That’s so good to hear. I haven’t felt sexy for such a long time with the combination of my health problems and Harry. However, it’s all coming back to me now and I feel alive again, heat buzzing through me.

And he’s one to talk about being sexy. He looks so hot, his jeans hanging from his hips showing his hipbones and that taut V-line. His lips are red and puffy from my kisses, his eyes heavy-lidded.

My thoughts scatter as he throws the door open and pulls me into the flat. The door slams behind us, and we kiss frantically.

We part briefly to pull off our tops. My sweater goes flying to a corner of the room as does his T-shirt, and then we fall back into kissing as if we’ve been separated for years.

I suck on his tongue, moaning as my hands fumble with his jeans. He kisses me back as he steps out of them and throws them to the side. A lamp smashes, but we ignore it as we kick off shoes and socks and then he pushes my shorts down and off.

“Oh shit,” he says in a gravelly voice. “Fuck me, Charlie, that’s so bloody hot.”

I look down at the white jockstrap I’m wearing. “I couldn’t wear anything else under those shorts—” I groan as he goes to his knees and, without removing the jockstrap, he sucks the head of my cock into his mouth. When he pulls back, the fabric is transparent, and the rosy head of my cock pulses visibly.

I never thought I’d see him like this. He’s kneeling at my feet, naked apart from a pair of blue boxer briefs that are tented spectacularly. He’s so beautiful. Broad shoulders, a chest roughened with dark curly hair, and tight abs that lead down to a flat stomach and long legs. He noses my jockstrap, his eyes closed, and I briefly imagine how he might react if I were wearing lace. Would he be turned on, or repelled as quite a few blokes have been? I push the thought away—there are better questions to answer tonight. Like how he’ll look when I make him come the first time.

“Come up here,” I say hoarsely. “And lose the underwear.”

“You too,” he mutters.

We both pull them off quickly, and I groan when our bodies come together naked for the first time. It feels indescribably right.

“Oh, Misha,” I breathe, and he smiles tightly.

“I know, babe.”

The endearment should sound strange coming from him because he never uses them, but somehow it sounds perfect, and my chest feels warm all the way through.

“Bed,” he says. “I want us in bed together. My bed.”