“You used to say that,” she said, her breath on his neck. “Just like that. The same way.”
“Yes,” he said, kissing her.
“Tell me something more. Even if you don’t mean it.” Both of them kissing now, his head beginning to sway, like Ivan at the table, drunk with her. “I don’t care if you lie to me. I just want to hear you. Like before.”
“Irene,” he said into her ear.
“Look at us,” she said. “In the street.” She leaned up, kissing him. “It’s like before.”
“No,” he said, still in the kiss.
“Then let it be something different. I don’t care. I just want to feel—like myself. Be Irene again. The one you used to like. Come,” she said, taking his hand. “Now. We’re so close. Around the corner. But no noise,” she said, almost giggling, finger to her lips. “Frau Schmidt. Oh, but she’s gone. I forgot. Her sister in Halle. There’s no one to hear.” She stopped. “Alex. Say something. Say you love me. You used to say that. Even if you don’t—”
His head still swimming, the taste of her now in his mouth, their faces wet. “I’ve never loved anyone else.” The words making him feel bare, as if he had just taken off his clothes.
She looked at him, suddenly still. “Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s still true.” She reached up, brushing the hair back from his forehead. “We’ll be the same. I’ll be nice again.”
“Don’t be nice,” he said, kissing her neck, wanting her. “Be the way we used to be.”
They went up the stairs in the dark, afraid the timer switch would wake someone, feeling their way up the railing, then huddling at the door while she found the key, short of breath from the stairs, everything now just smell and touch, invisible. Inside she locked the door, then fell back on it as he kissed her, urgent, that familiar moment when he knew there was no stopping, turning back. She reached for the light switch, but he blocked her hand.
“Someone might see,” he whispered, his hands on her behind now, holding her, excited, the way he remembered, furtive, something stolen in the dark, muffled gasps people couldn’t hear below.
“I don’t care,” she said, more breath in his ear, helping him with her clothes, both in a rush now, hurrying. She moved him toward the bed, clothes dropping, then sat, unbuckling his belt, tugging at his pants, his rigid prick springing out. Kissing it, a lick, a courtesan giving pleasure, too quick almost, unbearable, so that he backed away, then fell on her, pushing her down on the bed, his mouth on hers, opening it, tasting the inside of her.
“Don’t wait. Don’t wait.” Grasping him below and guiding him until he felt her, already slick, ready, and, excited by the wet, he pushed in and stopped, just feeling the warmth around him. She moved against him until all of him was in, as far as he could go, and he thought he would come then, before they’d even started, and pulled back, but then couldn’t stay, pushing forward again, giving in to it, faster, a rhythm that seemed beyond their control, his ears filled with the sound of creaking springs and his own blood. There had been times when they’d lingered, working up and down each other’s bodies, stretching out the afternoon, but now they were back in the dunes, tearing at each other while Erich walked down on the beach. Deep inside, what seemed like the end of her, then out, a mindless thrusting, hearing her panting, the sound like some hand pushing him, an almost violent rocking, feeling the pleasure beginning to work its way up through his body, racing through him, about to spill over. Too soon. But she was there before him, the panting now coming in gulps, little cries, and then an actual cry, loud in his head, squeezing him below in spasms, as if she were literally pulling the sperm out of him, the moist walls clutching him until it was finally there, splashing out, draining him, so that when he finally stopped, resting on her, he felt empty and full at the same time.
She reached up, cradling his face.
“I’m sorry. I was too—”
But she was shaking her head, still stroking him. “Alex,” she said.
He rolled off, lying next to her, and she turned, facing him, her hand on the side of his head. “Nobody ever wanted me the way you did.”
He said nothing, just breathing, slower now.
“You don’t know that until you’re with someone else.” She paused. “But then it’s too late.”
He lay still, wanting a cigarette but too lazy to get it. Another minute, quiet.
“What are you thinking?”
He smiled to himself. What women asked when you weren’t thinking about anything.
“I wish it were that summer,” he said, talking to the ceiling. “And I could put you in my pocket and take you away. Before anything happened. To any of us.”
“In your pocket,” she said. She looked down, tugging the skin on her hip. “If I could fit now. Not like then.”
“Yes, you are,” he said, turning.
“Liar.”
“You told me to lie,” he said, a smile.
“Well, for a joke. I knew you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. Not to me. I’d know.”
“Would you?” he said, no longer drowsy, suddenly uncomfortable. He got up and found his jacket, taking out the cigarettes.
“Of course. We know each other.”
She took the cigarette he offered.
“We used to,” he said, all the flushed well-being draining away. Her face soft, unaware. What he told himself he wasn’t going to do. Not this line.
“No, we do,” she said, sure. “Oh, white lies maybe. Things you don’t like to tell me.”
“Like what?”
“The wife who looks like me. She doesn’t really, does she?”
“No,” Alex said, the easier answer.
“No. I thought so. You see, I’d always know.”
He looked away, no longer able to play, then put out his cigarette and sat on the bed.
“Irene, listen to me. There’s something—”
“No, don’t tell me anything. Let’s not tell each other anything. Do you think I want to know?” She stopped. “Do you think I want to tell you about me?”
“You don’t know—”