It’s the ‘one night’ that does it. Filled with relief, I realise his intentions are just as wicked as mine. He wants a quick shag. Which means he won’t expect me to go out on a date afterwards. So I won’t have to wear a glamorous golden dress and graze on lettuce leaves all night, when all I want to do is wear elasticated waists and splatter spag bol down my front. We can just get straight down to business.
Thank God I remembered to put clean sheets on the bed.
The rest of the evening is as sparkly as my dress. And despite the fact that I catch George and David snogging passionately more than once, and that Sam’s hand is clamped to Wine Bar’s boob like a piece of fuzzy felt, I don’t mind. Because Max is brilliant fun. He’s even better at dancing than George.
Which is saying something for a straight bloke.
‘You are sure you’re not gay, aren’t you?’ I double-check as we make our way to the ‘bar’.
‘I’m sure.’ Max grins, mixing us both enormous Bellinis.
‘How sure?’
‘Very.’
‘Sure?’
‘Look,’ he takes my hand in his, ‘I’m very, very taken with you indeed. And if you’ll only stop fart-arseing about with all this polite drinking and dancing, I’ll bloody well take you upstairs and show you just how un-gay I can be when it matters.’
I giggle. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
Thanking my lucky stars I’ve had my minky waxed, properly this time, not Blue Peter fashion with a strip of sticky-backed plastic, I allow him to lead me to the bottom of the stairs as people dance, drink and fall drunkenly around us. We’re halfway to my bedroom when Sam’s voice comes floating up after us. He comes into the hall, swiftly followed by Wine Bar.
‘Katie?’
‘I’m going to bed.’ I smile naughtily. ‘And I’m not alone.’
‘You sure you’re OK?’
‘Don’t worry. I’m a big girl now. I can look after myself.’
I fling open the bedroom door, pushing Max towards the bed and pouncing on him like a lion. There’s a squeal from under the bedclothes.
‘Was that you?’ He looks startled.
‘Just the cat.’ I nod, as Graham bolts, spiky with indignation, into the wardrobe.
Max’s skin smells delicious. All sea salt and lemons. And he’s so bloody gorgeous that his very proximity makes the edges of my teeth tingle. When he finally kisses me, a bolt of electricity shoots from the top of my head to my groin and I melt against him, pressing myself to him with increasing urgency. And as I do so, I feel him pressing back. And I know how much he wants me.
Suddenly, I hold back.
What if he’s after something more permanent?
Will I be able to say no?
Probably not. Max looks as if he might be kind of moreish. Dangerously moreish at that. Like chocolate.
And not your dodgy pretend chocolate either. I’m talking the dark, rich, exceptionally smooth kind.
One bite and you’re hooked.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t you want to?’
Do I?
Oh sod it.
As I surrender myself completely, and Max slowly peels off George’s gauzy pink dress, I rejoice that I’ve had the foresight to wear matching bra and knickers for a change.
I needn’t have worried in any case. I’m soon rid of them.
As he frees himself from his boxers, a delicate operation involving trying to get them down without catching his stiffy in the fly, I’m more than pleased to note that he’s in possession of the full box of tricks. He’s got a good girth on him. I can’t wait.
But I remember to be sensible. Tingling with anticipation, I help him roll on the condom. Then, with a silent ‘up yours, Jake Carpenter’, I lower myself onto his quivering cock.
Shit. It’s been so long. It’s amazing.
It’s agony.
Ecstasy.
‘Stop,’ I pant. ‘No, please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.’
‘You’re gorgeous,’ he moans, pulling on my hips and burying himself so deep inside me I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
‘Ooh, don’t stop,’ I pant again. ‘Yes. Stop. Now. Fucking just stop. Max. I’m serious.’
‘What?’
‘Just getthefuckoffme. NOW. Something’s wrong. Something’s happened to my… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAGH.’
Afterwards, Janice said you could have heard my screams in Morden. I howled like a dog, apparently. Squealed like a pig on a stick. At any rate, it was enough to bring Sam, Janice, David and George (feather boa tangled around his legs in his haste) hurtling into my room, where Sam, thinking I was under some sort of attack, grabbed Max—actually grabbed him properly, like in a real fight—and told him to get the fuck out.