The table dented the flesh of his ass and, as he turned, the long nape of his neck discharged a jolt of beauty in Margery. She fell to her knees. He felt he had done enough, that she had altered the situation—perhaps unfairly—by needing to give all her love away.

Jesus’s strong sense of occasion took over. He knelt and kissed her, pleasure needling his inner walls. He whispered her name. Once sex was entered, his eyes shut and his mouth gaped like a baby bird’s. Margery struggled between closing her eyes and gazing through the bony architecture of his face to its virginal dazzle.

When Jesus slid his finger into Margery, he knew she’d had lots of penetration. They had the same smell—a good sign. It’s obvious when men become aroused; women must be expressive: she threw her head from side to side.

They pushed fingers inside each other and strummed as though trying notes till they located the nerve of an exact turmoil: the frazzled eyes and slack jaws. They gazed at the dire implosions that half belong to the one who causes them. Jesus’s asshole seemed like a flaw that drew her attention more than the beauty it marred, till finally the flaw became an expression of herself by dint of her struggle. She fingerfucked him urgently. “Slow down.” His mild voice came from his other end. She rotated the finger. Ummmm—a sound to revive later in the distance.

Jesus was the world and Margery rode panting on top. He spread her lips far apart until her clit rubbed against him. A thrill lit its tip and burned into her belly. The orgasm pushed her features as though she were traveling into a strong wind. The past slid away from the wealth of the present, sheen and felicity that can’t be saved. The muscles in his long passive legs reacted to pleasure with little twitches. “I spasmed eleven times,” he mused. He’d been counting absentmindedly. He withdrew slowly, a shiny slug. He was beginning to depend on Margery; she had more faith in him than he had in himself.

“Be thankful, St. Bridget never saw me fluttering like a dove.”

“What does it mean?” Jealousy kept her alert.

“Tell whoever you wish: I turn your heart upside down.” Margery was thrilled; she rippled, sucking him back in, released from the prison of striving simply by getting what she wanted. She tightened her grip and foamy syrup seeped out. He added, “You’re pregnant.”

She had already guessed—her breasts were swollen and she was often tired. “Who will look after this child?”

“I’ll arrange it.” She awakened his self-esteem. He took in her naked body and billowing red hair. Her nipples were raw, exposed, sensitive as foreskin. He said, “We look like statues.”

Margery considered his broad hips and jumble of limbs. She said, “One goddess and one cow dropped from heaven.”