We get back on the Underground and now it feels completely different because I’m with him. He takes me to his flat in Shepherd’s Bush. The place is like a monk’s cell. There’s a bare, stained futon on the floor, a small fridge in the corner, a kettle. The wardrobe looks like it dates from c. 1975. One leg has been propped up with an empty sports supplement bottle. There’s a yellowed mirror bolted to the wall and a couple of cardboard boxes stacked under the frosted window. No decorations. As I glance around, I realise I’m violently jealous of what he’s earning, that he can afford to live without roommates. He even has his own shower room with toilet.

‘It’s good to hold you,’ he murmurs, folding me into his arms. I’m wary at first, because I know what he’s like, but as the feel and scent of him surround me, I find myself embracing him back, fiercely. My lips are against his neck. He makes a rumbling sound deep in his throat and pulls me closer. Heat radiates through his T-shirt as my hands range across his back. Muscle. Strength. The next thing I know we are kissing. His tongue tastes so good. Everything about him is lovely and just right.

I want him. Immediately. It’s like this compulsion.

‘Do you still use an implant?’ he whispers, and my entire body shivers. The ring of happy muscles high up and deep inside me gives a spasm of anticipation even as I hear the small, still-rational part of myself say:

‘Are you fucking kidding me? You know I don’t.’

‘Such a shame,’ he groans, and his hands are up inside my shirt. Hot and muscular hands, just like the rest of him. Antonio isn’t one of those fit guys who acts like they’re doing you a favour by humping you. He pays attention during sex, and he can bring everything out of you that you’ve got, and then some. Before I know what is happening, my shirt is up over my head and he’s kneeling in front of me, licking my nipples, biting me, the whole works. I’m caught. I lose track of myself for a moment. He’s giving my body his total attention. He’s running his hands all over me in a way that is always, always just right. Antonio knows how to touch me.

I grab his head and pull away, and he tilts his face up. All dark eyes, cheekbones, eyebrows two artistic slashes and his lips swelling as he smiles at me.

‘We will just play, then. Don’t worry. I can control myself. I have been practising the many disciplines.’

He’s so funny, but I’m thinking of Mel.

‘We can’t, Antonio. This is wrong.’