Tonight I want something messy. Something real. I wouldn’t mind some anal, come to think of it. That’s another area in which limiting myself to Marlowe has curbed my ability to meet my needs. There are times when only something utterly transgressive will quieten the incessant static in my head, and I’m pretty sure wedging my cock into the forbidden chokehold of a beautiful woman’s arsehole will be just the medicine I require.

Right. Now that I know what I need, I can search out someone whose entire demeanour screams I take it up the arse and I love every filthy inch.

Bingo.

Little white host’s dress.

Messy strawberry blonde hair and big blue eyes that make her a dead ringer for Kelly Reilly.

And such an incredible-looking rack that it makes me think tonight’s the night I could finally fulfil my Yellowstone spank bank favourite of Beth Dutton giving me a tit wank.

I just hope she’s less prone to random acts of violence than Ms Dutton.

Most importantly, she screams sex. She’s the polar opposite of my blonde, classy and wholesome assistant about whom I absolutely will not think. I need this, and I bloody deserve it.

Beth’s doppelgänger is loitering by the bar, looking bored. When I saunter over, she visibly perks up, pulling herself upright as she openly looks me over.

‘You look like James Bond.’

‘You look like you take it up the arse.’

She doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Charming. But not wrong. I should probably reward your powers of observation.’

She moves towards me, and I hold my hands up. ‘I should warn you, I’m just looking for a quick fuck. Nothing more.’

The eye roll she gives me is quite something. ‘No shit, Sherlock. This is a sex club.’

‘I know, I’m just—this is my first time here. I want to be clear.’

‘Aww. That’s sweet. So I get to pop your Alchemy cherry? Anyway, you don’t need to worry. There seems to be a fascinating misconception by the punters here that we’re all trying to snag an engagement ring. Do you know how many guys I’ve tried to ensnare here? Zero. Do you know how many proposals I’ve had? Three of actual marriage and fuck knows how many to be a fully paid-up mistress. So don’t you worry your little cotton socks about me.’ She drops her voice to a stage whisper. ‘Because I just want your dick.’

I laugh. I like this girl. She’s funny and refreshing, and those tits really are a gravitational marvel. I just wish my attraction to her felt less theoretical and more… red-blooded. More immediately carnal.

‘Consider me reassured. What’s your name?’

‘Ivy.’

‘I’m Brendan. Can I fuck you?’

She shrugs. ‘As long as your fucking is better than your banter, Brendan, then sure. Knock yourself out.’