Now she pressed her hand to the front of his trousers, gently squeezed him between her fingers, and the next moment she was pulling at his belt, tugging at it, finally drawing back to unbuckle it, using both hands, to unbutton and unzip his trousers, and as he drew her lips back to him, his trousers fell to his ankles and she slipped her hand into his boxers.

She smiled; he kissed her teeth. She stroked him slowly with her fist.

“Oh God,” he said.

Their lips were still touching, but they weren’t kissing, they were only breathing. “Do you want to fuck me?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. His heart was pounding. “Yes, I want to fuck you.”

“What are you waiting for?”

He kicked his shoes and trousers away, pulled his boxers off, turned her around, and brought them both to their knees—pushed her down and gathered her dress up over her waist, found the edge of her underwear and yanked them down her thighs, up under her knees, away from her ankles. The desk cast a dark shadow over them, and he could just see the pale mounds of her buttocks. He pressed his fingers between her legs, felt the wet of her cunt, the opening, and quickly, before it was all over for him, set his cock there, pierced and entered her—she let out a small cry—and for a few seconds fucked her savagely, holding his shirttails up with one hand, his groin slapping her buttocks and the backs of her thighs, until she reached her arm back and said, “Hey—easy, easy,” and he slowed down, steadied himself, found a rhythm. She looked back at him from the floor, over her shoulder. “Don’t come inside,” she said. He didn’t answer. All of him was focused on the dark cleft he was driving into. She closed her eyes. “That’s it,” she said. Her voice had turned airy. “That’s it. That’s it.” And for an indeterminate time their bodies clapped together, until the orgasm choked him and, pulling out, pressing his forehead into her back, he ejaculated onto the rug between her knees.

For a long moment they held still like that. He felt the rise and fall of her back. “Did you come?” she whispered, finally, and he nodded.

He sat up and leaned back against the bookcase. She turned over, away from him, and pulled her dress down. She reached her hand out and felt the rug where they’d been. “Oh, my,” she said, rubbing her fingers together. “Mr. Strauss will want this cleaned.” Her head and shoulders were in the light. She smiled placidly at him. “I tried to escape one beast and ended up with another. Some luck.”