She looked up at the camera then. And like a magician revealing a trick, she reached her fingers under the scalp above her forehead and peeled off the dark wig. Her light hair fell to her shoulders and there she was. Voilà. Gretchen Lowell.

Archie heard Susan’s sharp intake of breath, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen.

Gretchen said something directly into the camera. Archie could see her lips move.

“Jesus Christ,” he heard Susan say. It was muffled, like she’d said it through her hands, like she was covering her mouth.

On the video, Gretchen curled over Archie. The red dress was cut low in the back, and he could see the shadows of her vertebrae coiled over his lifeless body. Gretchen had always had a beautiful back. Elegant. Like a dancer’s.

She lowered her head next to his, her hair falling like a blond curtain, swallowing his face. She was talking to him, Archie realized. She was whispering something in his ear. As she did, she walked one hand down his chest and over his groin.

Standing there, in his kitchen, he felt her touch, the flow of blood and warmth as he got hard despite himself. He shifted his position, hoping that Susan wouldn’t notice.

Gretchen lay beside him on the ground and moved her hand along the inside of her own leg and up under her dress.

Her hips rocked. An uncomfortable heat swelled in Archie’s chest.

Her head was still beside his, as if immersed in their private conversation, but she was clinging to him now, her body wrapped around his like a snake, her hips grinding against the hand she had pinned between her body and his thigh. The tent of his erection as he lay there on the ground was clearly visible. But he couldn’t be blamed for how his body responded. Susan must know that.

Archie could hear Susan breathing beside him.

He still couldn’t look over at her. He couldn’t bear to see her face.

Then Gretchen stood. She hitched her dress up around her waist and kept her eyes on the camera as she stepped around his body and put a high-heeled foot on either side of his head.

She wasn’t wearing underwear. Archie could see a thin shadow of pubic hair on her pelvis as she lowered herself down and sat on top of his face. She started grinding herself against him, keeping her own hand working in hard circles, the dress pooled around her waist. Her mouth was open. Her eyes were slits. Her head was tilted back. It didn’t take long. Gretchen always came easily. She was like a raw nerve.

Her shoulders jerked forward and her head dropped. She kept rubbing at herself, harder and faster, and then her shoulders heaved again and she drove her fingers up inside between her legs and rolled her head back. He heard Gretchen gasp.