He lets my wrists go and sits back on his heels, as proud and naked as the day he was born, and gazes at my body while I struggle not to cover myself.

‘Ah, that is lovely,’ he whispers finally, and, moving forward, takes a stiff nipple in his mouth.

I gasp.

He sucks.

I tremble. I moan.

He buries his face between my breasts. His lashes sweep darkly against his cheek.

‘How can you give pleasure to anyone if you are unhappy in your own body?’ His voice is tender now.

I bite my lower lip. He has awakened a strong desire in me. The breast that has been sucked is tingling. As if he has heard my desire, he slips his finger between my legs, and I sigh and part my legs. He takes his hand away and retreats to his haunches.

‘Clasp your hands behind your head.’

I obey and find the position has arched my back, thrust my breasts forward, made me feel vulnerable, and in some subtle way increased my nakedness. My whole body flames with desire and shame for my position. He does nothing, just continues staring at me while the slit between my legs begins to swell and feel so very hot. Very naked and helpless, I stand in his gaze.

‘You have the most beautiful breasts imaginable. Firm and plump and pink-tipped and so perfectly round they look fake.’

This I know to be true. My breasts are my best assets. They are exactly as he described: pink-tipped, plump and round and without any sag at all. He puts a hand out and curves it around one breast and massages it gently. I shudder helplessly.

‘I must have you again.’

He reaches into the dark blonde, damp curls and inserts two fingers into my aching folds. With those fingers impaled in me, he draws me towards him. I gasp. The hand inside me is exquisite, the thought of being pulled by my pussy filthy and erotic. He licks the inside of my thigh. My knees shake.

It happens fast. The other hand wraps around my waist and I am lifted off the ground and placed on the bed. He parts my legs and, gathering the liquids he finds, works my clit, round and round. My hips rise off the bed, my head presses into the mattress, my spine arches.

‘Will you totally surrender to me?’

‘Yes, yes.’

He smiles. An odd smile. Then he covers my mouth with his hand. Over his hand my eyes open in terror and my body prepares to fight back, but there is nothing to fear, but fear.

‘Let’s not wake the neighbors,’ he says, jams his thumb into me and carries on playing with my clit. But in a special way, as if he is following a set program. Twice my body buckles and tries to find release but at that precise moment he suddenly stops. The frustration builds.

My whimpers are muffled.

Again he looks at the distress in my half-covered face and smiles and carries on playing with my sex even as hot liquid leaks out of it and soaks the sheet underneath. Against my thigh I feel the hard length of him. I begin to twist from side to side, my hands curled into useless fists. My eyes beg him to enter me, finish the job.

Let me have my release.

He shakes his head, bends his head and licks my nipple.

‘Let me come,’ I sob deliriously under his hand. My whole body is afire.

‘Wait,’ he says.

And works me again, and again—start stop, start stop, God knows how long—until my body is shuddering violently. The spasms coming from deep inside me are so violent that I am shocked and fearful of them. I look at him with frightened eyes. What is he doing to my body?

‘Wait,’ he whispers. ‘This is the real sexual energy that human beings have. This is the thing that ancients use for sex magick. Nothing to fear. It is coming from the base of your spine.’

And indeed the spasms are so powerful that my body is being rocked and lifted cleanly off the bed. And then suddenly it is no longer possible for him to hold me back. I come screaming uncontrollably, awfully, under his hand. The pleasure is indescribable. The release is so great I take great gulps of air. Tears are streaming down my face. My sex is throbbing and what feels like waves or vibrations are expanding out of it. I don’t feel tired and wasted, but exhilarated. As if I have taken a really good ecstasy tablet. I look at him through my tears, my shock.

‘Wow!’

He smiles. ‘That is what Yehonala did.’

‘What about you?’ I ask, and even my voice sounds different.

‘Without selflessness even the best technique is useless.’

He leans forward and kisses the hairy pelt between my legs and withdraws his thumb out of me. And I, I immediately crave it back inside me.

‘Are you staying the night?’

God, I actually want to stay. To carry on. This kind of pleasure is explosive, it is addictive. ‘I have to go home. Got work in the morning.’

‘I’ll drive you,’ he says evenly, and, moving off me, begins to dress.

The way he switches off immediately makes me feel insecure. I quickly pick up the robe on the floor and wrap it around myself. ‘I’ll just go change in the other room.’

‘OK. Meet me in the living room.’

I look at myself in the mirror and think of Jack and feel guilty. While I was in Vann’s bed I had never spared a single thought for him. I dress quickly. When I get back to the living room Vann is already waiting for me.

In the lift I sneak a look at him and find him leaning against the chrome railing watching me. He raises his eyebrows. I think of his thumb jammed like a plug inside me and flush. Quickly I avert my eyes to the lighted numbers. I hate lifts. The doors open and I dash out.

‘This way,’ he says outside and points to a brand new Jaguar CX Four-by-Four. He opens my door and waits courteously as I climb in.

‘Blake’s?’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s nice. He’s really good to his friends, isn’t he?’

‘Blake doesn’t do friends. There is no one he can trust.’

‘But he trusts you.’

‘Only because we grew up together. Are you hungry?’

I’m starving. ‘Nope.’

‘Then I hope you won’t mind if I drop by and get a takeaway Chicken Shwarma.’

‘Not at all.’

Except for giving him my address, we don’t speak much until we get to Beauchamp Place. He parks and turns towards me. ‘You sure you don’t want anything?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘OK, won’t be a minute.’

I watch him cross the road, his stride long and prowling, and go into a restaurant called Maroush. In less than five minutes he is making his way back to me, two cylindrical white packages in his hand. He gets into the car and opens one package. Is he planning to eat it here in the car, in front of me?

He is. He untwists the top of white greaseproof paper and, tearing it off, reveals the pitta bread filled and rolled with chicken kebab inside. The smell. Oh sweet Jesus. The smell of garlic sauce when you have missed dinner and had a bucket load of sex. He waves it in front of my nose. I know if I ignore the hunger pangs they will go away in a while, but not with the scent of food so close by.

‘Just taste it.’

I look at him with an unfriendly expression.

‘Go on… It’s the best in London,’ he cajoles.

One taste. I swallow my saliva, take the package from him and take a small bite. Goodness, gracious me. It is so good I have to stop my eyes from rolling to the back of my head. I try to hand the food back and find him waving it away, and opening the other instead.

‘I got you one just in case you changed your mind.’

No further invites are necessary. I bite into the kebab, chew and swallow. And carry on doing so until there is nothing but soggy paper. I gaze at it almost with surprise.

‘You were hungry, weren’t you?’

Oh shit. I’ve just eaten a whole kebab at one o’clock in the morning. It’s going to become pure fat in my body.

He starts up the engine. There is no traffic on the roads and soon we are outside my block of flats.

‘I’ll walk you to your door.’

‘There’s no need. See that door there?’ I say, pointing to my door on the third floor. ‘That’s my home.’