They were four steps from the door. Karim was cursing on the other side, throwing objects against the wall. Gretchen paused. Archie’s momentum was so committed to moving forward that he nearly fell over, but she caught him and then turned him and set him gently against the wall. Archie didn’t understand. They were so close. He needed her help, the rhythm of their pulse.

But then she let go of his wrist, and the rhythm stopped. His body went quiet. He knew that the concrete behind his back was supposed to feel hard, but it felt doughy, formless, like he could sink right through it. Gretchen touched his ear. Her face took up all the space in his vision. There was no one and nothing but her. He could still hear the havoc behind the door, but inside—in his head—all was mute. It was like he was physically disassociating from himself. He wasn’t going to make it through the door. He wasn’t going to get to Susan. He was going to die, as he always knew he would, at Gretchen’s feet. Archie smiled at the irony, as his head lolled back.

*   *   *

Gretchen is on top of him, straddling him, and he is deeper inside her than he has ever been in anyone. He gazes up at her, his senses painfully exquisite. Her hand is knotted in his hair, pulling so hard at the roots that she has bent his head backward into the pillow. He can barely breathe. Strands of her own sweat-soaked hair stick to the sides of her face, but she has never looked more beautiful to him. The bedroom window is open, and he can hear the wind moving through the dry leaves in the trees, the box spring moaning beneath them, each time Gretchen catches her breath. His skin prickles with heat. Pain blazes where her fist meets his scalp, blotting out his guilt and self-doubt. There is just the pain and her and sex and the black wall of bliss that slices through him like a blade. Her face comes in and out of view. Her hard nipples graze his chest as her breasts swing forward, then back. Her mouth is open, the upper lip twitching as her breathing quickens. Her skin glows. Her eyelids flutter. She grinds against him harder, knotting her fist tighter in his hair as she does, so that the pain and pleasure intermix until they are indistinguishable. He drives himself even harder and deeper inside her, desperate for relief. He can see her shoulder move as her other hand works her clitoris. She opens her mouth wider and moans and spots of color appear on her cheeks.

“Now,” she says.