For Every Notch In Your Bedpost

I placed one hand on his chest and pushed him backwards until he fell onto the couch. I put one leg on either side of his body and pressed my lips against his. He put his hands on my hips, and rolled me over, so that my back was on the couch, and he was on top of me. He wanted to be the one in control. Didn't surprise me at all.
He peeled off my shirt, and moved his lips from mine and began leaving a trail of kisses down my neck. He removed his own top, and I went to lay down on the couch, but the leather was cold against my skin despite the heat in the air. I arched my back to keep from making contact again with the leather. Oli took this opportunity to undo the clasp of my bra.
You could tell that he gave a similar performance night after night. He was no foreigner to this stage. His every move was timed with perfection, the precision of a veteran, his lips were trained champs. The only problem was his passion. His kisses were empty. His eyes emotionless. His expression one of thought rather than of want.
We were both naked, sweaty, bodies pressed against one another. We were in the moment, yet both in our own worlds. None of us wanted it. It wouldn't mean a thing in the morning because it didn't mean a thing right now. Meaningless sex. One of the red flags I remembered Winona Ryder reading from some therapist mumbo-jumbo book in Girl, Interrupted.
I thought of my sister and her husband in Italy, and how they were probably spending a week doing the same thing I was in the midst of doing at this very moment, except to them it was worth something. It wasn't sex. It was love. I wanted love. I didn't want just this. I pushed Oli off of me, and began picking my clothes up off the floor and putting them on as I found them.
"Wusgoinon?" he asked breathlessly.
"I can't do this."
"C'mon, have some more to drink, yes you can."
"No, Oli, I really can't."
"You damn near begged me earlier, and now-"
"I didn't beg you for one, and for two. . .now is different."
"How is now different?"
"Because, I realized that it isn't real."
"What the fuck is it then, Kileigh?" he asked, "A fairytale?"
"You remembered my name, that's a shock."
"Of course I remember your name."
"What was her name last night?"
He thought for a moment, "Uh, Stephanie?"
"And the night before last?
"I'm not even going to make an attempt at that."
"Exactly. I don't want to turn into just another night," I explained, "I thought I would be fine with it, but I'm not. Not anymore."
"So what now?"
"Now, I go get Nick and Natalie and we go back to our hotel room."
"And then?"
"And then that's it."