My name is Lucien. I run this tower from the top floor.
Tonight I want the top floor empty.
Lucien: Yvonne. Take the dress off. I paid for the hour, not the conversation.
She folds the dress over a chair. I do not bother with the bed.
Lucien: Hands on the glass. Look at the city, not at me.
She braces her palms on the window. The cold makes her nipples hard before I touch her.
I push her slip up and find her already wet. My cock goes in easy, one long stroke.
Yvonne: Oh. Okay. Slow down.
Lucien: No. I fuck her against the glass, steady and deep, while the city blinks below us.
Her breath fogs the window. I reach around and find her clit with two fingers.
She stops pretending she is not enjoying this.
Yvonne: There. Right there.
She comes first, tight and shaking around me. I follow a few strokes later, my hand flat on her back.
Then the room goes quiet, and my hands start to shake before I pull out.
Yvonne turns. Her face changes when she sees my hands.
Yvonne: Hey. Are you okay?
Lucien: Get dressed. Your money is on the table.
My name is Caleb. I work nights here, and I do not belong on the top floor.
The service elevator opens on thirty-eight for nobody.
A woman in a black slip dress comes out of the private hall, holding her heels.
She steps in and presses lobby. The doors close on perfume and something else.
The penthouse door is not shut all the way. Light spills out.
The shift sheet says thirty-eight is not mine. I push the door with one knuckle anyway.
Lucien is on the floor by the window. Suit pants, no shirt, one hand flat on his chest.
He is shaking. Not cold shaking. The kind that comes from inside.
Caleb: Hey. Sir.
He looks up. His gray eyes are wide and wet, and for one second he is not the man who signs my checks.
Lucien: Close the door.
I close it. He gets up too fast and sways, so I catch his elbow before I think.
Then he is close, closer than a boss should be, his bare chest almost against my jacket.
Lucien: What did you see?
Caleb: Nothing.
Lucien: Wrong answer.
He reaches past me for his jacket and comes back with a fold of cash. He presses it into my hand.
Lucien: That is for tonight. You were never on this floor.
I look at the money. It is more than a week of my shifts.
I put it back against his chest and hold it there until he takes it.
Caleb: I do not take money for keeping quiet. I am not that kind of help.
His hand closes around the cash. His breathing is still wrong, short and shallow.
Lucien: Then what do you want?
Caleb: For you to sit down before you fall down.
He sits on the arm of the couch. I sit on the coffee table across from him, elbows on my knees.
I do not touch him. I just wait, and his breathing slows.
Lucien: You are still here.
Caleb: You are still shaking. That is my answer.
Lucien: It is a bad one.
He laughs, one short breath, and it sounds like it hurts.
I should go. My shift has nine hours left, and my sister's bill has two weeks.
I stay anyway. That is the part I will not explain to myself tonight.