Closing her eyes, she imagined her sweat as a film of yellow light, a yellow that was burning into orange now as his tongue investigated then traced the whorls of her fingerprint, the most complicated and privately guarded series of crevices on her body, even more so than the ones around her anus, which, she was thinking, she would surrender to his mouth if he asked.

She grabbed his hair as a wet heat spread from her fingertip. She began to screw his lips now, shoving in deep and backing out slowly, imprinting her knuckles on the walls of his mouth. Then, working slowly, she proceeded to rub her finger around the edge of his lips, teasing him … making him want to grasp it, which he did, pulling her tip to a sweet spot in the meat of his soft palate; then he moved his jaw in a slow rub-a-dub, locking into her groove, fusing their sense of time as the film of light became an iridescent red and the ball of pressure in her belly, on the verge of rupture now, sought release through her arteries, causing her arm to stiffen and tremble, then go numb, then sensate again, then numb again, as the light around her unwrapped itself from the rest of her and coiled itself around her arm, compressing itself to her elbow, then her wrist, then over her palm, to the root of her finger where it burst and surged to the tip, showing its electrical nature by overloading her nervous system and blacking her out for a second.

He held her tightly, rocking her, whispering her name. “Sylvia, Sylvia, my darling girl … it’s okay … it’s okay.”

“Oh fuck,” she repeated as he hushed her. “Oh fuck.”

When at last she calmed down, she kissed him gingerly and leaned back on her elbows, not caring who would see, allowing her thighs to fall open. She undid three buttons from the neck down and peeled away the fabric, exposing first her cleavage, then her breasts—a pair of droplets with the color and sheen of virgin olive oil.

“I think it’s time to go,” she said, directing him to the barge with her eyes.

He looked up. A couple had their glasses raised in salute.

“Let’s go,” he said with a smile, “before they ask for an encore.”

She took a bow as they walked away. She had never felt this sexy in her life.

As they arrived at her house, the pain that had been lying dormant in her knee began to stir, and she limped slightly as she moved up the steps. He asked her about it and she told him that she’d bumped her knee while she was cleaning, not wanting the story of the fight on the bridge to break apart their mood.

In the bathroom, which had peach walls and light blue fixtures, she peeled away the floral curtain and sat on the edge of the tub. He knelt between her legs on the mint green tiles and replaced the transparent bandage on her knee, whistling the theme from M*A*S*H.