I’m wondering if I were reading a book right now, would she even notice?

It doesn’t really matter, I guess. Things could be worse.

Though I’m not sure how.

I lift my hips as she comes down, burying myself deeper inside and I may as well be somewhere else entirely. There’s no passion, no thrill.

To stay interested, I fantasize about rolling a little to one side and wonder if I’d still be inside her when we hit the pavement.

I close my eyes and start to pretend that she’s Leila, but immediately stop. I’m not going to cheapen Leila like that.

Come to think of it, it’s kind of a bad sign that I’m not so concerned about cheapening Wrigley like that.

“Are you about there?” I ask, trying to put enough enthusiasm into my voice to not pull her out of her moment.

She stops riding me, though I’m still inside her.

She moves one leg over the side of the building so now only gravity is holding her in place. Yeah, I’m inside of her, too, but I seriously doubt that would be enough to stop her from going over the edge.

Wrigley lifts her other leg over my body so she’s facing me now, straddling me and she leans forward, kissing my lips as she says, “I think I want a relationship with you, too, Dane.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“I said I want to be in a relationship with you, too, Dane. You were right. There’s more between us than just sex.”

I don’t say anything for a minute. I don’t move and hardly breathe. This is about the last thing I was expecting from tonight.

“What do you think?” she asks, grinding herself onto me to emphasize the question.

I look at her. She’s already looking at me.

Her eyes are pale blue. They’re not the darker blue of Leila’s, but they’re not without their warmth.

She kisses me and I just stay there, hands hanging down.

I look over the edge of the building and I look back at Wrigley.

And I decide to jump.

“I’d love that,” I tell her. “Let’s do it.”

She lets out a glee filled squee and puts her hands on my cheeks as she kisses me vehemently.

“I’ve never wanted to be with just one man before,” she tells me.

She throws her head back and to the side, letting her hair fall over her left shoulder.

“I don’t see any stars,” I tell her.

She stops moving and the smile slowly fades from her expression.

“What?” she asks.

“The sky,” I tell her. “I don’t see any stars.”

“Oh,” she shrugs. “The city’s too bright.”

“Yeah,” I mumble.

This isn’t a bad thing. Wrigley and I do seem to get each other on a deeper level, even if that particular level is generally strange and somewhat terrifying.

She’s not a bad person. She’s into some weird shit, but that’s not a crime. Well, what we’re doing right now technically is, but you know what I mean.

Her muscles tighten around my cock and she slides herself up and down my shaft slowly.

“I’ve been practicing,” she says.

“What?” I ask, still looking for even a single glimmering point of light in the sky.

“Kegels,” she says. “It helps me grip. See?”

She flexes herself around me again.

“You like?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I smile. “I like.”

“It’s getting cold,” she says. “Wanna go inside? We can always pick this up on the bed or…” she kisses me. “The couch or…” she kisses me again. “The floor or…” she presses her whole body into mine and breathes in deeply as she kisses me once again. “Wherever.”

“Yeah,” I answer. “Okay.”

She grips me again as she slips herself off of me and a moment later, I’m just lying there on the ledge atop this building, still trying in vain to spot a single star in the sky.

*                    *                    *

It’s seven in the morning, and I haven’t slept yet.

Wrigley’s feathered breath is warm on my bare chest as she sleeps peacefully in my arms.

What I’m worried about right now is that I’ve never known this woman outside of a strictly sexual context.

Yeah, we’ve gone places and we’ve talked, but we’re always on our way to a new place to have sex. We’re always talking about what we’re going to do with each other when we get there.

I know there’s more to her than that, but I just don’t know if I’m ever going to see it.

I’ve spent so much of my life treating women like flavor of the hour that I’ve completely forgotten what it’s like to be that guy, to ask those questions and really get to know someone.

“Are you awake?” the whisper comes as a slow rush of air, barely audible.

“Yeah,” I whisper back.

I can feel the muscles in her face pulling back and when she lifts her head to turn and look at me, she’s smiling.

“Good morning,” she says.

I can’t help but smile back.

“Good morning. How’d you sleep?” I ask.

“I don’t think I’ve ever slept so peacefully.”

“I’m glad,” I tell her. “Hey, it occurs to me that we don’t really know that much about each other.”

“Yeah,” she says and waits for me to continue. “Oh, that was your point.”

I scoff. “Okay,” I tell her and start to sit up. “I get it.”

“No, no, no,” she says, with a bit of a chortle as she pushes me back down. “We don’t know that much about each other. I guess I just figured that maybe we could start on that today. Do you have to work?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “Later, though. I don’t have to be in until noon.”

“That’s right,” she says, patting my chest. “You’re a chef.”

“Yeah,” I answer.

I’m trying to estimate how bad the fallout is going to be if I tell her that I have no idea what she does for a living, but she catches on before I’ve got any hard figures.

“I’m a social worker,” she says. “I mostly work with kids and teenagers.”

“Yeah? That’s got to be pretty rewarding.”

“It is,” she says. “It’s one of those few things in my life where I really feel like I’m making a difference for someone, you know? It’s not all Polaroids and hugs, though. I deal with a lot of bad shit on a day-to-day basis.”

“I bet.”

“That said,” she continues, “Every once in a while, I’ll come across someone who’s just in that receptive place and you wouldn’t believe how even a child can turn things around when they want to.”

“You know—maybe this is going to sound rude, but—”

“That’s not what you expected?” she asks. “It’s not what a lot of people expect, but it’s what I do. I love it.”

“Yeah, but you’re—I don’t know how to say this without being a dick,” I say.

She laughs. “It’s all right. I’m pretty sure whatever you’re going to say, I’ve heard a lot worse.”

“You’re into some pretty kinky shit.”

She lets out a gut laugh.

It’s the first time I’ve ever heard the sound, and it paints her as a completely different person than the nymphomaniac that I’ve been fucking for the past month or so. The laugh softens her.

“I am,” she says, “but I don’t take that to work with me.”

“Yeah, but—I don’t know, aren’t you ever nervous that you’re going to be doing it in one of the paddle boats in Central Park and have one of the kids you work with see you?”

“That’s why I don’t go to Central Park,” she says.

“Yeah, but what about the top of the building?” I ask. “We’ve been up there a few times now and, except for last night, every time, we’ve had an audience.”

“Parents keep their kids away from the windows in the city,” she says, “especially in this neighborhood. You never know what you’re going to see or who’s going to catch you looking at them.”

“You’ve really put a lot of thought into all this, haven’t you?”

She laughs again and my trepidation starts to thaw.

“I guess you could say that. Look,” she continues, “there’s a way for me to get all the, in your words, kinky shit out of my system without putting my job or any young eyes in jeopardy. Sometimes it takes a bit of creativity, like last night at the stadium. It actually made me pretty nervous being out in the middle of everything like that, you know.”