“Ah, man,” he sighed, shaking his head slowly, mournfully. “I’m not sure I can stick my dick in a woman who doesn’t even know who John Bonham is.”
“‘Stick your dick in’?” I asked, my brows probably touching. “Did you actually just say that?”
“Make love. I meant make love … of course. I would never just stick my dick in you. I would make mad, passionate love to this sweet, sweet body of yours for days, no, weeks. It would be beautiful, pumpkin. There’d be little angels, and birdies, and you know … all just hanging around, watching. Perverts.”
Mal Ericson and Anne Rollins, Play, Kylie Scott