Justin’s no longer in his traveller trousers, but a pair of grey joggers. Nothing on top.

‘The connection was bad,’ he says.

I don’t think he’s managed to shower, either. For such a clean, well put together man, he still looks damp with sweat, tired and dishevelled. In this moment, I like it, and I’m aware of the fact that I’m standing in his room not wearing a stitch beneath the cotton rag hanging over my body. Justin’s hands are on his hips, his biceps prominent yet neat. Dark, curly hair decorates his chest, something I hadn’t paid attention to when we were in the hot tub yesterday.

‘I thought this wasn’t the season for typhoons,’ I manage.

‘It happens.’

His room is bigger than mine. Almost identical, just enlarged. I’m not sure if this makes me feel more safe, or more exposed. The lights flicker and I look up, giving it my most intense teacher’s stare to stop it misbehaving. Justin leans across to the wall and turns the lights off.

‘That’ll give us a heart attack,’ he remarks.

‘Yeah. You read me mind.’

His hand is still on the wall, beside the light switch. I feel my breath lighten, getting faster. I tilt my head a little and my hair brushes his outstretched arm, my lips almost touch his skin. He takes a step closer to me, just a small one. I sense his hesitation.

I want to say it’s okay. It was my choice to come here.

I want to be okay.

To have choices.

I look at him briefly in the small pool of moonlight. My eyes are beginning to adjust to the darkness. But I close them tight, hoping to disappear whilst also wanting to be present. Wanting to be wanted.

The wind is getting stronger.

Whistles rush through cracks in the door and I move a little closer to Justin, feeling my whole body draw forward, the coolness between my legs becoming warm. My breasts touch his chest, only the thin cotton of my dress separating our skin. As my nipples harden, I slide my arms around him and our lips meet.

He kisses me back with force – no, perhaps relief. He’s glad I made the move, I can tell.

I let my tongue touch his and he grabs the back of my head, his hand squeezing my hair. As I push him forwards, our lips tightly locked, he guides me away from the door, until he’s leaning against the outside of the bathroom wall. I tilt my pelvis close, enjoying the hard sensation coming from him. He runs his hands up my thighs, lifting my dress higher. I’m enjoying this too much – far too much.

I want him to touch me further.

But I hold out.

I wait.

And I want it more and more.