We're in the lighted kitchen. He's standing on one side of the island, and I'm on the other. He has in his hands a whiskey glass filled with that twenty-five dollar Cabernet I picked up before I showed up at the house.
"You're the best sex I've ever had," I say absolutely.
He's looking down at the marble, and he doesn't believe me. "Just give me a range," he says as he widens his arms out away from his sides. "I don't need a number."
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