The door closed behind him.

There were no more words between us.

No words meant no more bulls.h.i.t.

I pulled the curtains up, left a sliver of light.

He turned the little radio on, found soft music, then came over to me. Our kiss took us to the bed. He grew against me and I shifted him so he was on the right spot, then bit my lips and moved against that growth. I pulled his shirt off; he did the same with my top, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s rising with my breathing. He took the ponytail holder away and my hair fell, framed my face.

This liquid sensation ran through me, one I'd had before. It was warm, tickled me all over. The same sensation I embraced the night I lost my virginity. When I wanted to experience something I had never experienced before. Antic.i.p.ation of a new pleasure excited me.

He whispered, "What do you like?"

So many erotic images went through my mind.

I swallowed. "Surprise me."

He moved my hair from my eyes and I touched his chest. He was strong. He touched my b.r.e.a.s.t.s with both hands. I tingled. A fire grew inside me. He lowered his head and I closed my eyes, felt his tongue moving back and forth over my left nipple, then my right, making my b.r.e.a.s.t.s shine with his saliva. My eyes tightened; my first moan escaped me, followed by squirms, then more sounds that let him hear that dark and erotic side of me.

I touched his back, raked my nails over his flesh. His patchouli scent was seeping into me, into my skin, and his hair smelled like lavender. I loved lavender. It oozed s.e.xuality. We had other odors, the ones that came from dancing and sweating, and those were just as erotic.

He asked, "Still nervous?"

"Don't stop."

To tell the truth I was terrified, like when the roller coaster was at the top and I could look down and see that first drop. He tugged my pants down over my hips, my thighs, and they bunched at my ankles for a moment, then he took my shoes off, dropped both, each thump sounding like my heartbeat, and pulled my clothes away from my feet.

Cool air covered my skin, telling me that I was naked.

He touched around my v.a.g.i.n.a. "Brazilian wax."

"Yeah."

"It's beautiful."

"Thanks."

"You smell so d.a.m.n good. Love it when a woman takes care of herself."

He tongued my hipbone, my pelvis, took my toes in his mouth. I squirmed and moaned, G.o.d, how I squirmed and moaned. He was on his knees, holding the back of my thighs, pulling me into his mouth, praising me with his tongue, flesh that was very gentle, as smooth as water, a rhythm that made me hold the sheets and float, float, float.

It felt so good that three-letter sounds became four-letter words.

My shudders and twitches told me that this was real.

Now a stream of ten-letter moans and four-letter words came from me.

This was awesome. He was going to eat his way to China.

He moved away from me, left me twitching and breathless, heat rising between my legs, struggling to open my eyes, then panting and watching him take his clothes off.

My cellular phone started vibrating against the dresser, a blinking blue light in the darkness. It had to be three in the morning. Only one person would look for me at that hour.

In the blink of an eye, a thousand thoughts came and went. I thought about my husband, all of our ups and downs as a couple, about my life so far, about morality and immorality.

He said, "It's okay to answer it."

My cellular hummed again, danced across the dresser until it fell on the floor, then vibrated against the carpet. I watched it until the blue light quit flashing like a warning.

"Bird, you okay?"

I nodded. My words caught in my throat. "I want to watch you touch yourself."

He sat in the armless chair, stroking himself. I was curious what he would feel like inside me, to taste him, to become . . . official . . . I think that's a good word . . . to become official with him.

I sat on the edge of the bed, still tingling, my hands squeezing my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

He told me, "Touch yourself, Bird."

I did. We entertained each other.

I said, "Hope you brought something."

He walked across the room, his d.i.c.k bobbing up and down. I watched the solidness in his legs, in his back. I wanted my body to look that solid again. He dug in his pants and pulled out a Magnum. That made my v.a.g.i.n.a tingle and purr. A woman always hoped a man wore Magnum. Not only wore them, but was qualified to wear them. In that moment I remembered an ex who bought Magnums, but him wearing them was like me putting on a dress four sizes too large.

I asked, "Can I put it on for you?"

He smiled and came to me. I got on my knees, touched his offering. It was darker than the rest of his body, hot chocolate with thick veins running down the sides, one big muscle.

I said, "Open it up for me."

While he tore the wrapper, I primed him. I've always loved holding a man like that, his heat in my hand, looking deep into his eyes, hearing his breathing thicken, watching him lose control. Even when he handed the condom to me, I kept stroking him, feeling his energy rise until he closed his eyes and moaned. I was tempted to make him o.r.g.a.s.m like that, not invite him inside me. I had the power to make him feel good in any way I chose. That look was on his face, the one that said this was so good.

His mouth parted and he licked his lips over his ragged breathing.

I said, "You're thick."

He smiled, touched my locks. My words boosted his ego, showed in his eyes. Always compliment a man on his p.e.n.i.s. That was his vanity.

I put the condom on him, made sure it was there to stay.

I said, "Sit on the chair."

I straddled him, kissed him, his warm body against mine, his hand grabbing my a.s.s. I was so wet. He stretched my walls, hard and strong, slipped deep inside, surprised me. The shock of a new lover being inside me made me shudder and gasp, then we were hanging onto each other. He pulled my hair, eased in and out of me, moved me away from pain.

Moans rose.

He pulled my hair, kissed me hard, slapped my backside and I was lost in . . . lost in . . . moving up . . . down . . . f.u.c.king him. I swallowed, panted, found enough wind and control to chant over and over. He was deep, rigid, hungry. Didn't expect it to be like this. The back of the chair slapped the wall. People next door had to hear. People pa.s.sing by had to hear.

I lost it, said so many p.o.r.nographic things.

His grip on me, so tight. My movements so . . . so . . . powerful. That was how I felt. Powerful. That rush of control had me so heady . . . so high. Then he hardened . . . grew inside me . . . his release . . . d.a.m.n . . . so hot . . . again . . . leg trembled . . . back arched . . . saw a thousand flickering stars . . . soared on the wings of an angel . . . disconnected from this world and fell back into that place that owned no pain, that place that made me feel so alive and so close to death all at once, and I tried to stay there. Inside o.r.g.a.s.m lies healing. The zenith lifted the soul above all pain. But even a bird could only fly for so long. On the other side of every o.r.g.a.s.m was reality. The truth I needed to avoid. My descent came back a breath at a time, and I struggled against it, moved against him with a fever, like I was in a hot-air balloon, easing back toward the ground.

I rested on him, his hands moving up and down my back, my hands doing the same to him. He was sweating a little and I was perspiring. Moisture gave his skin a nice glow. I rocked and moved against him, felt him go from firm to flaccid, then he softened and slipped out of me. I took his hand, put his finger on my spot, helped him ma.s.sage me to the other side of the edge.

My shudders and twitches decreased. No more moans or four-letter words.

The ride was almost over.

When my breathing calmed a bit, I whispered, "G.o.d . . . that was . . . really good."

His hand played in my hair. "No, that was you."

"I was just responding to what . . . to . . . d.a.m.n."

"You've got my head spinning."

"Best first-time s.e.x I ever had."

"We're not done."

"s.h.i.t. I'm in trouble."

We kissed again.

I asked, "Want me to get up?"

"Not yet."

I reached down and touched his p.e.n.i.s. The condom was still on.

We were back to being clumsy, naked, realizing how exposed we were, having a certain lack of grace. Two people who had been intimate and didn't know what to say.

I had committed adultery.

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THE MCBROOMS.

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Livvy.

My consciousness came back like a good scream.

Something inside me was going off. A warning.

I jerked awake. It took my eyes a moment to focus on the digital clock. It was between three and three thirty in the morning. I had come back home. I was in my marriage bed, as naked as I was on my newlywed night. Our bed was waist-high, the right height to make love with him standing up. Mirrors. Pillows. An armless chair. Silk scarves. All the essentials. I came back to my husband because if I didn't come home to him, I know where I would've gone.

Tony wasn't in bed anymore. His side was warm. I pulled the covers back and the night air chilled my naked flesh, hardened my nipples. Tony's cologne was on my skin, traces of him on my arms, on my hands. Condoms were on the nightstand. A three-pack of Trojans, one used.

I sat up. The light wasn't on in the master bathroom.

Curtains were open so there was enough light for me to make out silhouettes of everything in the room: the unlit candles on the dresser, the French doors, and the armoire.

Something was wrong. Out of place. I stared at the dresser. Couldn't figure it out.

I was about to lie back down and try to get some sleep. Then it hit me.

Before I knew it, I was hurrying across the room, standing in front of the dresser.

My purse was missing. I had left it on the dresser. I always put it on the corner dresser closest to me. I looked on the floor, but I knew it wasn't there because Momma had told us to never put our purses on the floor. Bad luck to do that. I looked in the chair. Not there either.

My purse was missing. My cell phone was missing. My husband was missing.

I was about to scream, but Tony's name caught in my throat. Even though it was dark, I hurried to the bathroom door, turned the handle, pushed it opened. Empty. Same for the guest bedroom, guest bathroom, office, and laundry room. The carpet hid my rushing around while I eased down the stairs. Halfway down, I stopped on the landing and listened. It was quiet, but the glow from underneath the door to the downstairs bathroom betrayed my husband.

I stood in front of the bathroom door, heard him in there going through my belongings. I turned the doork.n.o.b. It was locked. Sounded like he jumped and dropped a few things.

My heart sped up and I shouted, "Tony, give me my purse."

I hit the door with my fist, then turned the handle again.

"Give me my d.a.m.n purse, Tony."

I hit the door with my fist again.

The bathroom light went off. The door opened. In the darkness he handed me my purse.

I asked, "Where is my d.a.m.n cell phone?"

His hand came out in the dark, handed me that too.

I didn't have to look at it to know he'd gone through my cellular phone, looking at phone numbers from missed calls, incoming calls, and outgoing calls. I'd cleared all of those before I came home. I'm not stupid. My phone was on and I know I'd turned it off.

I exploded. "I hope you found what you were looking for."

"You want me to answer that?"