Unlikely by Sylvie Fox Page A

God,” he breathed. “I promise to make you feel this good.” The next downward stroke obliterated any coherent thought. It all boiled down to sensation for Ryan. When it came, his orgasm was deep and long.
    Concern tinged the glow of pleasure when reality surfaced. He came back from a quick trip to the bathroom to take care of essentials and laid down next to her on the cool cotton sheet.
    Ryan pulled the thin summer blanket over their bodies. “Sophie, I’m sorry about that, but I promise there won’t be a repeat performance.” He caressed her arm, bare above the covers, and then slowly pulled the cover from her breasts , feeling himself harden just looking at her. She made him feel like he was twenty all over again.
    She pulled the covers back up, covering herself, and halting his roaming hands. “It’s okay, Ryan. I don’t…” Unexpectedly, she darted from the bed and pulled on a t-shirt and sweats from a shelf in the closet.
    “Where are you going?”
    Sophie glanced meaningfully at the combination alarm clock/compact disc player on her bedside table.
    “It’s past seven and Sasha has to go for her evening walk now,” she said, practically dashing from the room.
    She had Sasha leashed up and her running shoes laced when Ryan hopped into the room, still trying to get the second leg into his paint-splattered jeans. “I’ll come with you. Just give me a moment.”
    Sophie looked put out waiting for Ryan, but she didn’t open the front door, despite the dog’s whining and licking of the doorjamb, until his shoes were properly on his feet.
    Ryan hadn’t paid much attention to the street when he’d been driving her home —his mind had been on other things—but he looked around now, keenly observant. He had never spent much time in this part of the San Fernando Valley, except for business meetings at the various studios.
    Her street, like the one he’d grown up on, was full of small tract houses built in the postwar fifties. But that’s where the similarities ended. Where his mother’s street had remained the same for over fifty years, Sophie’s had evolved. Developers had torn down or substantially renovated most of the houses. A foreign or luxury car graced every driveway.
    Sophie and Sasha were off like a shot. She walked toward the Studio City Golf and Tennis Club, following the path along the back of the golf course, the dog sniffing and meandering. He watched them meander along the tree lawn for what felt like an eternity before he trotted down the sidewalk and caught up with them.
     
    One day Sophie wanted to have an orgasm that she didn’t initiate and complete herself. Her handheld showerhead had stood in for her boyfriend for years and she was damned tired of it. Ryan had tried, she knew he had. And it had felt good, really good, until it hadn’t. She’d been right on the edge. It had been better than the past, but it just wasn’t enough. She’d wanted nothing more than to let go, but it hadn’t come. It never did.
    Sophie heard Ryan coming up behind her. The tightness in the pit of her stomach grew. She was dreading their post-coital conversation because she knew how it was going to end. He would say they were different, that she was unusually inhibited and unresponsive, and plain just not sexy. It wasn’t going to work. No matter how he put it, the bottom line was that he was leaving. They always did, sooner or later. This would be sooner than most. She took a deep breath and got ready to let him off the hook.
    “You don’t have to say anything. It didn’t work out, but…” Sophie petered out before she could finish her speech. The older she got, the harder this was. She looked down, suddenly fascinated by the dog’s every movement. Now that she had a dog, she could happily die a spinster. Why were all these old-fashioned words ringing in her head? As long as she didn’t become a crazy cat lady, she thought she could live a very long and satisfying life without male