Dakin turned his head to watch Irwin, liking the way his arm felt draped over him, liking the way he was still out of breath, liking the way that nearly everything felt. This was what the word debauched was meant to feel like and it was wonderful, ten times better than merely reading or fantasizing about it.

"Is that what it's always like?" The unspoken question was still apparent no matter how he might try not to let it show. What was I like? I was good enough, wasn't I?