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I think she’d get bored, shake my hand, and head back to her car and her rap music and forget all about me.
    I kiss her as dirty as I can. I want to show her what I want and what she can have and what she’ll be missing. I want to make her wet. I want her to know that I can, and I want to know it too. She moans in her throat and I feel it vibrate against my fingertips. My sprained wrist still aches, but it’s the last thing I’m thinking about as I drop my hand to her lower back and bring her in close, difficult because I have to bend down to kiss her, a problem I’ve faced with all but the tallest women. Well, a problem when we’re vertical. Because horizontal it’s no problem at all.
    But horizontal isn’t on the menu tonight, I tell myself, even as Susan steps onto one of the planter ledges to address the height difference, pressing her breasts against me. They’re bigger than I thought, and it makes my balls tighten. I feel one of her hands fisted in the front of my shirt, the other clutching the back of my head, her fingers digging into my scalp. I like making Susan Jones hold on. I want to be the thing she holds on to.
    My cock is very grateful for the loose fit of the trousers, but it’s still barely enough room to contain the raging erection that’s been ready and waiting since I laid eyes on Dr. Jones an hour ago. With permission and promise on the horizon, he’s raring to go, and I know Susan’s on the same page when the hand tangled in my shirt slips between us to gently grasp my cock where it pokes into her belly.
    The grip tightens and I gasp. “Susan.”
    “Uh-huh?” The question is muffled against my mouth. She strokes me efficiently, almost impersonally, and I wonder if this is what it’s like with doctors. This is a cock. This is how you work it. This is what feels good. Step one, step two, step three.
    “Stop,” I manage to say, hating myself with the word.
    She stops immediately, releasing me, stepping back along the edge of the planter, surprisingly balanced in her retreat. She hops down and adjusts her clothing, wipes her mouth with her hand as though she’s hiding the Junior Mint evidence. Except she’s not. A single word and she’s erasing everything. But she doesn’t look mad, exactly. Her face is flushed, her breath is satisfyingly raspy, and I can see her nipples peaked beneath her shirt.
    You idiot , my cock is screaming. Look what you did! Look what you didn’t do!
    “Why?” she asks finally.
    The words barely manage to penetrate my foggy brain, all my focus on willing my erection to go down. I’d have more luck getting Jade to dress in clothes that actually fit.
    There are a lot of potential answers to her question, but what it boils down to is this: “I want more.” I want more than a fuck on a rooftop, more than another impersonal interlude that gets us both off and sees us part ways. Because when a starving man is presented with a feast, he’s not going to down the soup course and call it a night. Not when he knows there’s more coming.
    “More than what?”
    “Than this.” It sounds stupid when I say it out loud. I’ve got everything I could want. A lush rooftop garden; a gorgeous, willing doctor; a beautiful summer evening. It sounds like I also require a pot of gold, a unicorn and an invisibility cloak.
    “Huh.” She exhales heavily. “That’s too bad.”
    “Why?”
    Her smile is fleeting. “Because I want more too,” she says, “and somehow I don’t think we mean the same thing.”
    The fire door swings open and Rian steps out. “Sorry about that,” he says brightly. “Where were we?”
    “I have to go,” Susan says, passing him on her way to the door. “Thank you for the tour.”
    His face falls. “Everything okay?”
    Her answer is swallowed by the stairwell, and I turn my back on Rian. My cock has finally given up the dream, erection no longer visible, but I need a second to swallow my disappointment.
    I should say I respect Susan’s