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After, she rested her head on his hip and kissed and licked him, her tongue travelling every part of his length until he rose for her, seduced by her tender lips. Then she opened her mouth and welcomed him in. A breathless instant of pure bliss. He spent the next hour lazily inside her, with her tongue flicking over him, his tip pressed against the inner wall of her cheek or gently pulsing near the back of her throat, until his immeasurable arousal seemed to bring her lower body back to life, and she slid him from her lips before straddling atop, riding him until another hour passed in a daze of rising and falling and gasps and moans.

This was sex. This was ecstasy. Better than drink. Because there would be no forgetting these moments. His mind burned each sight and sound into memory, storing her moans for playback later like a favourite song, for when she would fall asleep again and he would lie awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking of her. Wondering when she would wake so he could do it all over, make her orgasm into unconsciousness, give her a peaceful and vacant mind. What would that be like? To just stop thinking without requiring a long run or a shot of something strong? He lived it through her, giving it to her, giving her everything, every last piece of himself. His fingers cramped. His tongue went numb. He went down on her again. And again. Listening. Wanting. Wanting her so badly. Wanting this. For good. Forever.

Another day began with him making a home inside her. Until they both had nothing left to give. They lay panting. Wrecked. Devra started laughing and couldn’t stop. The sound filled his ears like the ringing of a bell, until he was laughing too. Breathless and dizzy.

“What is this?” Devra spoke to the ceiling.

“It’s sipping tequila by the beach,” he said under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” He rolled onto his side and grinned at her.

“You look happy.”

“So do you.”

“I am. Very. But we need to get out of this bed.”

“Do we?” he asked.

“Yes, we do.”

“Why?”

“Because if we don’t, I might break in half. Or die of starvation.” She laughed again. “But seriously. We need to eat. What time is it? What day is it?”

“I’ll make you something.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I’m too tired to dial for pizza”—she raised her hand and let it flop back onto the mattress—“then I can’t imagine you’re in any better shape.”

“I’m a man of many surprises.” He popped out of bed with astonishing swiftness, not unlike a long-distance runner managing to cross the finish line at a dead sprint. “What would you like? Seared scallops with a pomegranate glaze? Short ribs and mushrooms in a black barley sauce?”

“Bradley,” she called after him, still breathless and giggling. “You are going to be so disappointed when you see the inside of my fridge. I let my meal-kit subscription lapse. You’ll be lucky to find the ingredients for boxed mac and cheese.”

After retrieving his clothes from the heap in the living room, Bradley stuck his head in her fridge to discover its contents as sparse as she’d warned. Her freezer, however, was stuffed with TV dinners. He tossed a couple into the microwave.

Just as the food beeped its readiness, Devra sauntered into the kitchen wearing a fuzzy robe. “My body is so sore.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. Strangely, it doesn’t hurt. I mean it does, but it doesn’t. Do you know what I mean?”

He removed the steaming containers from the microwave and dropped them onto the kitchen island. “I do.” He leaned over to where she was braced against the countertop and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I very much know what you’re talking about. Even if it makes no sense.”

Another giggle. “Look at me. I can’t stop laughing. I feel too good. So free. So…” She opened her arms and twirled around the kitchen. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Bradley. I want you to know that.”

His chest rose and fell as his heart pounded within.

“We need to celebrate,” he said.

“I thought we were celebrating?”

Bradley returned to the fridge for the pitcher of cold water he’d seen earlier, when his hand stilled mid-reach. A bottle of champagne was standing upright on the middle shelf. One he could have sworn hadn’t been there before. The walls rattled as the storm outside continued to rage. He pulled the bottle out. Just to inspect it. Just to take a quick look. The bottleneck was cold in his hand as he read the label and felt the bubbles pop and fizz on his tongue.