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“But are you enjoying it?” you insist.

You’re lying on top of her, between her legs, your elbows bent at her sides to support your weight.

“Of course,” she says. “I like everything you do. Come here.”

Melissa pulls you by the neck to kiss her again. You stop before your lips can touch.

“But are you enjoying it because the kiss is good or just because it’s me?”

“Does it matter?”

“I think so.”

“Oh, girl.”

Her head falls back onto the pillow, and she raises her eyebrows at you, pouting her lips.

“Don’t you’d rather just keep quiet and make out a little longer?” she teases, sliding her index finger from your neck down to your chest. You let out a little laugh.

“I just wanted to know. Stop, that tickles.”

She laughs too.

“I like kissing you. I think kissing you is delightful.”

You lean in for a peck on the lips. Melissa lets out a little sound of delight.

“See? I love it.”

“Okay, good to know.”

You lean in for a real kiss, happy with the confirmation that she loves you; she didn’t say it with those exact words, of course, but it was implied.

Melissa lets the kiss go on for a few minutes, but before things can really heat up, she pushes you away gently.

“Why?” she asks.

“What?”

“Why did you ask that?”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to be sure.”

“Do you think I don’t show it enough?”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

She seems a little offended now, and you try to apologize.

“I was just thinking out loud. I got a little insecure, sorry.”

Melissa nods.

“You don’t need to apologize,” she says. And then, “Do I make you feel insecure?”

“What? No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You better be telling the truth, kid. You know what happens to pretty girls who lie.” Melissa forces out a ridiculous masculine voice to say this. A thrill runs down your spine every time she does one of those silly voices.

“What?” you ask, already excited to hear the answer.

Melissa stares at you for a moment. Her gaze is full of affection.

“Well, traditionally, I think your nose grows. You know, just like Pinocchio. You’re not too young to not know Pinocchio, sweetheart.”

“Melissa!” You raise your arm to give her a playful pat on the shoulder but end up slipping when your other hand can’t support your own weight. You collapse onto Melissa, and she holds you up so you don’t fall off the couch.

“Calm down! Do you really want to devour me that badly?”

“The big bad wolf devours people, Melissa, not Pinocchio.”

“And I’m not so old that I don’t know fairy tales, you naughty girl.”

“All right, all right, enough talk.”

She doesn’t argue, and you kiss again. It feels good to spend the afternoon like this, in her arms, lips locked with hers, legs intertwined, the plastic of the couch making a huge noise every time you move—

“Oh, wait.” You pull away.

Melissa is starting to get annoyed.

“What?” she asks.

“Can we go to the bedroom? That noise is driving me crazy.”

“No. Too far.” She kisses you and you shut up.

One of her legs breaks free from the tangle of your bodies and slides up your hip, pressing your weight against her. You gasp, and the couch creaks.

She breaks the kiss once more and presses her forehead against yours.

“If we go to the bedroom,” she begins, “will the big bad wolf eat Goldilocks?”

“Don’t ever say that again,” you reply.

She laughs and pushes you off the couch. You get up, feeling a little sluggish after relaxing there for so long, and take her hand so you can go upstairs.

Melissa throws you onto the bed when you reach the bedroom and climbs on top of you. Your face reflects the pure adoration you feel for her, and for a moment she doesn’t do anything to you, she just gazes at every detail of your skin.