Golden sunlight fills the room. Sara is drawn immediately to the tall wooden clothes cupboard. Seth is examining the blond oak work desk. The drawers are to the right and he opens them all, except the top, which is locked. “Do you think there’s a key?” he asks.

“That’s what I was wondering,” she says, but she means for the wardrobe. Her mother had a wardrobe like this. The key was always in the lock. Sara was forbidden to play with it. The lock, when opened, made a small, snug, satisfying click.

“I suppose I could jimmy it,” Seth says.

“Oh no, you’d ruin it,” Sara tells him. But she’s pretty sure he’s not a break-and-enter sort of guy.

“Just kidding,” Seth says. His eyes take in the room. “If you were a key, where would you be hiding?”

Besides the desk and the cabinet, there isn’t much in the room. A wooden hobby horse. An elegant coat tree. An old radio sitting on the desk. The desk is in front of the wide west window. The streaming sunlight forces Sara to squint.

“It’s not in any of the drawers,” Seth mutters. He lifts the radio to check underneath. “Unless it’s hiding in your drawers,” he adds. He glances over at Sara to see how she takes this. She frowns. She’s known Seth just a few days. She’s never met a guy quite like him. They haven’t been to bed yet, but she is pretty sure it’s just a matter of time. Maybe now is the time. Sara’s frown turns to a grin.

“Does that mean you want me to check?” Seth asks. His boyish smile is big and bright.

“Maybe you could use this,” Sara says, taking the single wire coat hanger from the coat tree. “You could twist it or something.”

Seth considers the hanger. “I don’t think so,” he says. He turns on the radio. Static. He twists the knob. More static.

He scowls. “I don’t get it. Nothing works here. What good is a radio if all you get is fucking static? What good is a desk if you can’t get in the top drawer?”

Sara has not heard him so gruff. She steps next to him, intending to offer comfort. The desktop gleams. Sara contemplates the smooth surface. “Well, it looks nice and feels nice. And you could still write on it.”

“Yeah, but the pencils and papers are probably locked in the top drawer.”

“What would you write? If you could.”

Seth thinks for a few seconds. “I’m not much for writing. I’m more the man of action type.”

“Then what do you need a desk for anyway? And there’s not even a chair.”

“You’re right,” Seth says. He hoists himself up so he is sitting on the desk, his feet dangling. “Pretty comfy. Want to try it?”

“Not until you pretend-write me something.”

“Okay,” Seth agrees. He scratches his head. “Okay, here goes.” With his forefinger he makes writing motions on the desktop next to his thigh. Circles and squiggles.

“Wonderful,” Sara says.

“I thought you’d like it.”

“But what’s it say?”

“You mean you can’t read pretend writing?”

Sara bends forward. “Oh, yeah,” she says, “now I can read it. It says, ‘Seth likes Sara.’”

“Hey, you’re a pretty good pretend-reader.”

“You mean I got it right?”

“Pretty close,” Seth says. “You just left off the last sentence.”

“Oh,” Sara says. She bends forward again. “Your pretend penmanship is pretty sloppy, you know, but now I see.”

“What do you see?”

“The last sentence says, ‘Seth wants to fuck beautiful Sara on this beautiful desk.’”

She looks at Seth. “Was I right again?”

“You were! You’re amazing.”

Sara smiles.

Seth gives her a coy look. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

Sara’s forefinger moves over the surface of the desk. She writes word after word. The finger moves up the side of Seth’s jeans, still writing, swirling and circling, and it drifts across and up into the creases, tracing them, skimming the fattening bulge, and up the zipper flap to the small silver zipper tab. She gives the zipper a tug but it won’t go far. She turns her attention to the button above. She pops the button free of the buttonhole, and now she’s able to draw down the zipper tab and delve inside. A few moments later she delivers Seth’s erection to the open air.

Her fingers circle the stem of Seth’s cock. “Do you like my writing?” Her thumb and forefinger won’t quite complete the ring. She draws her hand up, squeezing as she reaches the crown. She moves her hand slowly down, then slowly up again. “Mmmm, nice pen,” she says. It is a nice cock, maybe the nicest she’s seen. Smooth and warm and strong, with a tender ruffle of skin and a bold helmet and a sweet slit, which she wants more than anything to test with the tip of her tongue. “I might need to taste your penis ink,” Sara says, and she fits her mouth carefully over the head of Seth’s prick. She doesn’t suck at first, she just breathes, enjoying the softness and heat and tremors of his expanding sex flesh. Part of her wants to make him come in her mouth. Part of her wants to straddle him. To feel him slide into her and to feel the surge of his pleasure. She can picture his finger on her clitoris. If only there were a mirror here, and she could watch while his finger danced with her clit and his cock swamped her cunt and his creamy cum oozed out. Yes, that’s what she wants. She releases his cock and scrambles onto the desk. She kicks off her shoes, but has to stand so she can take down her jeans and panties. “Balance me,” she says as she does the job, and then she lifts her tee shirt over her head and flings it away. Standing naked on the desk behind Seth, she stretches, looking out the big west window, letting the golden light bathe her body. From up here she can see everything. And when she turns, so she’s facing into the room again, she sees the key on the top of the clothes cabinet.

She doesn’t say anything. She ruffles her hands through Seth’s hair. It tickles her palms. She imagines sitting on his head, letting that hair tickle her sex. She’s so hot for him now. She pulls his head back against her mound. She can feel herself melting inside. She needs to have him in her so bad. “Hurry,” she says. “Take off your clothes.”

When Seth is naked, she steps forward, nearly to the front of the desk, her legs on either side of him, so now it’s his face even with her mound, and she pulls his head against her pussy fur. She stands on tiptoe so his nose can nuzzle her notch. If he’d stick his tongue out he could lap her. The thought makes her wobbly. She eases herself down his body. His hands help guide her. At the bottom some urgent adjustment is necessary, but just in time he’s in her, rising up through the hot, slick core of her cunt.

“Oh, so good,” she breathes, arching her back to maximize the pressure of his prick. She lifts herself as slowly as she can, careful not to go too high, not to lose him. She sinks back down as slowly as she can, wanting the descent to last forever, wanting to go past the bottom, to some realm of impossible pleasure. Down as far as she can go, she rests. No rush. They have all the time in the world. But his hands are on her ass, squeezing the flesh, indicating his need for more. She rocks forward and up, squeezing him with her cunt, squeezing again as she sinks back, riding him now, riding slowly, a slow, rocking-horse rhythm to their fuck.

“Oh, yeah!” he rasps, all too soon. She knows he’s getting close. She can feel him expand, contract. She reaches between them. He’s coming now, shooting his stuff deep up into her. Her middle finger brushes her clit. “Fuck!” she gasps, the word and the touch and the squeeze of Seth’s eyes and the grimacing oh of his open mouth and the jerk of his body all combining to trigger her orgasm. In greedy gulps her climax swallows what’s left of his.

Joined together, they rest upon the desk. Sara waits until Seth is almost fully softened before she lifts herself off. “Oof,” she says, settling on the desk beside him. She takes several deep breaths. She notices the radio is still tuned to static.