes. I bend over and remove his pants. He handles the shirt.
He doesn’t make a move, so I simply mount him and wait to see if he switches it up. He doesn’t, not at first. But he doesn’t throw his head back, and he doesn’t close his eyes either. He watches me carefully as I move up and down. I start slow and sensual, pivoting my hips, moving up and down, before he decides to take over. His hands are everywhere, and not just in the usual spots. I almost wish they weren’t. I wish he’d stop looking at me like that, because he takes me right to the edge, right to the point I’m afraid I might let go.
But I never do. I just pretend.
He doesn’t.
When he finishes, he points to the restroom in case I want to wash up. When I return, he’s pulled on his boxers but hasn’t moved from the couch. He’s solid; his body type is lean and muscular. It’s not that I hadn’t noticed before, I just hadn’t allowed myself to enjoy it the way one might when one has no choice, no forewarning, when it hits unexpectedly. I start gathering my clothes. “So you aren’t staying?”
“I can’t.”
His eyes trail the length of my body. “I’ll pay you the full amount.”
“I really can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
“That’s too bad,” he says. “I was hoping to teach you how to have a proper orgasm. That way you don’t have to pretend.”
I laugh, which causes me to fasten my bra on the wrong hook. He stands. “Here, let me.”
I turn to face him. “It’s not that I can’t come. It’s just…I avoid oxytocin like the plague.”
He raises his brow at that. “Well, can I find out what happens when you let go?”
“No,” I say, glancing at my watch. It’s time for my vitamins, but I don’t want to ask for a glass of water. I can’t stay, and even that would be lingering too long.
“Fine. But can I see you again?”
“We’ll see.”
I’m halfway to the door. “Wait,” he calls. I watch as he pulls a few Benjamins from his wallet. “I assume you don’t take credit.”
I can’t get home fast enough. When I arrive, I make a beeline for Matthew’s room. The only thing I can think of— the only thing I’ve been about since they drove me straight from the rejuvenation center to Elliot Parker’s high rise—is crawling into Matthew’s bed and wrapping my arms around him. I want to bury my head in his hair. I want to show him the package of new cars I had the driver stop to pick up on the way.
Unfortunately, Sean intercepts me in the hall. “Long time, no see.”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“Wasn’t it?”
I thought he might be on my side this time. I should have known better.
I cross the living room. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To see my son.”
