Page 73 of The Boyfriend Experience

She wants me to get what I want, the way I want it.

“You’re not real,” I say.

She giggles. Flashing a smile at me I don’t think I’ve seen before. Something in between happy and satisfied. Something I want to see more of.

“You’re the one who’s not real.”

“Maybe neither of us is real?”

“Maybe none of this is real?”

I smile now too.

“God,” she says. “That dimple you unleash when you smile sometimes. I want to die every time I see it.”

“Dimple?” I say, momentarily distracted. “What dimple?”

“What do you mean? That cute-as-fuck dimple in your chin when you smile.”

I furrow my eyebrows as she plays with my cock. Her hands never stop. Her eyes once more locked on mine.

“You mean you don’t even know you have it?”

“Didn’t have it.” And then I smile. “Until you, apparently.”

“You’re dumb.”

“But it’s funny. I was just thinking the same thing about your smile.”

“What about it?”

“It’s different tonight.”

“No, it’s the same smile I’ve always had.”

But I shake my head. “If I can have a secret dimple I only reveal to you, then you can have a smile you only reveal to me.”

She stands up, dropping my cock. Which is almost a relief. Because even though we’re talking, I’m still very close to coming again. And then she climbs back into my lap, lowering herself down onto me. Pressing hard until I’m deep, deep inside her.

“Let’s both come again. And smile our secret smiles as we do it.”

I don’t even try to understand at this point. I just nod my head and smile until she giggles and pokes a finger at my chin.

And that’s her secret smile too. I know it’s for me and only me.

Because we come, for the fourth time tonight, together.

Later, after we’ve gotten dressed—me in my jeans, her in a t-shirt and shorts—and we’ve eaten our pizza and talked about everything except Hanna Harlow, and TV shows, and beer, and real estate, we climb into bed together naked.

Her body pressed against mine. Her heat is my heat and my heat is her heat.

There’s no pressure at all. We fucked, and fucked, and fucked again. So there’s nothing left to do but be still in the dark. My arm under her shoulder. Her head on my chest. Her heart beating slow, keeping time with mine because that’s what they do.

She says, “Good night, Law.”

And I say, “Good night, Oaks.”

Like this is just what we do before bed.