Chapter 20: Friday

The last night of the secret was Thursday.

I knew it was the last, and so did he.

We didn't say it.

We drove to his apartment in the rain, and he parked, and sat for a minute with his hands on the wheel.

"We can still do it another way," he said.

"No."

"I could resign."

"No. Come upstairs."

He unlocked the door and I walked in ahead of him, kicking off my shoes.

The cello stood in its corner.

I sat down on the arm of the couch, and looked at it, and thought about how I'd come here the first time, scared and cold.

"Play something," I said.

"No."

"One note."

He picked up the bow, and sat, and drew it across a string.

It was an awful, creaking, glorious sound, and a fragment of a song came out of it.

I laughed until I cried.

He put it down and crossed the room in three strides and picked me up.

"That's enough music," he said.

His bed was cold and the sheets smelled like him.

I did not feel restless this time.

I felt every inch of my skin.

He laid me on my stomach, and kissed down my spine, one vertebra at a time, and took off my underwear with his teeth.

"What are you doing?" I said, muffled by the pillow.

"Learning you."

"You've learned me."

"Not this."

He spread my legs and put his mouth on me from behind, and I cried out.

His tongue was slow and thorough.

He licked me open, and sucked my clit, and slid one finger in, then two, curling them until I saw white.

I gripped the headboard.

I said his name into the sheets, and I said please.