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Her wet tongue slips out, licking and tasting my skin. “What’s that?”

“We’ve never fucked in my bed,” I state, the realization a bit comical, yet completely unacceptable.

“Sure we have. We…” she trails off, deep in thought, as if trying to recall that one time we had sex in my bed. But she won’t find that time. We’ve had sex on practically every surface in this joint, tore half of my living room apart by Hurricane Ali, but never in the one place that mattered.

That’ll change tonight.

Tonight, we won’t have sex or fuck.

Tonight, when I take this woman to my bed, it’ll be to make love to her.

No, I’m not declaring anything, but she means more to me than some casual fling or one-night stand. Shit, she’s always been more, even when she was passed out in my hotel room and I knew nothing more than her first name. She was under my skin the moment our eyes met, a connection cemented so damn deep, it’ll be there until the end of time. She’s quickly becoming my everything.

Tonight, I show her.

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