Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Ivy
Kiss like you're madly in love.
There's no reason for me to hesitate. After all, Romeo and I did plenty of kissing. It wasn't the kissing of two people in a long-term monogamous relationship, but I'm sure it looked similar enough.
We want to connect, physically.
At least, he's willing to pretend to convince his family he’s a responsible guy, and I'm willing to pretend for the fantasy.
Can someone really tell why just by looking at us?
I turn a little more towards him. I hold my head up high. I call on all my confidence.
Sure, no one pays me an outrageous sum for an hour of pleasure, but I know how to kiss. I know what love looks like. I know how it feels to kiss someone I love.
Or I did.
Once.
Now, I'm not so sure.
Now, the pain of the last two years of the relationship, when things were really bad, drowns out the memories of hazy happiness from before.
We were together a long time. Since my junior year of college. Things were good once, weren’t they? But I can’t see back to that time anymore.
When did I last kiss and feel in love and only in love?
I have no idea.
Sasha notes our lack of action with the tap of her fingernails on her mug. She looks between us, carefully examining our body language.
Her eyes find mine. "Why are you looking at me, sweetheart? You're not here to kiss me. Unless you want." There's a hint of flirtation in her voice. And just enough demand.
I bet she's good at her job. Very good. Like Romeo, she speaks with the perfect intonation. This mix of confidence and appreciation of my presence that I can admit my awkwardness without judgment.
"Is that what I need to do, Rome?" Sasha's dark eyes shift to Romeo. She raises her teacup and takes a lazy sip. "Do I need to demonstrate a loving kiss on your fake girlfriend."
My cheeks flush.
The two of them smile at the same time. I should find it annoying—these two experienced lovers find my inexperience adorable—but there's something about their attention. Or maybe their tension.
Yes, Romeo has a lot more experience in the bedroom, but I'm the one who knows about sex and love and relationships. In theory, anyway.
Romeo's smile shifts to a poker face. His voice stays even and friendly, but there is something in his eyes. An irritation he can't hide. "You should stop hitting on her."
"She's cute. I can't help it." Sasha shrugs, not at all bothered by his frustration. Loving it even. "And this isn't because I want to kiss your sexy fake-girlfriend."
My blush deepens. No one calls me sexy. Not in real life.
Romeo's eyes flit to me. He notices. He enjoys it. But he doesn't mention it.
That should bother me too, but it doesn't. It feels good to be noticed. To be seen. To be enjoyed.
"It's because someone needs to show you how it's done." Her eyes lock with his.
They exchange something in their stare. Some understanding.
He nods.
She sits up straight and smiles.
The tension evaporates from the air. Shifts to something else. The awkward knowledge my fake boyfriend's best friend and business partner is volunteering to kiss me.
Sasha continues, "If it's okay with you, Ivy."
"I guess so." I suppose it's really no different, fake kissing Sasha or fake kissing Romeo. Either way, I'm not in love. Either way, I have no idea what it means to love. Not anymore.
So why does it feel different?
It's not just my lack of attraction to women. It's something else. Something deeper.
Some part of me that wants more of him.
Sasha notes my hesitation and plays with it. "You guess?" She adopts and exaggerated pout. "Oh, no, sweetheart. I don't want to kiss someone who guesses."
"Are you kissing her like you love her or seducing her?" Romeo asks.
"Are you jealous?" she quips.
He blushes. He shakes it off fast, but the hint of color remains on his cheeks. He is jealous.
Because they play this game. Or because he likes me. Or both.
It's fun, watching them.
It's flattering, watching them compete over my attention. Over the right to kiss me.
Is that real? Or is this some game they play with all their… clients?
I try not to read into it. After all, Romeo isn't my real boyfriend. He's my fake boyfriend.
I need to have fake feelings for him. That's the only way to keep my heart safe.
Because real feelings…
They almost destroyed me last time.
"Still." Sasha turns to me, triumphant. "I'd like to do a little better than, 'I guess.'"
I'm not sure I can do much better. Love is too overwhelming, as a concept, at the moment.
That's the other reason I'm here. Because I can't talk about love on the show anymore. Because I can’t handle the topic of love anymore.
Because I have to focus strictly on sex. And that means exciting stories.
I don't want to kiss her. Not in particular.
But I need the practice. And I need the material.
This could be an episode. The time two sex workers taught me how to kiss.
Who wouldn't listen to that?
"I could use the reminder," I say.
She smiles and sets her teacup on the table. "Watch and learn, lover boy."
Romeo rolls his eyes.
Sasha stands and offers her hand.
When I place my palm in hers, she pulls me to my feet and guides me towards her.
Her hands go to my hips.
Her eyes go to my eyes.
She smiles, a little shy, a lot affectionate. "You look gorgeous today, baby." She brings her hand to my cheek and brushes a stray hair behind my ear.
She draws a line over my jaw with her thumb.
She moves closer.
My eyelids flutter closed.
My lips find hers.
She kisses me softly. Gently. With tenderness.
Her lips part for my tongue. An invitation, not a demand.
When I don't answer, she pulls back with a soft smile. She looks at me, all hazy and in love, then she steps back, and snaps to attention. "Not bad. Not perfect. But not bad."
"Are you judging your kiss?" Romeo asks.
"Did you believe it or not?" Sasha asks.
Romeo folds his arms in protest, but he doesn't quite hold a poker face this time. His dark eyes are expressive.
He bought it.
Those dark eyes find mine. "Did you feel it?"
I didn't feel butterflies, but I felt something. The satisfaction of physically connecting with someone who knows what they're doing. "It only matters if your family believes it, right?"
"Yes, Rome, don't be such a guy about it. It's not about whether or not I make her swoon." And it won't be about whether or not he makes me see stars.
We're just faking it, after all.
"If you didn't catch it that time, I can demonstrate again…" Sasha shoots me a flirty wink. "Or maybe Ivy is ready to show you how it's done."
"I've got it." Romeo stands. He takes a step towards me. Then another.
Then he's in my space.
He repeats Sasha's gestures.
His hands go to my hips. They pull me closer.
Already, it's different. Already, I'm different.
My body melts into his. One hand goes to his waist. The other to his neck.
My fingers curl into his skin.
My eyes find his eyes.
I drink in the intensity of his expression.
I kiss him.
I don't think. I just do it.
My eyes close as my lips find his. When his lips part for me, I don't hesitate. My tongue slips into his mouth and dances with his.
He matches my speed. My pressure.
His fingers curl into my hips.
I soak up the sensation of his cotton t-shirt. He looks different casual. Feels different too. Like he's ready for some grand adventure.
Or at least a day at the beach.
My hips shift against his. My groans vibrate down his mouth.
I can feel him, hardening against me, and it feels good.
"Oh my god, you two, get a room." Sasha clears her throat.
I jump back.
He stands there, blushing yet confident.
Whereas I'm just blushing.
"This is going to take some serious work, Rome." Sasha shakes her head. "Can't you kiss a woman without taking your dick out?"
"How is it out?" There's no embarrassment in his voice. No outrage either. Only the lightest hint of absurdity.
"Oh my god, just look at it." She motions to the bulge in his jeans.
It's not unnoticeable, but it's not… out either.
He's got a semi. He's got enough girth that it's noticeable. Not so much that it's ridiculous. Not too much.
Just right, really.
Do I like him because our bodies fit just right? Or do they fit just right because I like him?
Statistically, women don't report a different orgasm frequency with partners with larger or smaller penises. If anything, smaller is better. Women are more likely to report pain with a more well-endowed partner.
There. That's an unsexy topic. That's a good way to slow me down. I'm not here to mount the man. I'm here to learn enough about him to play his girlfriend.
Somehow, Sasha catches on to exactly where my head goes and takes the complete opposite tactic.
"Why don't you two get this out of your system.
Take the rest of the day. I'll check in before the trip.
If you need another practice round, I'm here.
" She gives me a warm hug goodbye then makes a show of giving Romeo a fist-bump, like she doesn't want to get within two feet of his erection.
She leaves with a wave.
And leaves us alone in his apartment.
With the rest of the afternoon to do anything we want and all the dirty thoughts in my head.
He turns a little towards me.
I shift my weight between my legs.
Pelvic pain or pure pleasure. The concepts compete in my brain.
"What are you thinking?" Romeo's voice is steady, confident. His posture too. But there's something in his eyes.
The curiosity I saw before. And a discomfort too.
He's not used to this sort of intimacy.
We're not client and service provider anymore. This encounter isn't about me.
Neither of us knows how to navigate that.
But I do know one thing:
It's not just what I want. It's what he wants too. What we both want.
And that feels really fucking good.
"I'm thinking I always do the safe thing, but now I want to do the fun thing," I say.
His eyes brighten. "I like the sound of that."
"How does it go?" I ask. "This whole… less pretense thing?"
"You're the sex therapist. What's your suggestion?" I ask.
"My suggestion is you find a sex therapist with a more objective viewpoint," I say.
"Fair." He smiles. "But given the situation at hand…"
I try to tap into my logical brain, but it's overwhelmed by my desire to touch him.
I go for my training instead. "I've had a lot of clients who felt a pressure to perform pleasure during sex.
" Usually women, but not always. "I usually advise them to start in small ways, by appreciating other pleasures. "
"Mindfulness and meditation?" he asks.
"And masturbation," I say. "That's usually the cornerstone. Do you masturbate?"
"Doesn't everyone?" he asks.
A dodge. He's not comfortable answering.
If we were in therapy, I'd push in a different way.
But this dynamic is unusual, to say the least. "If you were a normal client, I'd ask you to tell me about the last time you had sex.
How it felt. Then I might ask about the last time you touched yourself.
What you imagined. If you used any aids. "
"Sex toys?" he asks.
"Or pornographic materials. Images, videos, erotic stories. Pictures sent by exes. A lot of people prefer that."
His eyes flare with something. Interest. Or confession. I can't tell. I can't read him right. I'm too caught between worlds.
"But that sort of talk isn't very sexy," I say. "The clinical approach. It puts people in their heads. Makes it harder to get into their bodies."
"Sometimes therapy is counter-productive?"
"Sometimes," I nod. "Sometimes, you need to think less, and do more. If we could team up, create a full-service therapy offering… we could help people so much better."
"Like a sex surrogate?" he asks.
It shouldn't surprise me he knows about sex surrogates—he's in the business—but it does. Did he learn about them from that Holly Hunter movie? Or does he know someone who performs sex therapy via touch and, well, active practice. "Like the next step, after a sex surrogate," I say.
"If only we could tell my brother that's how we got together."
"To create a sex therapy empire," I say.
He smiles. "So, what would you tell me? To keep the mood sexy?"
"I don't know. I'm a lot better at clinical theory than dirty talk."
His smile shifts to something sexual. "Do you want to practice?"
"If you'd enjoy it," I say. "I do want this to be more… real."
"Does it make you nervous?"
I nod.
"Then I would." His eyes meet mine. "I find your blush incredibly sexy."
My cheeks flame in response.
"But it's up to you. I think that’s what I want. I want you to tell me exactly what you want to do to me."