“Yes.”

“And drank tea.”

“Yes.”

“And played bridge.”

“Oh yes,” she said.

“And the whole time—oh god yes—you were thinking about this?”

“Yes! Just there, Sam, oh yes!”

She came around him, her muscles contracting over and over again in a dizzying fall. She’d heard the phrase “seeing stars” before; she hadn’t realized it was meant literally.

“Darling,” Sam whispered, letting his fingers play over Alva’s cheekbones before she leaned down and kissed him, a deep, gorgeous kiss that did nothing for his restraint. “My darling girl, if I don’t put protection on this second—”

“Oh, I did bring some,” she said, blinking unfocused eyes. “Somewhere.”

“You’ll think I’m presumptuous,” he said, reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out an envelope. “But I’ve become rather more prepared in the last week.”

“Thank god for men who come prepared,” she said, lifting up just long enough for him to roll on a rubber. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he shifted them both so she was on her back, her full skirt bunched up around her. Quickly he pulled down her drawers, hoping she’d forgive his lack of finesse, and plunged inside her.

He took her almost desperately, possessing her without elegance or restraint. They moved in a frenzy, hands everywhere, mouths everywhere, in a sweaty, frantic tangle. When he came inside of her, his body coming apart in a mind-erasing explosion, it could have been a minute or an hour later.

He made to move off of her, but she tightened her legs around him and pulled him close.

“I’m going to crush you,” he mumbled, and when her legs showed no sign of loosening he rolled them both over, so she was resting on his chest.

As the sensual haze cleared from his mind, it was replaced by a giddy, sparkling feeling, like sunshine on fresh snow. Suddenly life had never been so good. Everything was going to work out—it had to.

He shifted underneath Alva, grinning when she muttered angrily and resettled firmly atop him.

“Alva,” he whispered.

“Mmm.”

“Alva!”

“You can’t possibly be ready again,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest.

“I absolutely could be,” he said, defending his masculine pride, “but that’s not what this is about.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Not everything’s about that,” he said in angelic tones. “You have a particularly filthy mind.”

“How lovely that must be for you.” She opened one eye. “Sam?”

“Yes?”

“Why are we talking?”

“Because we have to get up.”

The eye shut, and she resettled once more. “You’re having one of your brain fevers,” she said. “Rest quietly and it’ll go away.”

He squinted down at her, but she seemed to have gone back to sleep.

“All right,” he said, “but remember, you left me no choice.”

“Wha—Sam! Put me down!”