Unfortunately, I’m too awash with endorphins to muster up the energy to worry about it, because Brendan is kissing me again, and all I’m capable of is taking what this big, beautiful, hairy, blue-eyed man sees fit to give me. I reach between us and wrap my fingers around his gorgeous dick, and he breaks away from me with a groan. I fully expect him to flip me over and pull me up until I’m in his favourite position, but he doesn’t.

He twists his body away and locates a condom from his bedside table, handing it to me. ‘Ride me, love. I want to watch you ride me.’

Let me tell you, when Brendan Sullivan gazes into your eyes and tells you to ride him, there’s only one option. I smile at him, a smile he returns with what looks like a sense of wonder as I climb on top of him. That sense of dissonance returns as I take him in. How is this my job, naked on a Friday morning and straddling the world’s hottest guy as he lies, sprawled out on his huge bed for me, a mass of muscle and hair and smooth, tanned skin?

It’s ridiculous, that’s what it is. But, for once, I experience no conflict. No shame. There’s nothing but well-being with a heady shot of arousal as I roll the condom down over his hardness like the pro I now am. It’s all part of the foreplay, sheathing Brendan. Revelling in the anguished anticipation on his face as he endures my teasing touches.

He got me so wet just now. I brush his crown between my legs, right where his fingers were moments ago, until he’s at my entrance. We stare at each other wordlessly. We gave each other the gift of vulnerability just now, when he said those incredible things about my looks and I admitted that he was the only man to have made me come, and I swear those confessions have supercharged the energy between us.

I lower myself carefully, slowly, down on him, and the expression on his face has a lump forming in my throat. He may be a playboy; he may have tonnes of energy and not enough focus as he goes through his daily life; he may have hundreds of other women that he sees outside of the office—I don’t know—but in this moment I have him, and the delight of being the sole object of his attention is a drug so heady that I suspect I should run for the hills right now.

But I don’t. I sink lower, until I’ve accommodated every glorious inch, and I plant a hand by his shoulder, throwing my weight forward so that my hair hangs loose, brushing his pecs. This busy, impatient, distractible man clamps one hand to my thigh and takes a lock of my hair between his fingers.