‘Where were we?’ he asks.

And I could leave right now before this goes any further. Dash through the rain, run back down those stairs. Call an Uber. That would be the sensible thing to do.

But here’s the thing: I don’t want to.

So instead, I reach into my handbag, and feel around in the front pocket for a condom. I find one, place my bag on the floor, stand on my tippy-toes and kiss him. His tongue moves into my mouth and he pushes me against the wall. I can feel him under his jeans, pushing against my leg and I reach for his zipper but I don’t pull it down. And all I can hear is the rain and our breath as his hands reach under my skirt, up to my hipbones and gently tug at the edges of my underwear.

Slowly, he begins to peel them down to my thighs.

‘Is this okay?’ he asks, pulling away for a moment.

‘Yes,’ I say, my voice croaky. Now they are down to my knees and he’s crouching in front of me, and I’m stepping out of them. He stands up again, his hands on my face, his eyes looking straight into mine. I reach for his zipper and pull it down this time; it sounds out in the low light.

His eyes are still on mine as I press the condom into the palm of his hand.

‘Prepared?’ He smiles.

‘Always,’ I whisper.

I hear the sound of the wrapper tearing and wait as he puts it on. Then he leans in and starts kissing me again, lifting one of my legs up around his waist. He’s touching me now and I can feel the tip of his tongue on mine; the rain has stopped and all I can hear is my heartbeat and his breath. And then he pushes himself inside me.

I inhale sharply; a split second of pain. But then we’re moving, slowly. He lets out a small groan, my hands are in his hair, he’s grabbing onto my hips, his stubble is on my cheek and we’re moving together now. It’s just his breath then mine, his, then mine, his, then mine. I can hear him moan in my ear, and then I can hear—

Wait. What was that?

A creak. A shuffle.

I turn my head quick, sharp. It takes a moment for my eyes to focus. For my brain to register.

Sabine.

With her iPhone.

Videoing us.

I flinch. Gasp. Pull back. Noah turns to look.

He squints at her. Frowns. ‘Sabine?’

She lowers the phone, looking down at the screen. Checking her work.

‘Sabine! What the fuck?’ he yells, pulling back from me. I pull my skirt down to cover me.

Her eyes dart from Noah to me then back to Noah. ‘C’est pour ta femme.’ Then she turns around and runs back to the doorway and down the stairs. My ears roar with blood: pour ta femme? You don’t have to be fluent to know that means: for your wife.