Oliver Blackwood was giving all that to me, and I was giving it right back. In the clutch of hands and the press of bodies and the urgent heat of his mouth on mine.

And when it stopped, it still wasn’t over, because he sort of kept staring at me, his eyes all shiny, as his thumbs brushed lightly over my cheeks. “Oh, Lucien.”

“I, um, I take it you’re not cross about Sophie, then?”

“On the contrary, it was very impressive. I hope you’re not having a terrible evening.”

“No, it’s…really nice..”

“They like you, you know?” He kissed me again, more gently this time. “You can tell by the way they’re being total dicks.”

I laughed. “I should probably introduce you to my total dicks as well.”

“I’d like that. I mean, if you think…I’d reflect positively on you.”

“Oliver”—I was feeling way too soppy to give him a withering look but I tried anyway—“my friends know who I am. Of course you’d reflect positively on me.”

“Sorry. I just…I’m glad you came with me tonight.”

“Me too. I haven’t had a Bacardi Breezer in years.” I paused, savouring his reaction. “And this bit didn’t suck either.”

“Well, I’m glad I at least outrank the prawn cocktail.”

Pulling him close again, I nipped playfully at the edge of his jaw, where he was all stern and square. “We should go back.”

“Actually”—a faint flush darkened his cheeks—“I was rather minded to take you home.”

“Why. Are you not feeling… Oh. Oh.”

“I mean, if that’s agreeable.”

It was the wrong time. But I had to. “I thought you said that wasn’t the title of your sex tape.”

“I lied.” One of his little coughs. “Now, let’s see if we can make our excuses and leave discreetly.”

Having met Oliver’s friends for all of ten seconds, I did not rate our chances of running home to shag without their knowing exactly what we were up to and commenting on it accordingly.

And I was super right.

Chapter 38

The ethically sourced minicab that Oliver called to take us home took far too long to take us home. Partly because I was—to use the technical term—horny, but mostly because, the more I thought about it, the more nervous I was getting. Oliver had made it very clear that he did not take sex lightly, and I’d made kind of a lifestyle out of only taking it lightly. And, obviously at the back of my mind, I’d been hoping he’d eventually surrender to my naked, animal charisma and give me one, but now that it was happening…it didn’t feel quite like I’d thought it would. I mean, yes, it was exciting, and sexy, and he liked me, he really liked me, but what if I fucked it up? What if I wasn’t very good? I’d had no complaints but nobody looked a gift blow job in the mouth, so maybe—like every other aspect of my life—I’d just been coasting on other people’s low expectations.

The thing about a hookup, the thing I liked about hookups, was that it was pretty clear whose job it was to get who off. Those ‘whos’ being “you” and “yourself” respectively. When you, y’know, cared about someone, you started caring about confusing nonsense like if it was good for them, and how they felt, and what it meant. And what if we got back to Oliver’s perfect house and we lay down on his perfect sheets and we did the sex and it was…fine? I’d told him before that fine was all he could expect from me and he’d said fine wasn’t enough for him, and now it wasn’t enough for me, either, but what if it was all I could manage?

Oliver was far too dignified to actually run for the front door, but he certainly got his hustle on. And we’d barely made it into the hallway before he was on me like I was a vegan brownie, and I was pulling him close, and we were kissing again. Which was great—we’d definitely got the kissing down—but also took everything I’d been stressing about in the taxi and made it horribly real and immediate.

After all, this was supposed to be my bag. I’d spent years getting my debauch on, in and out of the papers, and yet here I was with a guy I was really into and really really wanted to be into me, and I was reduced to the sexual sophistication of a teenager in a John Hughes movie. On the admittedly more than a few occasions I’d imagined getting to this point with Oliver, I’d been a creative and considerate lover, and blown his mind with my astounding array of sex moves. Instead, I was clinging and grinding and making, if I’m honest, slightly embarrassing moaning noises. Oh God. Help. This had no right to feel so perfect.

Suddenly, Oliver’s weight shifted and, for a handful of awful seconds, I thought I’d put him off somehow. But then he hoisted me into his arms and I was such a weird combination of relieved and lust-addled that—rather than asking what the hell he was playing at—I wrapped my legs around him like a twink in a porno. With a strength I shouldn’t have found surprising given his commitment to a healthy lifestyle, he started carrying me towards the bedroom. It was this perfect magical fantasy moment, right up until he pitched forward and dropped me on the stairs.

“Um,” I said. “Ow.”

Looking flustered and adorable, Oliver reversed off me like a minibus in a cul-de-sac. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“No, no, it’s cool. It was briefly very sexy and romantic.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m okay. Bit self-conscious about being too heavy to carry.”

I’d been joking but, of course, Oliver got terribly serious in case he’d accidentally body-shamed me as well as accidentally body-slamming me. “It doesn’t reflect on you at all. I overestimated my ability to handle the stairs.”

“Good to know. Now will you stop being reassuring and fuck me?”

“I will fuck you, Lucien”—he’d gone all stern and, for once, it didn’t bother me at all—“in the manner of my choosing.”

I stared at him wide-eyed and blatantly into…whatever this was. “Steady on, I didn’t sign up for Fifty Shades of Gay.”

“No, you signed up for me. Now go upstairs and get on the bed.”

I…went upstairs and got on the bed?

A few seconds later, Oliver appeared in the doorway, dropping his coat on the floor. And, I mean, wow. I had never seen him not use a hanger. He must have been really into this. Into me?

“I’m sorry,” he said, blushing a little. “I’ve never thought…I…that is…you…”