By then I was sucking my bottom lip, trying not to moan.

Karl tugged at the top of my jean shorts.

He said, "Take these off."

Without hesitating I wiggled out of my shorts, left my thong on.

He said, "Those too."

I arched my back, eased my thong off, put it in my bag.

His fingers found the edges of a swollen clit. A clit that throbbed against his hand.

I cursed.

Billboards advertising Ben Zack's fireworks popped up.

Karl's finger slid inside me as we crossed North Fork Broad River. He put his fingers inside the flames, stirred the fire, moved deeper inside my cul-de-sac, sent trembles up my spine. I cursed louder. He stirred me senseless. RaceTrac gas station went by in a pre-orgasmic blur. I rode the edge of the orgasm, a surfer on waves, my hand grabbing the roll bar to keep my balance, hips moving into his fingers. He fed me my juices. I asked him to finish, told him to make me come. He refused. I demanded for him to give me an orgasm. He laughed. I cursed him in English, Spanish, and French, cursed my identical sin like I hated him. He laughed harder.

We crossed into South Carolina. Abbott Farms fresh peaches for sale every half mile. Shelton Fireworks, a red and yellow building, stood sentry on the left side of the interstate.

He moved his hand and I touched myself, I stirred the fire, my moans arousing him.

As we passed by the Peachoid, one of Wal-Mart's eighteen-wheelers pulled up next to us as I touched myself. The trucker blew his horn. I stopped long enough to pull a towel from the backseat, then rolled my window down enough to put that towel in the window, created a hiding place, then letting my seat go all the way back I reclined as far as I could. Eyes closed, I continued massaging my aroused sex.

Karl groaned. "I wanted to eat your pussy when you were at my house."

I trembled. He was rough, coarse, direct with his language. He was my Henry Miller.

His hand moved between my legs, stirred me. I couldn't take any more. I pushed his hand away. He laughed and changed the radio to Sirius 106, took me to Foxxhole. I cursed. My fever was so bad I wanted to break down and cry. I reached my hand to him, made him suck the desire away from my fingers. I should've stopped then. But I couldn't. The battle had begun.

Driven by passion, I reached over, undid the zipper on Karl's khakis, took his penis out, masturbated him. Karl grunted, gripped the steering wheel as we crossed the Saluda River, kept suffering and took us toward Spartanburg. He moaned like he was speaking in Italian and Spanish. I undid my seat belt, leaned over, took him in my mouth, felt him straining to keep control of his Jeep, loved how his hips rose into my face.

Another trucker blew his horn as he passed. Karl sounded his horn in return.

I pleasured Karl off and on until we were sixty-nine miles from Charlotte.

We passed Crossroads Baptist Church, breezed by a billboard advertising a ware house that claimed to have fifty thousand rugs in stock down at exit 90, on the other side of Prime Outlets.

I masturbated him, held his thickness as if it belonged to me, imagined it fitting inside me. I closed my eyes, made a frustrated sound, and squeezed my legs tight.

"I want to come, Karl. Damn. Need to come real bad."

"You and me both."

Karl exited the interstate without warning.

At the end of the off-ramp we were greeted by a big cross with a white angel.

Karl headed back over the interstate, passed by a beat-down building that sold fast food, and pulled into the parking lot of the place that sold the rugs, a huge ware house-type building on the opposite side of the highway. The parking lot was empty. Didn't think the place was open, but it was. We spied inside. There weren't any customers inside the ware house, only three employees, the one behind the counter being an elderly white woman who never looked up from what ever crossword puzzle she was doing. We went upstairs toward the restrooms.

Upstairs was an empty space, spacious with abandoned shopping baskets.

We were alone. Karl and I stared at each other at the same moment, in the same way. His look dared me as my expression triple-dog-dared him in return. He took my hand in his, pulled me along, dragged me down the empty hallway. First I followed him toward the bathrooms, then I gripped his hand, picked up my pace, and led him. Two runners at the end of a race, sprinting for the finish line.

The men's room smelled of cheap cleansers. The tile directly underneath the urinals tinted yellow, piss from men who either had bad aim or had stood too far back, thinking their dicks were bigger than they really were. The toilet was to the right, away from the urinals, in its own little room that had a real door, not like I had thought it would be. It was a separate room, not a stall. We would have privacy, wouldn't be seen at all. We rushed in there, shut the door fast, made sure the door was locked.

This was inappropriate. This was adventurous. There was a chance we could get caught.

I laughed like I was sixteen, a Catholic school girl doing wrong in the name of romantic love. I undid his khaki shorts, pulled up his camouflage tank top and licked his nipples, gave him the seductive powers of Eros. His breathing was out of control. He pulled down my jean shorts in desperation, raised my T-shirt, unhooked my bra, licked and sucked my breasts. Just like that, laughter ended. Oh God. I wished I could get both breasts sucked at once. Wished I could feel four hands ravaging me. It felt strange, being with Karl, it only being us two, knowing it was his brother I craved.

One leg out of my jean shorts, one sandal kicked away, I held that rigid part of him in my hand, again at a point of no return. He stiffened and filled my palm with hardness and heat. I straddled him, my left knee bumping into the dull wall, my right knee bumping into a dirty sink, wiggled in that tight space as I put the tip of him at my opening, my left hand on the wall for balance, and I moved him back and forth, teased him across my dampness, refused to allow him to burglarize himself inside me.

He moaned, that sound communicating his excitement, his need for plea sure. So did I. I moaned like we were inside a room in a five-star hotel. I moaned and bit my lip, thought about Mark once again. Didn't want to think about him, but I did. It felt like I was cheating on Mark. It felt as if I was betraying him. That feeling of sin excited me. I had seen Mark's wife. Had seen who he went home to after experiencing me, after loving me in the rain. In its own way, this moment felt like a revenge fuck.

Revenge fucks were always good. Revenge was its own aphrodisiac.

Karl wasn't fully erect, but he was thick enough, he had risen enough to fill desire.

A winding moan slipped out of me, long and thin, like air leaving a balloon.

Karl's hand came up to my mouth. I bit down on his fingers as I eased down on him, my nails digging into his arms as he filled this void. He was penetrating me. His brother had penetrated me. And now he was pushing inside me. Brothers. Twins. I'd been penetrated by brothers. By twins. What was done couldn't be undone. I didn't want it undone. That moment when Karl broke my skin, astonishing. I absorbed the length, width, and weight of his manhood. I owned his erection. What was inside me belonged to me. His mouth hurried to mine, his hand taking the back of my neck, his starved kisses moving from my face to my ears, to my neck, to my breasts. Karl loved sucking breasts. My breasts felt huge, heavy and filled with desire. He licked my breasts and made them feel beautiful, cupped them in his hands, sucked my erect nipples.

I moaned.

He didn't feel like Mark. His anatomical blessing was different. Not as long, but had more girth.

Girth was good.

The toilet was situated low enough for me to plant a foot on both sides of Karl, low enough for my heels to touch the floor, low enough for me to be able to do squats over and over, made it easy for me to hold the wall and move up and down on him, low enough for me to work my quads and hamstrings. I found a rhythm that was smooth and steady, the beat to this song inside my head.

I was high over the ground, flying through clouds, a member of the mile-high club. My body moved through warm air, took me to a tropical land, so much sweat on my brow. My feet touched the ground, toes sunk into the warm sands. I was on the Fijian Island of Taveuni, standing naked and free on the old International Date Line, my spirit and soul existing in past and present at the same time.

Karl took out his cellular. Fucked me as he made a phone call. He put the phone up to my ear.

I moaned my singsong moan, cooed my singsong coo. "What are you doing?"

Karl whispered, "Tell him what you're doing."

I trembled, turned on and troubled by his boldness. "No."

He pumped me hard. "Tell him."

I was dying a wonderful death, head back, singing my sensual song.

Mark answered. "What's going on, Karl?"

I tried to hold it inside me, but I moaned my unique moans, gasped like I was drowning.

Mark asked, "Who is this?"

I struggled to breathe. "Nia Simone...it's me."

"Okay. So..." He paused. "What's going on?"

"Karl...he's making me talk to you...he...he...he's doing something to me."

"That's nice to know." He said that like he was around people. "What's going on?"

"Fucking me. He's fucking me."

"I'm sorry. What was that?"

"He's fucking me and...he's fucking me and making me talk to you."

There was a pause, a pause filled with my moans.

Mark said, "I'm in a meeting with my investors. Hold on a second."

Karl moved in and out of me. I cringed, held the phone to my ear.

Karl was smiling. He was smiling hard, stroking me harder.

Mark came back on the line and asked, "What is he doing to you?"

"He's...he's fucking me. He made me sit on his...he's fucking me and making me talk to you."

"Where are you?"

"Don't know. I don't know. Some ware house...off 85...place that sells rugs."

"Don't let him make you come."

"Okay, baby, okay. I won't."

"Who are you thinking about?"

"Thinking about the W."

"Say my name."

"Mark."

"Say my name again. Look Karl in his eyes and say my name."

"Mark."

"Louder."

"Mark."

Karl took the phone from me, hung up on his brother.

"Oh God. Why'd you make me do that?" I moaned. "That was mean. Just plain mean."

"That turn you on?"

I swallowed and smiled. "Yes."

He fucked me into a hundred new paradises. Like his brother, he had so many moves, so many gears. Fantasized about them being inside me at the same time, pleasing me like this, concurrent plea sure. My body took on a life of its own, buttocks clenching, every part of me trying to tighten around the girth of his anatomical blessing, moving up and down, making him plunge into me over and over.

I didn't want to feel this way, but I did. This was not of my design. This was how I was made.

We moved like we were animals born with the purpose to make love and procreate. Fucking to procreate was in our nature. And the urge to seek plea sure, the need to give plea sure, the urge to replicate pulled us together, raised hormones and...and...Oh God...Oh God...Oh God.

He fucked the stupid thoughts out of my head.

He fucked me away from Mark. Each stroke was a riptide, pulling me out to sea.

He growled, "Say my name."

"Karl."

"Who do you want?"

"Karl."

We moved and sucked tongues, sucked lips, sucked fingers.

Giving up sex was like giving up food and water. Sex should be listed with life's basic necessities. Sex, food, shelter, clothing. In that order. Fuck me, feed me, take me inside, and dress me.

Plea sure had not been mine for so long. Once desire was turned on, combustion gave it a life of its own. Once it was turned on it tended to become a raging wildfire, uncontrollable and uncontainable, the type of conflagration that had to be allowed to burn itself out.

The handle on the bathroom door shook hard and fast.

We jumped, but didn't disconnect, stared at each other, sensual expressions laced with surprise. I swallowed, sweat on my neck, my mouth shaped like an orgasmic O.

The handle on the bathroom door shook again, shook harder, shook faster.

Panic rose in his eyes. My hand went to my mouth, muffled a nervous laugh.

"Is somebody in there?"

"Yeah." Karl yelled back. "Somebody is in here."

"What?"

"Somebody is in here."