I slam into him rough and hard, and he braces himself against the wall, pushing back into my cock and forwards into my hand. Within a couple of thrusts, he throws his head back and gives a shuddering sigh, and I feel his cock pulse liquid warmth into the lace of his knickers. I give a few more thrusts before ramming deep and coming into the condom, grinding out my orgasm.

Silence falls between us and I kiss his shoulder delicately. He turns his head, seeking my kiss, and I give it to him instantly, marvelling at this new version of me. I’ve got off in public bathrooms before, and it’s always been quick and impersonal. As soon as we’ve both come, it’s been a few polite words, and I was out the door. Not with Charlie. With him, I’m balls deep still and fighting the urge to just stay there.

How could I ever walk away from him? The question inspires no panic, no fear about what the hell we’re doing. All I get is a warm feeling in my chest and an affectionate smile from Charlie as we disengage reluctantly.

He has to strip off his clothes in order to wriggle out of the knickers. “Ugh, clammy,” he says happily as he cleans up. “I’ll have to go commando.”

I bend down and pick up the soaked scrap of fabric and grin at him as I slide the knickers into my pocket.

“Misha?” he says, sounding one part scandalized to two parts intrigued.

“They’re mine now,” I whisper. I’m going to keep them like I’m going to keep you. The latter words are silent, but they won’t be for long.

We leave the theatre when the play finishes and come out into the cool London night, and Charlie immediately draws his biker jacket close and slots his arm through mine as we begin to walk. I eye him and repress a smile. I bought him that jacket and he protested over the price so much that I had to pretend I’d got it second hand. Even then he grumbled and fussed with it until the leather began to crease and soften with age and then he loved it.

We walk along in a comfortable silence before stopping to lean against the railings looking down on the river. London is lit up and glowing in its nighttime colours, and the river ripples and flows, distorting the reflection of the lights and making them fracture into infinite pieces. Nearby, a busker plays a mellow, lazy-sounding version of “Golden Brown” by the Stranglers and before I can stop and think, I grab Charlie and ease him into a quick and easy two-step. He laughs and there’s something pleased and shocked in his eyes that makes me happy.

The music fades away and I step back, smiling at him. “Well, I’ve given you culture.”