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Click hereAnd as my body rolls and shivers in her grasp, it's her turn to hold me, to carry me through it until I'm limp weight in her arms, though I don't sob and I don't apologize.
"Fuck," she whispers, almost to herself, "that was so beautiful."
We cradle each other, bare bodies beneath baleful light, atop a sweat-soaked bedsheet, forgetting the presence of Quint or the people outside the door. Her hand idly roams my hips and my back rolls.
We stay that way, until her time is up and we have to disentangle.
As we get dressed, I ask her if I was worth the money. She asks me for my number.
TO BE CONTINUED
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