The little curtain of the half floor had been pulled aside, and I saw that, rather than using it as a storage space, Celeste had turned it into a reading nook, filled with pillows and a tiny nightstand with a lamp. Sam and I crawled in. He closed the curtain around us and began rearranging the pillows, which had been flung about by the previous visitors, into an almond-like configuration, a little bed for us. I pushed into him, interrupting. He pressed back, ducking his head toward mine to fit beneath the ceiling. He pushed me down and rolled on top of me; I pulled him closer, until his weight oppressed me, made it hard to think. He kissed my collarbone, my neck, my jaw, my earlobe; he sucked it slowly, wending his tongue around its petal of flesh.

He paused to look at me, his hair falling around his face. It was beautiful hair, golden and soft, and I reached up to run my fingers through it. His eyes closed a little, like he was a puppy happy to be pet. I yanked his shirt over his head and he wriggled out of it; I kissed his chest, the curls of hair there reaching up toward his neck; I wrapped my legs around him and pressed into him, I bit his shoulder, he let out a moan and rolled to my side to pull my shirt up to my breasts and slip his hand beneath my underwear. He circled his finger in the slickness, I breathed into the thin skin at the base of his neck. I felt close to coming, my head light, my ears ringing a little, but then I thought of how my face would look, the gruesome contortion of it—

“You’re so wet,” Sam whispered, and I felt a sudden disgust at the leakage of my body in ways I had not willed, like a seeping wound. I pushed myself away from him, freeing myself from his hand, and unbuttoned his jeans. I pulled his pants down with a roughness over his cock, which sprang back to full mast. I leaned down over him, letting his dick graze my stomach, then pressed the palm of my hand to the base of it, two fingers on either side. This aroused me, the stiffness I had created with my body, and how my hand was a scissor, like I could snip it off if I wanted.

I moved myself between his legs and took him into my mouth. His head was toward the curtain and I saw that he hadn’t closed it all the way, there was a sliver of space so anyone passing by could peek in. Like the bartender. And maybe this was why he had come. Did you want to be seen? I imagined him watching me as I sucked Sam, or, better yet, locking eyes with me while I had Sam’s dick in my mouth—was this the game we were playing, me watching him with Celeste, him watching me with Sam? I straddled Sam and went to put him inside me. “Wait,” he said, and reached into the pocket of his jeans, crumpled on the floor, and ripped the condom’s package with his teeth and rolled it on. He gripped my sides and pushed me onto my back, the sharp suck of insertion, I wound my legs around his back, blood rushed into my pelvis, he screwed up his eyes as if there were something in me he didn’t want to see, or maybe it was me who closed my eyes, I can’t remember.