The room felt like a trap to me with beauty and hunger. The music thrummed like a pulse beneath the walls, but I heard only the silence in my head. It was deafening.

The woman in pink was still on the table, her legs spread out as she continued her act. She moaned my name again, dragging it out like it was a prayer, but it sounded flat in my ears. My name didn’t belong on her tongue. It wasn’t hers to speak.

The black one moved a little, while her one hand remained around me, her other hand ...