Chapter 4: The Sounds Through the Wall
Marisol hurried to the bathroom and shut the door behind her before she could think about what she had just done. Her fingers were still slick, and the taste of copper sat on her lip where she had bitten down. She turned on the tap, scrubbed her hands with soap, and pressed a cool washcloth to her face until her pulse slowed to something approaching normal.
Water ran in the master bathroom. She heard it through the wall, the faint hiss of the shower. Daphne would be cleaning up too, the way she always did before bed. Marisol leaned against the sink and waited until the water stopped.
When she came out, Daphne was stepping into the hallway from the bedroom, wrapped in a robe, her hair loose and dark at the shoulders. She looked flushed and satisfied, and she did not bother to hide the smile on her face.
"He's out," Daphne said softly. "I gave him his sleeping pill with the last glass of whiskey. He'll be dead to the world in half an hour."
Marisol swallowed. "Good."
Daphne led her to the kitchen, poured them both a glass of water, and leaned against the counter. The house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator. They talked about nothing. About Daphne's sister's wedding. About the garden. About a new café that had opened near Marisol's apartment. The words were soft and ordinary, and neither of them acknowledged the hour stretching out between them.
An hour passed. The house settled. No sounds came from the bedroom.
Daphne looked toward the hall and then back at Marisol. "Are you ready?"
Marisol's heart bucked in her chest. She thought about the negative test. The three years. The single pink line. She thought about everything she had already betrayed and everything she would still betray if she said yes.
"Yes."
They moved through the hall together, barefoot, silent. The bedroom door was ajar. Daphne eased it open with one hand and slipped inside first. Marisol followed, her pulse loud in her ears.
The room was dark except for the faint glow of a nightlight near the closet. Daniel lay on his back, one arm thrown across the pillows, his chest rising and falling in the deep rhythm of drugged sleep. The blankets were pooled around his waist. He wore nothing.
Marisol stood at the foot of the bed and forgot how to breathe.
Daniel was awake. He had been awake since the moment the door creaked. He had felt the shift in the air when Daphne entered, then the second presence, lighter, hesitant. He kept his breathing slow and his body limp, and he waited.
The mattress dipped. Marisol climbed onto the bed, her knees settling on either side of his hips. The soft cotton of the T-shirt she had borrowed from him brushed his stomach. She could feel the heat of him through the fabric, the solid weight of his thighs beneath her.
Daphne whispered from somewhere beside the bed. "Take it slow. Let him stay asleep."
Marisol reached down. Her fingers closed around him, warm and half-hard, and her breath caught. He grew fuller in her grip, thickening against her palm. She guided him to her entrance and sank down.
The feeling was overwhelming. Slow and tight and impossibly deep. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning. Daniel held himself still, his jaw clenched beneath the cover of darkness, every muscle screaming with the effort of the lie.
She began to move. Small rolls of her hips at first, testing, learning him again. The memory of the first time came back to her, but this was different. She could feel everything now, every inch of him sliding inside her, the drag and the stretch. She rode him slowly, her hands braced on his chest, her head tipped back.
Daniel's control was slipping. Each stroke drew a line of fire through him. He had survived the first night in ignorance. This time he knew, and knowing made it unbearable. He felt her thighs shake around him, felt the flutter deep inside her that meant she was close.
Her rhythm faltered. Her breathing turned ragged. She pressed her forehead to his chest and shuddered, and he felt her come around him, the tight clench of her body pulling him over the edge with her. He filled her with long, hot pulses, his own release tearing through him while he lay still and silent, every nerve on fire.
Daphne appeared at his side in an instant, her hands guiding Marisol's trembling body away from him as she murmured soft reassurances into the other woman's ear. Marisol retreated on weak limbs, stumbling slightly as the room spun around her. The bed protested with a soft creak of metal springs as she departed. Moments later, Daphne slipped beneath the covers beside him, her lips brushing against his shoulder in a gesture of comforting intimacy, while he remained frozen beside her.
Daniel finally allowed himself to exhale and gradually surrendered to sleep, his mind replaying the image of the fiery-haired beauty riding him to ecstasy without realizing he was awake, savoring every illicit moment of their stolen union.