I’ve never done this—never had this done to me. I didn’t let Pete, my first boyfriend, go there, and Joe never offered. Honestly, I didn’t have a problem with that. If it was frustrating enough failing to come when he played with me, it would have been mortifying beyond belief to let him go to work with his mouth and not produce an orgasm.

But from the low grunts Brendan makes in the back of his throat as his tongue circles in on my clit with the precision of The Jackal wielding a sniper rifle, he doesn’t seem to be finding it hard work.

Except—oof—closing my eyes and giving in to the fire igniting between my legs while balancing on one four-inch heel is not advisable because I promptly wobble and almost fall over.

‘Fuck,’ he says, emerging from eating me to grab me around the waist. ‘Change of plan.’ He unhooks my leg and, rising, throws me over his shoulder. I squeal in surprise as he gets to his feet and carries me, fireman’s-lift style, across the room before laying me on my back on the sofa quickly enough that dizziness reels through me.

When my head has righted itself, I find him standing beside me—although towering over me would be more accurate—and looking awfully pleased with himself as he unbuttons his shirt. I’m sprawled on the cool pleather of the sofa, self-consciousness and apprehension warring with arousal and curiosity, and I can say with confidence that the sight of Brendan Sullivan undressing himself for me has the see-saw swinging in favour of the latter far more rapidly than is decent.

He undresses like I suspect he does a lot of things—hurriedly. He’s not putting on a show here, but his smug grin tells me he’s not finding my facial expression as ambivalent as I’d hoped.

It’s been a long, long time since I saw a man naked, and I’ve never seen a man like this naked. Of my two previous partners, Pete was a still-skinny eighteen-year-old, and Joe had the untoned, if lean, build of an academic.

Brendan does not look like an academic.

He looks, as he makes quick work of the buttons down the front of his shirt and battles impatiently with his cufflinks, like a man with far too much energy to burn in the gym. With his crisp white shirt hanging open, the playboy tan is in evidence. He rips the shirt off his shoulders and tosses it impatiently to the floor, giving me my first proper view of a masterpiece of male physicality.

His PT should feel very proud of this masterpiece.