'Yeah, where the bum meets the…' He swallowed, then said, 'It would be easier to show you.'

Her knees drifted a finger's-breadth apart. 'Show me, then,' she said, her voice thick, her eyes bright with an oh-my-God-I'm-doing-this look.

Thomas pushed the coffee table aside and knelt before her.

A low-volume 'fuck-me-fuck-me-fuck-me-fuck-me' floated through the living room.

He placed his palms on her knees. She sighed. Parting her legs, he slowly pressed his hands under her skirt, sliding his thumbs past her knees, across bare skin, down into the hollow of her inner thighs.

'There,' he whispered, resting his thumbs in the divits to either side of her panties. 'The sexiest part of the female anatomy,' he said. 'The spoons.'

Her look was at once drunk, playful, and terrified. She squirmed, as though seeking his thumbs with her heat.

'You learn something new every day,' she gasped, her voice shaking.

Thomas hooked his thumbs beneath her panties, slowly rolled them down her legs.

This can't be happening…

He glanced at the TV screen. The scene had changed. Now a powerfully built man dressed as a priest was unbuttoning a veiled widow's blouse. Beneath the black gauze, her crimson lips pouted in sexual sorrow. Her breasts seemed shockingly white against the black silk, her nipples pubescent pink.

'Ever play sex-charades?' he asked, more joking than hoping. His face burned.

'You mean fuck-alongs?' Sam replied, joining him on the carpet. 'Growing up, all the boys I knew were porn freaks. Every one.'

Thomas laughed, then yanked her around—perhaps more forcefully than he intended. He tore her blouse open to catch up with the priest. Sam giggled as much as groaned through much of the foreplay, and Thomas found himself relaxing. She was honest both to her humor and her hunger, and she seemed entirely uninhibited.

They were here to play.

Finally the priest hoisted the widow, long pale legs askew, onto his bureau, and Thomas thrust deep into Agent Logan. It was like sinking into moist lightning. She was perfect.

'Mmm, Jesussss,' Sam moaned.

'Now fuck me, Father,' the widow gasped beneath her black veil. 'Fuck me…'

Thomas hesitated. His whole body trembled.

'It's been a long time,' he said.

'What about all those perky coeds?' Sam murmured.

'They don't like my brand of birth control.'

'And what brand is that?'

'Scruples.'

She drew a shining finger along his cheek, as though tracing the path of a tear. 'It's the end of the world, professor. They don't sell scruples anymore.'

They kissed for the first time.

After he came across Sam's breasts, the camera focused on the widow. She smeared pearl across her nipples then lifted her veil to lick her fingertips. Her face was at once hooker-hard and high-school soft. Beautiful, yet plain in the way of abused children—

'My God,' Thomas whispered.

'What?'

'It's her… Unfuckingbelieveable.'

'Who?'