Her lips part in a gasp as she lets him hitch her leg higher and she braces her other foot against the bed, her hips rising to meet him. He's good at this, he's good at making her feel incredible and she's been having sex for a long time, has been using it as a tool since she was a teenager and she's been with a lot of people who have been awfully good, who have known what they're doing. But this is better. This is far better and she doesn't want to investigate that line of thought, not right now, not when she slides her hand down his back, over the curve of his ass, tugging him closer with every thrust.

If it meant nothing, she wouldn't say his name. She'd make all the appropriate sounds, she would moan and arch into him and gasp. But this isn't just about how he touches her, it's about more than that, and so when his name passes her lips, she isn't particularly surprised. It's not just about his body, it's about him.

"Les, please," she breathes, though she doesn't know what she's asking for exactly. Her leg hooks around him, changing the angle again and a startled gasp escapes April, her head falling back against the bed, her eyes open, lips parted. It could be about forgetting, she could use him to distract herself from everything she's learned today, but she realizes she has every intention of telling him. It's not about forgetting, it's about finding something new.