‘Don’t you want to?’

Rupert’s voice is husky, and he reaches out to lazily roll my nipple between his finger and thumb, a sharp pang of desire slicing through me. I let out a gasp, and nip at his wrist. ‘Of course I want to stay.’ I don’t ever want to leave, if the truth be known. Rupert rolls on top of me, and then for a little while I stop thinking about going home, or staying, or anything else except him.

Later, as he snores softly, his hair ruffled and the sheets tangled around his waist, I doze next to him, my limbs feeling heavy and contentment flooding my veins. Everything is so different with Rupert than it was with Harry. I picture the last time I laid in Harry’s bed, waiting for him to come home. The way his face had twisted with anger and hate as he staggered into the bedroom, the sour, sickening smell of old whisky on his breath as he’d crouched over me, tugging away the duvet and dragging my naked body to the floor. Shaking the image away, I tug the sheets over me and burrow down, the scent of sex and Rupert’s aftershave emanating from the bed.

Finally, I feel as though I have found what I have been looking for my whole life, the elusive thing that my mother assured me was out there as she chased after it herself. I sigh, snuggling against Rupert, when something – a noise outside – jolts me from sleep, my heart racing. For a moment I am confused, thinking I’m at home, and I slide naked from the bed ready to guide Mags back to bed, before I remember where I am. Pausing, I listen hard but all I can hear is the sound of Rupert’s breath. Silently moving to the window, I peer out from between the slats of the blinds. I’m sure I heard something outside, and I remember that I left my bike out there, not bothering to bring it into the hallway as I thought I’d be leaving.