Eventually I took her hand off my cock, and kissed her fingers. “Good night, little love.”
Sa’afia looked at me, and kissed my nose, then my throat. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Oh, you will. Sleep tight.”
Although I thought I was more tired than Sa’afia, she fell asleep first. I lay beside her, reaching over to cup a breast in one hand, and listening to her breathing.
Perhaps twenty minutes later, well after midnight, I heard a sound from the living room. Ana had dropped something, or The Saragoza Manuscript had fallen off the covers. It occurred to me that perhaps the sound-proofing was not as good as I’d thought it was, but then I’d only caught that at the very edge of my hearing.
A few minutes later I heard a cry, half suppressed. That was Ana: was she okay? Then a grunt. Oh. That was Ana, coming.
I smiled, more or less benevolently, and made myself not think about quite a long list of things concerning Ana, particularly avoiding her body (the breasts she flashed at me) and her sexual responses. But I was glad she’d come: she’d had a rough day. I kissed Sa’afia’s neck, and she sighed, comfortably, but did not wake.