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then, before she could reposition herself, would shift direction and speed, catching her off guard, probing yet another stretch of her secret cunt. All the while his hands and eyes glutted themselves on the feast beneath him, the naked breasts, so bold and defenseless, and her priceless ass, lean and lush.
    The part he liked best was pressing his lips against her mouth and catching her moans in his throat. After a long time, she began to break up inside. Her legs parted and rose into the air, her arms circled his shoulders, her tongue flooded his mouth, her eyes flew back inside her head, and she pumped her hips steadily and wantonly into his pistoning cock. When she began to come he felt the beginnings of his own orgasm. They held on to one another tightly and then let go, forgetting who was tall and who was short, who was beautiful and who was ugly, who was rich and who was poor, who was man and who was woman.
    Later he was solicitous, kind, even making them both a midnight snack, and over coffee they talked about their lives, openly, simply. The magic of sex had worked its wonders once more and two people who had been anonymous creatures now saw one another as intimates.
    When Gail woke up the following morning, she suffered an emotional hangover. There were several minutes when she might have pushed herself out of bed, dressed, and left without a backward glance, glad to have had the experience and even happier to be finished with it. Eliot lay on his side, his face darkened by a one-day growth of beard, showing his age in the texture of his skin. She slid over to the far side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. Something caused her to hesitate. She felt his eyes on her back and knew he had awakened also. He rolled over toward her. She half turned. It was a very naked moment. They did not have the excuse of nighttime intoxication; of the wine, of the adventure of exploration . . . the almighty first time. They knew each other’s smells and blemishes and evidences of mortality. They had heard each other’s stories. They had served as handles for each other’s fantasies. They were even, and could quit clean, without blame, without bad feeling, without any imbalance.
    But something drew her back, some shifting heaviness in her chest which had her sagging back, falling by degrees onto the sheet, her face coming to rest on his thigh. She shuddered, closed her eyes, and took his cock into her mouth. As she went down on him, he ran his fingers through her hair. She blew him until he came and she swallowed his sperm, the first man with whom she’d done that in nearly a year.
    They saw each other heavily for two or three months after that. She wasn’t taken for a ride in his jet, but she ate at restaurants she hadn’t known existed, places which had no sign out front and no prices on the menu. She got to know what it felt like to drive to East Hampton in a Bently. Expensive trinkets collected on her dressing table. When he gave her a brooch worth eight thousand dollars she knew she had crossed a definite line. And it took nothing for him to slip a folded packet of hundred-dollar bills into her hand and say, “Why don’t you treat yourself to something beautiful, Beautiful?”
    One morning she could no longer hide from herself the fact that she was hooked. She liked the sensation of floating about on a magic carpet of money. She liked the flow which surrounded powerful people. She liked the way he fucked her.
    “All right,” she said to herself, “I’m a kept woman. I’ve had fantasies about it, and it’s happened. Now what?”
    Then the game began to get really interesting. For while he had her, she also had him. He had developed an addiction for the taste of her, and he followed that through with the same practical ruthlessness which marked his business dealings. One night he slid beneath her, his mouth sucking at her cunt, and asked her to pee on him. She had grown faint and for the first and only time