The second he put the sign on the door handle outside his hotel room, we were tearing into one another. We didn’t think, we did what our bodies demanded. We were more or less fully-clothed the first time, I was desperate to feel him inside me as deep as he could go, and he came so quickly but it didn’t matter. Because we had the whole night to do it again.

And again.

And do it properly. To take in every section of each other, to allow our skin to bead with sweat and watch each other’s tongues and fingertips smooth it away. And weirdly, I liked hearing his heartbeats when I was on him. I thought I could only get that kind of comfort from a cold body. I’d only been turned on like that before by the lack of warmth, the certainty of death. But heartbeats, warmth, cuddles with Raf – that shit became addictive. I’ve never been made love to in that way before. I’ve had good orgasms with Craig and with AJ too – at least one while he was still alive – but this was brand new.

Time was when I’d needed sex and Craig hadn’t been home or hadn’t been up for it, I’d settle for porn and the biggest dildo in the LoveHoney catalogue. I’d feel better – sated but not loved.

With Raf, I felt loved.

He was worth all the dick pics, wolf-whistles, insults and crushingly awful Plenty of Fish, Match, Snatch, Bumble, Fumble and Tinder dates I’d ever yawned through. As he lay beside me, tracing the length of my body from my shoulder, down my arm, across my scar and back along, over my hip and down and back again, he said, ‘I love that part of you the best. It’s like a sculpture. Like you’re carved out of marble.’ I raked his hair back away from his sweaty forehead and he closed his eyes.

‘I’m sleepy.’

‘Me too. But I don’t wanna sleep.’

We both started singing Aerosmith, right on cue.

‘We are so in sync!’ I chuckled and we kissed again. Meg Ryan Tier = level completed.

‘What’s turtle in Spanish?’ I asked.

‘Tortuga,’ he said, deeply, sending a little heartbeat to my nethers.

‘Oh, like the beach? What’s hot turtle?’

He frowned. ‘Tortuga caliente.’

‘Oh right.’

‘Why?’

‘Just wondered.’

‘Yeah, that’s what any right-minded maniac would wonder, I guess.’

‘Does that make me weird?’

‘Beautifully weird,’ he said, flicking my earlobe. I cuddled against his chest. He didn’t seem to want to be anywhere else. That was the best part.

‘Can I ask you another weird question?’

‘I wouldn’t expect anything less.’

‘Your sister. Those bruises on her arm—’

He fell back against the pillow. ‘She says they’re mosquito bites.’

‘Can mossie bites give you bruises?’ I said, resting my head on his bicep.