Jasmine's laughter exploded out of her like champagne from a shaken bottle—bubbling, effervescent, impossible to contain.
She doubled over, one hand clutching her stomach, the other gripping the railing for support, her laughter vibrating through her body in a way that made her breasts rise and fall with each breath.
"Oh my God," she gasped between laughs. "Oh my God. You—" She couldn't finish. Just kept laughing, the kind of deep, helpless laughter that came from the absurdity being so complete it transcended into art.
"Just because you got twenty women," she finally managed, wiping tears from her eyes, "you think you're some kind of a god of sex? And even have a Church of sex?"
"Actually," I said, stepping closer, voice dropping into that lower register that made conversations feel like secrets, "that title has different meanings. Being freaking handsome like no one else is one of the meanings."
