![]() ![]() One-bedroom but enormous, underground but rent-controlled. The apartment in the West Village with its perfect garden, tended by that British harridan from upstairs, whose fat thighs, even now, were among the tiger lilies in the window. The backs of her legs were humid and trembling against his knees. ![]() He watched in the mirror as she closed her eyes and the flush crept over her cheeks, lips, the hollow of her neck. ![]() He slid her underwear to her knees and said, “We’ll be quick.” A tiger of light from the transoms prowled the clean pine floor. She tilted her hips back into him and put her palms on either side of the cheap long mirror that was, with the mattress and a ziggurat of suitcases where they kept their clothes, all their bedroom held. We can’t,” Mathilde said.īut he wasn’t listening, he put his hands up her peacock skirt and under the band of her cotton panties, sweated through at the crotch. Soon there’d be the party, dozens of college friends descending on them for the housewarming, though the house was already sizzling with summer. ![]() After being so long a nomad, he was rooted in this place, rooted in this wife, with her fine features and sad, cattish eyes and freckles and gangly tall body with its tang of the forbidden. ![]()
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