"No." She'd said it too quickly, too tightly.

Sam took an exit ramp. The streetlights were on and Marcia could see the twinkling glitter of neons beginning to change the night.

A doorman met the car at the hotel entrance, bowed courteously when Sam pushed a five-dollar bill into his palm. Marcia was watching the Lincoln glide away to the parking ramp when Sam squeezed her elbow and pulled her against him.

An evening wind caught her long brown hair and blew it back from her face. Sam looked at her like his mouth was about to water. She thought of the room they were heading for, thought of how it would be as the elevator doors cinched closed behind them. When the indicator read floor ten, Sam let his fingers slip down over her hip, down to the firm swell of her ass. The silk dress warmed to his touch. She gasped as a finger pressed into the crevice of her buttocks.

"Sam… not now."

Marcia knew she was purer than Sam thought she was. She had been fucked by only one other man in her life. In the back seat of a car. A drive-in movie. She'd been nineteen. Her broken cherry had bled for an hour and the pain.

Sam's fingers squeezed her arm.

"Here's our floor, baby… something wrong?"

She stared at the hallway, the red carpet, the silent closed doors. Then she let him pull her from the elevator and down the hall. Her knees felt like rubber. She was faint and weak.

"Come on," Sam breathed against her ear, opening the door. "Come on inside and relax…"

"You'd better fill this for me," Marcia said, holding her empty glass up.

The drink had helped a lot. She wanted more help. She was sweaty under the arms. Her silk dress made her skin feel tingly and strange. Damned new dress. She wished she'd worn a bra. But she didn't own one. How damned silly. What was wrong with her anyway? She was a big girl now. She could control things.