For someone who was practically a virgin two weeks ago, she certainly loves to order me around in bed.

And I enjoy it a bit too much. But it's not only the sex. She's everything a man can dream of.

One, she takes everything literally.

It's so fucking refreshing. You don't know what you've been missing until you have it, right? With her, there's zero drama, no misunderstandings, no bullshit, no stupid games—we can talk like normal people. She never gets offended for ineffable reasons, expecting me to read her mind. She just tells me what she wants me to do, and I do it.

Okay, sometimes we argue. But mostly about theoretical questions, and she never gets annoyed with me just because I'm dumb or hot-headed. When I told her once in the heat of the argument that she could kiss my ass, she shrugged and told me to lie on my belly.

I feel like the luckiest man on Earth.

Two, she's mostly silent during sex. And I say a little prayer for that every time I go to sleep. She rarely screams to reduce stress, too, since we've implemented the boxing method. It works fine. I should gain a few pounds, though, to provide her knuckles with a slightly padded, less unpleasant training tool.

She has adorably weak hands. Like a real lady. Like a Mary. Yet, she holds so much power over me. Again, like a Mary, almost on a spiritual level. Or I'm reading too much into it. One thing's sure, though. She might be weak physically, but mentally, she's the strongest person I've ever met.

When boxing doesn't work, she still does a little rocking. No big deal, it's no worse than the way I shook my legs at school when I was bored or nervous. She does it with her whole body, that's the only difference, and she can't be touched.

Well, that's not entirely true, either. I experimented a bit on her because seeing her upset and not being able to help wasn't an option. And while the fact that I can't hug her during the rocking period proved true, my tests revealed that rubbing my head against her side like a big cat makes her laugh even when she's shutting down. My head doesn't count as touching, only my torso, hands, and arms do. So even when she's pretty upset, I can lie by her side with my forehead against her thigh. That way, I can be with her without being with her.

Without her experimental enthusiasm rubbing off on me, I may never have discovered this, and I'd still be sitting on my hands and chewing on my tongue, watching her, feeling useless.

I definitely feel like the luckiest man on Earth.

Three, she came up with a new method of giving head. Here I was, after sleeping with thousands of women, thinking that there is only one way to do that. With slight variations but without fundamental differences. And she just found a more logical approach, altogether, one that simply feels better. So good that I nearly passed out.

That's the only problem with it. I need to maintain my basic motor functions. She's got much more lenient with my bodily fluids by now. But not that lenient.

Four, she loves repetition. So we repeat everything a lot, and practice makes perfect, I can confirm that.

Five—okay, I could go on and on, all day long. She's herself. And she's with me.

I am the luckiest man on Earth.

So we're good. Except when my weaknesses get in the way. Except when...

"Hey, baby, what was he like?"

"Who?" she asks.

"Your first man."

"He wasn't my man," she points out. "I just slept with him once."

"Okay. So, what was he like?"

"I told you a hundred times already," she says. "He was this and that, we did this and that, and he had a much smaller dick than you."

"Is that all?"

"No. I just summarized the most important plot points to get over it faster."

"I—"

"69% creepy, 18% gross, and 13% interesting, Mint," she snorts. "You can't seriously be jealous of a guy whose only achievement in the short time we spent together was to scare me away from sex for five years."

"Well, still, technically, he was your first, so—"

"Mint. Just stop it."

"Do I annoy you? Of course, I do. I annoy myself so much, too. Why am I telling these things at all? It's not like me."

"No idea. Let's breathe it out, okay?"

Every time she hugs me of her own will, without me initiating it, I lose all my usual strength. It's still something extraordinary. Something I can't get used to. To have her by my side and hug me, out of the blue, just like this.

"I'm sorry, Mary," I apologize. "I've never been jealous in my whole life. Not once. But when I think about that asshole—"

"Why do you think about him? I can't even remember his face."

"I don't know," I confess. "The thought that he touched you bothers me."

"Okay. How many women have you had, by and large?"

"Um... let's talk about something else."

"Yeah. My thoughts, exactly."

I bury my face in the spot with the world's most wonderful smell, where her neck and shoulder meet. But this time, it doesn't help. She gets tired of my fidgeting soon.

"You know what," she says, pulling away. "Let's talk about my first if you want to."

"But you just said—"

"You're so much like the kids in my class, Mint. Let's play a question game, okay? When you think about him, how does he look like?"

"Well," I consider the answer, trying to imagine him, "he's very elegant. And confident. And refined. And smart."

"Okay. And now, try to repeat this particular sentence of yours: 'when I think about that asshole.' Done? Great. Now, how does his face look like? Do you see him?"

"Um... this is... oh, fuck."

"Yeah. And now I answer your real question. No."

"No?" I huff.

"As in, no, I haven't slept with Duke."

I palm my face to hide my embarrassment. And my relief, to be honest. There must be something seriously wrong with me. It's not like me at all.

"Now, you want to ask me why not," she goes on, "but you don't, so it will disturb you until you find another excuse to—"

"Why not?" I ask her, gritting my teeth slightly.

"He didn't want me," she lies.

"That's impossible. I know him. Try to come up with something believable, okay? You can tell me the truth, even if it means that—"

"With the emphasis on 'me.' He wanted Gabriel. And he thought that I was strange. Which I am."

"You keep forgetting that you're not strange, baby," I remind her. "You're eccentricitical."

"Well, Duke didn't know that."

"Bad for him. Good for me. Come on, let's eat something."

"You're so simple, Mint," she says, with an amazed expression on her face. "How can you be so stunningly simple?"

I just shrug. Tonight, I will sleep well.

I know I can't keep her here forever. I know I have to let her go.

But still. While I'm falling asleep on the ground, holding her hand that she hangs down from the bed, my last thought is the question she asked me when I kidnapped her. Do I want to have her to keep her away from Duke?

I think I know the answer now. No, I don't. I want her by my side because she's the one.