“Oh yeah.” He groaned in relief, and again as he came a second later.

Well, hadn't that been exciting? Not. As Matt rolled over onto the mattress with a satisfied groan, Rebecca considered pushing him right out of the bed. But it wasn't his fault. He tried. He always tried, asking her if this technique worked or that one. How could she tell him that she wanted him to just know what to do?

She sure couldn't tell him she faked a good half her orgasms. And she resented that he couldn't tell, which was even more unfair. She didn't get off in an unmistakable fashion, after all. For her, an orgasm felt more like a sneeze, certainly not the earthquake her friends described, and nowhere close to the shrieks of pleasure from the apartment next door. What would that feel like? To be so overwhelmed as to actually scream?

Matt spoke up as if he'd followed her train of thought. “You know, Rebecca, you never seem all that enthusiastic about screwing. And my technique's fantastic.”

So informed by all his previous girlfriends, undoubtedly. Good to know. Thanks, Matt. Now she felt really inadequate. Heck, they'd just cosigned a lease and moved in together a couple of weeks ago, and he was already bored with her. She swallowed past a tight throat. “Maybe we're not a good match.” She rolled over and stared out her bedroom window, where the next-door apartment building glowed pink in the sunset.

“Oh, don't get like that.” Matt patted her shoulder. “We're great together. Where would I find a woman who could be so polite during business dinners? And what other guy would let you drag him to an art show on Mission?”

“Well, that's true.” She'd thought they were a perfect couple right from the beginning.