“Do you love me?” she looked down as she rode me. She liked it slow. For her, good sex was a performance. She’d move her hips and sway let me watch every move her body made. In those moments, I was hers.

I’d have told her anything, but as I went to speak she bent forward, her chest on mine, and pressed a finger to my lips. I thrust up into her; heard her sigh. “No lies, love,” her voice a ghost in my ear.

She kissed me then, hard and fierce, and we had no more time for words.