Take this for example: Liam is sitting in the armchair in my living room in grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt, the sluttiest outfit a man can wear, naturally. He is man spreading with his head resting against the back of the chair, his longer brown hair wet and stuck to his forehead. His face is angled up away from me but I know his eyes are closed and a small smile is gracing his face. He only came over to check on me and bump on his way back from the rink and all of a sudden he was taking everything off my plate by doing the chores I was putting off. He might be still trying to make up his indiscretion to me. To prove he is dependable.

It has been an hour since he got here and in that time he washed my dishes and cleaned my bathroom before jumping in the shower from working up a sweat. He was just a wall away from me in my shower, naked, and there was nothing I could do to stop my mind from imagining a million sordid things. Imagining him stroking his cock to the thought of me. Thinking about joining him and falling to my knees to get the taste of him I have been craving. Imagining him using my showerhead to get me off in record time because I already feel seconds from coming and he hasn’t even touched me.

Jack is at Lyndsey’s house because she wanted to give me the night off, so there isn’t even anyone here to create a buffer. There’s nothing for me to focus my energy on except for Liam and whether or not he has underwear on. He is here to make sure I am feeling okay. I know he wants to feel useful and deep down I am enjoying letting him wait on me. That’s why I haven’t asked him to leave even though we both know there isn’t anything left for him to do.

I angrily eat some more crumpets, which Liam made for me, like if I chew hard enough I can wipe the thoughts of him away. It feels silly to imagine him like this when just a few months ago it was a reality: us all over each other like no time had passed. Now I’m daydreaming as though I don’t know every inch of him.