An hour later, we’re sitting on the couch with a movie playing on the TV. She’s curled up next to me, her head on my lap, bundled up under a handmade blanket. I’m stroking the top of her head and wondering how something so simple could feel so good. Her hair smells of apples. I could stroke it forever. I don’t even know what we’re watching, but it doesn’t matter. We’re having too much fun picking it apart.

“Oh, my God. Somebody got paid to write this crap?” she giggles.

“Hey. At least everybody is pretty. Pretty people don’t have to say things that make actual sense.”

She giggles again. “I do like the costumes.”

“Yeah, they’re okay.”

“Except nobody who’s supposedly poor would wear something that fancy.”

“Oh, you’re a costume expert now, too?”

“I have my interests.”

She goes back to paying attention to the movie, and I go back to stroking her hair. She lets out a satisfied little sigh and moves around like a cat, stretching and wriggling to get more comfortable.

It shouldn’t happen, but it does. I wonder how many other men have been in this position with her. Something so innocent, but it wouldn’t seem so innocent when it was anybody but me. I imagine that jerk-off from last night. Was he ever the guy sitting with her head in his lap, watching a movie and touching her hair? Did he guide her head to other places in his lap?

Did she go? Did she give in to what he wanted? No. I take a deep breath and tell myself to chill out. He’s nobody to be jealous of. None of the other men in her life are worth being jealous of. If there are any. I know her. I’ve known her since she was six years old. Fame might change people, but I can’t believe it changes their basic nature. It’s not in her nature to be that way. She still has that veneer of innocence, like there’s a shell around her and none of the bad shit can get through.

Even so, my hand tightens into a claw, and she notices.

“What’s wrong?” She pushes herself up on her forearms and twists a little so she can look me in the eye. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes are so wide and innocent. It’s like she’s staring into my soul when she looks at me the way she is. I hate the thoughts I was having. I hate doubting her, wondering what kind of person she is. She doesn’t deserve it. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I smooth the hair back from her face and tuck a strand behind her ear. “You okay? Feeling any better?”

“I think so. I just needed this. You know. Time to relax and just be.” She sits up and leans on my arm. “I’m glad it’s with you.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the only one I could ever do this with,” she murmurs with her head against my shoulder. “You think I’ve ever been able to sit down and watch a movie and make snarky comments about it? It’s not much fun when you’re talking to yourself.”

“No other movie buffs in your life?” I can’t help myself from fishing.

“No. And you know it. Smartass.” She shakes her head with a wry smile and goes back to watching the movie. So do I. It’s enough for now. What we have right now, right here at this moment, is enough.

Then she climbs into my lap, facing me, and winds her arms around my neck. This is better. I rest my hands on her hips, only a thin pair of yoga pants between my skin and hers. She presses her body against mine.

“What about the movie?” I murmur as our mouths brush tantalizingly against each other once, twice.

“What about it?” Her tongue darts over my lips and I groan. “I’ve already seen it—besides, you’re much, much more interesting.” She rolls her hips in circles over my crotch and I’m hard in an instant, aching for her. She smiles when she feels me growing, and rubs her pussy harder against me. I slide my hands up over her sides, taking her t-shirt with me, and she lets go of me just long enough to raise her arms over her head so I can take it off.

She raises herself off my lap, breaking the precious contact, to present me with her breasts. I slide my tongue in circles over her nipples until they tighten into peaks, then suck them one after the other. She moans my name, running her fingers through my hair, tangling it, pulling it, and sending bolts of lightning from her fingertips to my dick.

I need more of her.

My mouth takes inventory of her soft skin, her sweet scent. I lower her to the cushions and trail slow, wet kisses down her flat stomach, down to the waistband of her pants. Her hips are rolling the way they were when she was in my lap. I hear her panting and whimpering, whispering that she needs me, that she wants more. I slide my fingers under the waistband and pull the pants over her hips, down her thighs, until her lean legs are bare. She parts them, and I run my hands from ankle to hip, loving how exceptionally soft and smooth her skin is.

“Take me,” she whispers, looking up at me with half-lidded eyes.

I lower my head until it’s between her legs and her scent is all around me, pulling me in, drawing me closer. Fuck it. My mouth is watering. I have to taste.

“Mmm … yes …” She arches her back and holds my head in place with both hands as I slide my tongue over her slick cleft before going deeper. She moans and writhes, and her body is like a wave, undulating beneath me until I have to hold her still so I can pleasure her. When she comes, her cries fill the room and her thighs squeeze me like a vice.

I drive myself into her. She wraps her arms and legs around me and holds me tight, making me wonder where I end and she begins. I go deep, as deep as I can, letting her ride me as I ride her. Our bodies work together, moving in sync, building up to something bigger than the two of us. When we come, we come together, gasping and grunting and gripping each other like our lives depend on it. Maybe they do.

“I don’t know how it’s going to work out for us either, but I want to try again. With you,” she whispers.

I feel so happy it feels as if my heart will burst. This is all my dreams, my birthdays, all my Christmases wrapped up in one perfect moment.