I swallow all his desperate sounds, and the ones I’m making myself. There’s something so hot in feeling his body hair against mine. All my other men have been plucked or waxed to an inch of their lives, with perfect gym bodies and tanned skin. Laurie’s thin, wiry body is white in places, telling me he’s not a sun worshipper. His tan probably comes from painting outside with his shirt off because his groin is as pale as porcelain and looks curiously vulnerable below his slightly rounded belly.

No, Laurie is not the kind of man I’ve become used to. Which is why it’s mystifying that he’s the hottest man I’ve ever been with.

There’s something about our encounter that’s so raw and honest, and I’m shocked to feel my climax rapidly approaching. Laurie’s sounds tell me he is the same, and I work our cocks, pulling back slightly to watch him and feeling the water hit the side of our faces.

He arches into my grip, going up on his toes, every muscle tightening. He buries his face in my shoulder as he starts to come, and the sharp sting of his teeth makes me come too. I pump cream over my hand. It mingles with his own hot spend on my fingers until the water washes it away.

For a long few seconds, we lean against each other, trying to draw in big gulps of air without making too much noise. Now that passion has passed, I have time to wonder how loud we were, but the noise of distant conversations and laughter in the changing room seems to indicate we got away with it.

Laurie pulls back, and I’m amazed to see the grin on his face. It’s wide and slightly crooked, which shouldn’t be as charming as it is. His eyes are narrowed in amusement, the lines at the corners lengthening. I smile helplessly back at him.

“Thanks, Mags,” he says, giving me an affectionate smack on the arse before stepping back and winding a towel around his hips. “God, I needed that,” he says cheerfully.

My mouth drops open as he knots his towel and saunters out of the shower enclosure. As if he does this every day.

I stare after him. What the fuck?

We’re silent as we get dressed. I don’t like chatter after sex, but the quiet leaves me feeling discomposed. It’s irritating that it doesn’t have a similar effect on him. Once we’re outside, I hail a taxi, and he falls into the seat next to me. I send him a few furtive glances, but he only gazes out of the window, a serene look on his face as the driver makes his way through the traffic.