at was happening.
He urged her on. She made a loud animal sound through clenched teeth,
and then arched and let out a series of sweet whispered collapses.
"Bella," he said into her arm, "Bella . . . "

"Oh--you are such--a bad boy, Joe. Such a bad boy." She lay still a few
moments, regaining her breath, and then reached down and began pulling
at his belt. "Oh, take this off." He slid out of his clothes. "There,"
she said. "There." He was lying on his back as she began to stroke him.
"Bella, you called me. I like that," she said, stroking.

"Bella," he said, now short of breath himself. "Bella." She stopped.

"You like your Bella, don't you?"

"Yes." She started again. She stopped.

"You're a bad boy, aren't you?"

"Yes." He strained towards her hand.

"A very bad boy." She gave him another stroke. "But you like your
Bella."

"Yes."

"You want your Bella?"

"Yes." She began again slowly. She leaned over him and stopped.

"Say 'please' to Bella."

"Please, Bella." She started again, bringing him half off the bed
straining towards her. Then she stopped. He fell back and began to
crack. "Please, Bella."

"Yes, yes?" She brought him up again and slowed.

"Please, Bella." The thick glass inside him shattered. He began to beg.
"Please. Please, Bella." He couldn't breathe. His heart was pounding.
She stopped. He fell back, groaning. "Please, Bella." She started
again.

"You're a bad boy, Joe."

"Oh, God," he said.

"There," she said. "Now, Joe. Now. Now. Now." He cried out and spurted
over his chest and neck. "Ahhh," she said as he fell back. She took his
hand and pushed it over the warm sperm. She lifted her nightgown and
pulled his hand to her stomach. "Make me beautiful," she said, writhing
and slippery. She pushed his hand to his chest and pulled it back
again. "Make me beautiful," she said in a smaller voice, "all over."
Joe tried. He passed out.

In the morning, he awoke to the sounds of animated conversation. He lay
with his eyes closed waiting for his brain to unscramble. His head was
pounding. Gradually, he realized that he was in bed next to Isabelle
and that she was watching TV. He was in bad shape physically, but he
felt freer than he had in a long time. "Top of the mornin'," he said
lifting his head and opening his eyes.

"I was just going to wake you up," Isabelle said. He had to blink and
focus. She was pale and looked upset. Her arms were folded in front of
her, shielding her breasts.