As Josh slouched against the headboard, he knew one thing for sure: concerning Amy, he knew nothing for sure.

Amy had disrupted a calm, quiet evening, had swapped her vodka tonic for a red feather boa before she waved a cassette in the air, inserted it into her player, and shed her clothes. Her voice drifted through the room as she crawled toward him, her boa draped across her shoulders, twisted around her arms. Josh wet his lips, eyes locked on Amy's face-her flushed cheeks and dark, round eyes-until Amy straddled his lap, bowed her head beside his, and reached for his wrist.

She expected him to admire her, fear and please her; a Roman for her deity. She expected him to worship her. Convenient, since Josh had planned for it, hoped for it-before the boa, before her husky chorus of gimme, gimme, gimme weaved into his ear, before the warm, naked press of her nearly severed his last thread of self-restraint.

Josh strained as Amy guided his hands, his erection hot and full between her legs. He spread his fingers wide over her thighs, curved his palms around her hips before he leaned forward and trailed open-mouthed kisses over her neck. The vibration of her voice sent a shiver through him, made him want her, more deeply than he probably should. He fought to ignore the tickle of Amy's boa and instead concentrate on her, embarrassed but unhindered by his own desperation to memorize her details; he had no way of knowing whether this-her, being with her-would stop tomorrow.

He shut his eyes and pulled her closer, willing himself to commit her to memory. Amy's legs tight against his hips as she took him inside her. Her arms around his shoulders as she moved with him, her fingers curling in his hair. The scent of her, overlaid with citrus and ginger. Amy's voice, soft and uneven, bereft of its sharp edge as he kissed her, touched her, drew out her orgasm until she collapsed against him.

When they parted, Josh's eyes fluttered open, and he lifted his head to glance at Amy's face. She offered him a smile, more tender than most people would ever expect of her, and Josh's breath skipped as he rushed to store her expression in his mind, relieved that he'd seen it before she climbed off him and settled on her side to sleep.

The next morning, Josh faced the mirror in Amy's bathroom and pushed his fingers through his hair, reluctant to leave. As he considered possible tactics to convince Amy not only to stay in bed, but to let him stay with her, a flash of red drew his eyes to the mirror. Josh smiled and breathed a laugh before he plucked the feather out of his hair and returned to Amy's bedroom, determined to steal another moment with her while he still could.