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a bed buddy.’
    I stop walking and he does too, close behind me. He’s not touching, except with his breath that slides beneath my right earlobe making my flesh throb. His warmth extends so it licks at the back of my knees, along my hamstrings, across the top of my shoulders.
    ‘This is a no-pressure question,’ he adds when the silence has been too long.
    I don’t reply but the sound of rushing air comes from my nose, a cross between a sniffle and a snort. Those large hands close over my shoulders and his thumbs rub against my shoulder blades.
    ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I thought you might have been interested.’
    ‘Oh, I am. You haven’t read that wrong.’ I’m caving in. Easily. With no fight. But I haven’t spent years of training and discipline to be a pushover. ‘I have some rules.’ He nods sharply and I continue. ‘I’m clean but there’s no sex unless it’s safe and consensual. Agreed?’
    ‘Agreed. And for the record, I’m clean too.’
    I face him. In the moonlight he looks…divinely edible. I lean forward, ever so slowly. I could be caught in freeze-frame. My gaze locks onto his perfect lips. The top bows beautifully but it’s his bottom lip that is truly sinful. Pillow-plump, it beckons and calls. I sink towards him and after an agonising wait my lips touch his. I pause, resting my flesh against his for a second, savouring the sweet tingle of the initial caress. There’s the momentary jolt of energy shifting between us as I press. This is followed by heaven as I sink into pillowy softness. His lips catch and hold mine. His hands circle my arms, warmth seeps in. I step closer, my body overshadowed by him, my feet tucked between his, while our kiss deepens.
    There’s the sharp sting of stubble against my mouth as we move. The kiss turns more demanding. No longer content to lounge in the softness, our lips fight for supremacy and submission. His press against mine, asking them to open but I’m demanding the same. We’re both asking, neither answering, the tension mounts. We prod and press against each other until, on some unheard command, tension snaps. My mouth opens to him and his to mine.
    He tastes of seafood, freshness, and salt. He’s the wickedest dessert and I can’t devour him quickly enough, nor have enough.
    His hands run across my body, skimming my hips, my waist. My breath catches, waiting, hoping. His fingers sweep beneath my breasts and I exhale. My left hand curls into the musculature of his shoulder while my right slips around the strength of his neck and my fingers spear into the short hair at his nape, stretching upwards to cup his head. Our noses brush before our mouths open.
    It’s a quick break for breath and as our lips meet again, our tongues reach for each other’s. They touch. Quivers rock me. His tongue is as strong as the rest of his body, curling around mine, teasing, pushing, stroking. He’s dominating, pushing forwards, then retreating when I don’t submit. Both my hands move to his head, holding so I can plunder his mouth properly. My fingertips knead the back of his head as our tongues twist and tangle. He cups his hands beneath my breasts and squeezes. I jump and pull away from the kiss, gasping, my breasts throbbing. I suck in air, hoping the lust-filled angst will pass. My nipples are standing out, so tight they could be torn from me by a passing gust.
    Allowing me only a couple of gasps, he steps towards me and his palms immediately claim my breasts again. Through the fabric of my dress, he holds and weighs them, squeezes and slowly releases then squeezes again; slow exquisite torture. I want his thumbs on my nipples, or his mouth, but he only squeezes, watching as if he knows what it’s doing to me. When he doesn’t do anything more, I push at his upper arms but it’s useless, they’re rock solid muscle and I doubt he even notices my touch.
    ‘What do you want, Samantha?’ His voice is low, pitched against my ear as he leans towards