I want to fuck him the best I can, every time. Every dollop of eroticism in every inch of my being. The electricity of intimacy as he comes in closer. I adore him. And I want him to walk away from here feeling like he can’t live without me as I curl back and laugh. He is mine. He belongs to me. His heart and his flesh, tucked neatly into my pocket for me to play with whenever I feel whimsical. I am the best he’ll ever have. And he will never admit it, but we both know it is I lie here and purr. I am trying to be demure and approachable. I am trying to get him to say the things he never says. I love him, don’t I? Because he loves me, and there’s nothing more spectacular than the feast of being in love.