His thumb keeps circling while his mouth kisses lower and lower. He swirls his tongue over my belly button. I see stars against the wooden frame of the bunk bed.

Suddenly, his mouth replaces his thumb, his tongue kissing the bundle of nerves with so much intensity my toes curl. His fingers maintain a steady rhythm, driving me deeper, and his other hand circles my nipple again. He teases me with pressure in so many places I already feel like I could burst.

‘Hugh,’ I gasp again.

Everything stops. His fingers still, he raises his head of shaggy blond hair.

‘Millie,’ he breathes. Then he sucks on me again, before raising his head once more. ‘You taste.’ Another lick, this one slower, more teasing. ‘Incredible.’ Then his fingers are in me again, pumping faster and faster. My hips are moving of their own accord, grinding against his face, his hand. I’m on the verge of climax, the pleasure too intense, when Hugh does something with his tongue that I’ve never felt before. A moan escapes my lips as I shatter around his fingers, my hips bucking up towards his face, my hands grabbing the sheets next to me. He doesn’t stop until I’ve stopped shaking, my body relaxing into the mattress.

His head appears from between my legs, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

My brain starts to process my surroundings again, the creaking sway of the boat, the wood frame inches above my head. As the sensations ebb, a thought crystallises, repeating in my brain.

Millie, you taste incredible. Millie. Millie. I gulp in a breath of air. Dread settles over me like sand settling on the ocean floor. How did I let it get this far? I can’t keep lying to him. I can’t jeopardise Millie’s career this way.

‘Millie,’ Hugh says, and my knees clamp together on their own accord. I scramble away from him, peeling myself off the bed.

‘I should go shower,’ I manage to mumble, the words hard to get out. His smile disappears. He bites his bottom lip.

‘Already?’ he asks, disappointment echoing in his voice.

‘Yes, I . . .’ I trail off, I don’t know what to say. I pull a towel around my body, suddenly hyper-aware of my own nakedness. At the hurt look on Hugh’s face, my heart feels like it’s breaking into a million pieces. ‘It’s not you.’

‘Was that not . . .’ He trails off.

‘It was,’ I say, but my voice is tinged with worry. Everything Hugh just did to my body, to my senses, to my mind, proved to me something I didn’t want to admit. That I really like Hugh, maybe even more than I’ve ever liked anyone. And that Hugh thinks I’m my sister. Which means . . . ‘But I think it was a mistake . . . I think maybe we’re better off as friends,’ I force myself to say.