I swear my body thinks I’ve just dropped ten storeys in a lift, and what little breakfast I got down before I came here threatens to make a reappearance. Giving head I can handle, but⁠—

Camille must notice something’s up because her expression softens. ‘This is precisely why you get to submit a questionnaire, too. This isn’t a one-way street. Like any kind of working or sexual relationship, there’s compromise. Just because a client has expressed certain preferences, it absolutely does not mean you have to roll over and say yes to everything. Quite the contrary. And you can always negotiate and renegotiate terms depending on what you’re comfortable with.’

Because sitting down with some billionaire and calmly discussing whether he can put his dick in my arse is something I have the wherewithal to endure. Nevertheless, her qualification is reassuring, I suppose.

His favourite position is doggy-style. This should be music to my ears, because every mafia boss in every dark romance I read has a penchant for getting his girl on all fours. When I’m on my sofa under a soft blanket, I’m so onboard it’s not funny, but if I imagine myself as the doggy in some oversexed guy’s office, I could honestly vomit from nerves.

Brendan, it seems, is a big fan of oral sex, both ways. ‘It’s usually a good sign when they’re into cunnilingus,’ Camille confides. ‘Makes it more likely they’re a considerate lover.’

There is not one single thing about that statement I can handle processing right now, so I squeak mmm hmm and attempt, unsuccessfully, to arrest the tide of red I know is creeping up my neck at the images of Brendan’s handsome face dipping between my legs.

I can’t do this. I can’t. I’ll die of mortification and terror. Is a vulnerability-driven stroke a thing? I want to push back my chair and bolt for that door, but the sensation only lasts a second, replaced with the heart-splitting image of Tabby’s face when she’s having a blue spell.

I have to do this.

I’ll deal with it when it comes to it.

‘Ready to see his kinks?’ Camille asks, then, ‘Breathe, Marlowe.’

I suck in a breath and read what he’s written.

I love it when they pretend to be inexperienced. Gets me every time. It really, really turns me on to imagine that I’m the one teaching them how good it can be.

There’s a sudden slackening of the tension in my chest. Well, that won’t be a problem. He should be careful what he wishes for. I imagine I’ll excel at seeming experienced.

I recall the takeaways from my three-or-four-minute interaction with him. Hot. Looked like a playboy. Was weirdly tongue-tied. That I’m now browsing his sexual proclivities is surreal, and that any of this may pertain to me is off-the-charts bizarre.