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Bringing the duvet with me, I stretch out beside her, and when she finally lies back, I pull her into my arms and tug the duvet up to our chests. “I didn’t think you were lying,” I tell her.
“You looked surprised when you saw the blood.”
“That was more because I thought at your age you probably wouldn’t bleed.”
“You forgot the word advanced. At myadvancedage.”
“I can’t criticize. I’m thirty next year.”
“I didn’t spot any gray hairs.”
“There are a few.” I gesture at my crotch.
“I’ll have a look later.” She gives a mischievous smile.
Pulling a pillow beneath my head, I make myself comfortable, and she leans on my chest, resting her chin on a hand. Outside, the world continues to spin around us—a police siren sounds off in the distance, a car toots its horn, a door bangs further along the corridor—but in here it’s warm and quiet. Just the two of us, basking in the afterglow of really good sex.
I reach out a hand and touch the pendant around her neck. It’s the same as the one in her photo—the playing card with the Queen of Hearts. “I like this,” I tell her.
“My mum gave it to me,” she says.
I let it go, and it rests on her collarbone.
“Thank you so much,” she says.
“You’re welcome.”
“I mean it. You answered all my questions, and you were patient and kind. I’m so lucky I met you.”
I pull a strand of her hair through my fingers. “Me too. You were amazing.”
“Aw, don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Give me false flattery. I know how clueless I was.”
“Experience doesn’t matter. You were enthusiastic and eager.”
“Isn’t everyone?”
“Have you never read the AskMen subreddit? Guys on there are always complaining about how many girls lie there like starfish.”
“Seriously?”
I shrug, not wanting to go into details about my own experiences. Rule number one and all that. But a high percentage of the girls I’ve been with expect the guy to do all the work. I don’t mind; it’s not an onerous task. But it was pleasant to sleep with someone who seemed to enjoy turning me on, too. I think of the way she fixed her gaze on mine and licked her hand before she stroked me. Man, we could have some fun, if she stuck around.
“Hmm.” She traces a finger in a circle on my chest. “I don’t get why anyone wouldn’t want to participate actively.”
I play with another strand of her hair. It’s so silky. And it smells nice.
“Poor Lesley,” she says. “All alone in the Five Palms.”
I give a short laugh.
“There must be something wrong with her brain,” she adds. “Letting you go. She’s crazy.” Her eyes are wide and honest. She totally means it.
Slipping my hands beneath her arms, I lift her up a few inches so her face is level with mine, and then I kiss her, long and slow. When I eventually release her, she says, “Mmm. I can’t believe I thought using your tongue was gross.”
