She cries out my name. “Dean! Yes!” Then, with her eyes squeezed shut, she shudders uncontrollably, her thighs trembling from the force of the orgasm. And holy shit, within seconds of that, I come so hard my vision blurs and my head spins. In a daze, I just repeat her name as I ride it out. “Solange, Solange, Solange.”

She laughs as she comes down from her high. “I’ll admit you were right.”

“How’s that?” I ask as I work to slow my breathing.

“You’re never dull when it counts.”

I place a hand around her neck and gently draw her down for a tender kiss, one that ends with a scrape of my teeth against her jawline. “Rumor has it I can be even more interesting in an actual bed.”

She waggles her eyebrows. “How about you let me be the judge of that?”

*  *  *

“Out with it, Chapman. Don’t think I forgot.”

Solange’s torso is draped across me like the softest, most decadent blanket ever, and she’s lazily circling her fingers across the expanse of my chest.

“Forgot what?”

Yes, I’m feigning ignorance. Revealing this could change her perception of me. And I’m a firm believer that certain things aren’t meant to be shared.

“You promised,” she says, her lips going all adorably pouty.

I blame that on being fully immersed in the heat of the moment. Solange’s presence is all-consuming, so it’s hard to think of anything else when she’s around, and when she’s focused on you, that task is doubly hard. Shit, I would have signed over the deed to my home had she pressed for it.

“Please, Dean,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “Whatever it is, it’ll be our little secret.”

That gets me. That really gets me. The idea of sharing secrets other than the ones required to pull off our fake relationship is far too tempting to resist. I may never live this down, but it’s worth it for that reason alone. And since she asked so sweetly, I clear my throat and oblige her:

I love little pussy

Her coat is so warm

And if I don’t hurt her

She’ll do me no harm.

So I’ll not pull her tail

Nor drive her away

But pussy and I

Very gently will play.

“Oh my God,” Solange says, her eyes lighting up in mock wonder. “Is that an original?”

“Nah, it’s a nursery rhyme called ‘I Love Little Pussy.’ Discovered it by accident in college, during an all-nighter in the library. Written in the seventeen hundreds, I think, author unknown, and it had a profound effect on my sexual development.”

“You know it’s about a cat, right?” she says on a laugh.