For a moment, he let her, then he kissed back, just as ferociously, rolling over and pushing his full weight on top of her. She wrapped both of her bare legs around one of his denim clad calves, squeezing him tightly between her thighs. She wanted to use him, rocking against him, rubbing and rubbing, until she had erased his essence from the room, escaping into a space where there was nothing but the heat and throb of her body, the flashing lights behind her eyes, everything swelling and swelling before it broke and burst. She heard a distant, animal grunt. When she blinked her eyes open, she realised it had come from her own throat.

Later, TBM would tell her that he’d been very upset about her orgasm, because she had soaked his Evisu jeans, and he’d had them imported specially from Japan. At the time, he rested his palm heavily against the curve of her belly, barely above the pubic bone. I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, when I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, she thought, as he touched her very slowly with his other hand, running an index finger from the lowest, wettest part of her, all the way up to her clit. It was too sensitive, too much, and Harri tried to squirm away, but he pressed his palm down harder and kept stroking her, testing her, exploring a part of her body that she barely knew. She felt powerless now, vulnerable and peeled. He stroked and circled and pushed, gentle but relentless, until she felt the swelling start again, and pour out of her.

When she opened her eyes, the reason for TBM’s unearned confidence was springing up proudly, at a 135 degree angle. She rolled a condom down to the base, registering the textbook perfection of his penis. It could have been a teaching penis. Kneeling, she positioned herself on top of him and looked him directly in the eye again, without smiling. Pinned and wriggling once more. Leaning back on her palms, to better angle herself for her own selfish needs. This time the waves of pleasure were inside and outside, over her head, drowning her even before the full tsunami hit.

TBM touched her forehead, and looked at his fingertips with surprise, and some distaste. ‘You’re very sweaty,’ he told her.

They ordered room service, they drank beers from the minibar, they fucked again, they watched the snooker. Well, he put it on and she pretended to be interested. By 10 p.m., he had somewhere to be, and Harri refused to ask him for any further details. By 10.32 p.m., Harri was still in the suite, and wondering what he was doing, and who he was with. By 10.47 p.m. she was obsessed and she already hated herself for it. Eventually, she fell asleep with all the lights on, the words ‘you’re very sweaty’ playing on a loop in her brain.