“But you are.”

“You’re at work, right? I can’t remember where I called you.”

“Yes, I’m at work. What are you doing?”

“I’m in bed,” he replied.

“Lucky you.”

“Not really … I’m alone.”

“I was alone in my bed last night, but you don’t hear me complaining,” she said.

He closed his eyes and pictured her lying next to him … in her sarong … with a smooth leg thrown over his … a warm hand on his chest … moist lips foraging along the back of his neck.

“What’s your bed like?” he asked, catching her off guard.

“It’s a bed … rectangular … mattress … box spring … sheets,” she replied, slipping through a fissure, falling into his groove.

“Are you in bed right now?” There was a wetness beneath her. She paused awhile to enjoy it.

“Yes,” she replied.

Her legs were falling open.

“Are you alone?”

“No.”

“Who is there with you?” he asked.

“You.”

“And what am I doing?”

She closed her eyes.

“You’re lying beside me and rubbing my belly.”

“Do you like the way I’m rubbing it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re gentle, and …”

“And?”

“… you have this way of making your strokes stray into the waist of my underwear and up against my breast.”

She slipped a hand beneath her skirt.

“And you like that?” he asked.

“Yes … Fire … I do.”

“I’m using my lips now, to do what my hand was doing before. Which do you prefer?”

“Your lips.”

“Okay, I’ll use my lips then. But what should I do with my hands?”

“Caress my breasts.”

“With both of them?”

“No. Use one to caress my breasts and use the other one to play with me.”

“Where should I play with you?”

“Inside my underwear.”

“My hand is there now, inside your underwear. It’s very wet here. And warm.”

“I know,” she replied, “you have made it that way. Play with me.”

Her fingers eased the silk away. And her flesh gave way to her softest touch like mud on the floor of a still lagoon.

“What should I play with?” he asked.

“You know what to play with.”

“How do you know that I know?”

“You know.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“Don’t make me say it,” she said. She was breathing heavily and her voice was trembling. “Don’t make me tell you to play with my clit and finger-fu … manipulate me inside with your fingers.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fingering myself as I’m talking to you and I want to come so badly. But someone could come through this door any minute.”

Fire felt a coolness near his waist, and looked down to see his cock growing toward his chest from the moist heat inside his boxers. He held it. It was hard and brown like a length of renta yam. At the top, in a nick, a custard-colored sap spilled out in soft eruptions.

“So if you want to come, then come. I’ll hug you.”

“Don’t hug me … make love to me.”