I wake with a start to the sound of yowling and cries in the night. It takes me a few moments to realize what I was hearing. I'll admit: I've never heard a man cry that way before. 

In fact, I never knew men could sound like that. It sounds so similar to when I overheard the girls working at the Saloon. I know I've never made those sounds before.

I roll over, trying my best to ignore the broken cries and moans of Jacob's call for Shang Show. I wonder if he's making it his business to be as loud as he possibly can? Yes, i get that this is his home and he can do what he wants but is it really necessary?

But the moans and cries cause my mind to wander. They cause my mind to wonder what position Jacob is in to make him cry out that way? 

Are his legs wrapped around Shang Show's thick, muscular waist? 

How heavy is Shang Show?

How would his weight and heat feel, bearing down on me?

Would I squirm under him?

What?

No.

No, not...not on me. Not with me.

I furrow my brows, trying and failing to shake the image out of my head. 

An image of my hands desperately clawing at Shang Show's back with my legs stuck in the air as he moves in and out of me. I hear the sound of me calling out his name as this image stays in my mind. The feeling of Shang Show's breath on my ear as he holds me steady brings a shock up my back.

I feel something call and beg for attention. For release.

I bite the back of my hand, hoping the pain would be enough to kill this feeling. Maybe if I bite hard enough, it'll distract me better than the last time this happened. 

It fails.

I release my hand and try to think of something else. Someone else.

Anyone.

Clara. 

Clara is the first thing that comes to mind. I think of her ample bosom that's so soft to the touch, dipping into her waist and back out to her voluptous hips and backside. I think of her soft dark skin, glistening so beautifully in the sunlight. I begin to relax a bit.

Clara was like a beautiful vase or portrait. Her beauty was next to none. She was artwork personified! Thinking of her seemed to cause this feeling to subside.

Jacob's moans cut through my thoughts so sharply. It's quite frustrating, considering I was so close to becoming uninterested in what I was unbuttoning. 

This wasn't meant to happen.

The feeling came back full force and I resign myself to thinking about Shang Show.

Thinking about his weight on me.

Thinking about how he'd feel inside me.

Thinking about how he'd call my name. My real name.

I imagine his low husky voice whispering in my ear and send shivers up my spine.

"Bái Péng," I hear him whisper.

I stifle a moan by biting the back of my hand again as my breaths become labored. The idea of his weight bearing on me as he thrusts deep is almost more than I can bear.

"Bái Péng..."

I bite my lip to keep my moan in as I feele wave sof pleasure slam into my body as I shake. I try and catch my breath but I still hear Jacob's moans and cries.

I really hate being here at this moment.

I lay, staring at the wall as sleep evades me. It wasn't until very late into the night and toward morning that Shang Show and Jacob finished their nighttime pirooting. The feeling of shame had swept over me as their pirooting caused me to follow their rhythm atleast two more times.

I heard footsteps come to me and a voice whisper, "Are you awake? Birdy?"

I would have ignored Jacob had it not been for what he says.

Birdy?

I turn over to look at him, a scowl on my face.

"Oh, you are awake," Jacob says. I see his face contort to that of concern. "You look like shit."

I continue to stare at him. It takes him a second to realize why I'm staring at him. He gives a nervous laugh before saying, "So, how do you feel about shooting practice? Maybe learning how to shoot will help prevent you getting caught in the crossfire of gunfire again."

I sigh.

I really, really hate being here right now.