Once upon a time, this would have been a teasing opportunity and I’d have said something like I promise when I leave you, it’ll be over something trivial. But Oliver had been dumped a lot, and even though he’d know it was a joke, it would be a joke that hurt. “I promise I’m not going to leave you. Not over Miles. Not over you going vegan. Not even over that time you got really upset at me for leaving my socks in the living room.”

That perked him right up. His eyes got a steely glint. “There is a place,” he said, “for socks.”

And it probably said something weird about my brain or our relationship that Oliver chiding me about my socks was a little bit of a turn-on. “I’m sorry.” I made a futile attempt to sound contrite. “I’m just a filthy sock harlot.”

“Lucien, are you attempting to turn my irritation at your failure to pick up after yourself into some kind of sex game?”

I shot him a hopeful look. “Is it working?”

“Well, you have made a terrible mess of the kitchen.”

“I know. I deserve to be punished.”

“You’ve already been punished,” Oliver pointed out. “You had to eat that dreadful pie.”

“That is very much not the type of punishment I had in mind.”

Standing, Oliver neatly cleared the bowls from the table. “I don’t think framing sex with me as a punishment is quite the compliment you think it is.”

“Well, I don’t think ‘Come and do me because you like me so much’ has quite the right flirtatious edge.”

“But Lucien”—Oliver’s voice had gone very low and very soft—“I do like you. I like you very, very much.”

Okay, maybe that was working. Except even after two years of relationshipping and self-care and emotional development, it still scared me how vulnerable sex could make me feel. Which meant it was way easier to say Spank me, Daddy, which we both knew I didn’t mean, than Hold me, I love you, which I definitely did. And I was just trying to find a way to articulate this—see above, re: emotional development—when Oliver came back, unbowled, and took me firmly by the wrist.

“What are you—” I started as I found myself manoeuvred onto the table.

“I’m showing you how much I like you.”

Argh. Help. My feelings. I made a valiant attempt not to melt everywhere. “I’ll feel bad if we damage this table.”

“Really?” he asked. “I won’t care in the slightest.”