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evenings. He’s busy with what sounds like high-powered “tycoon” type stuff during the day, and at night he prefers to sleep alone.’ Ignoring the word weird for the time being, she nevertheless experienced a pang. It was daft to want it, but the idea of actually curling up for sleep with John was suddenly infinitely appealing. Almost as much as fucking him, or feeling his hand strike her bottom. She could still smell the clean scent of him, and imagine cuddling against his warm skin, dozing off.
    No, no, no . . . don’t go there. This is what it is.
    And that thing was a slightly crazy lark and a chance to broaden her sexual horizons with an interesting and very desirable man. A chance to be someone other than Lizzie Aitchison, ordinary girl bored to death with office temping, and in a limbo of not quite having figured out what to do with her life, even at twenty-four.
    ‘Probably for the best. You’re playing with fire, my girl, and the less time you have the matches in your hand, the better.’ Brent shrugged sagely.
    Mulder the cat wriggled out of her arms, as if sensing her unease, and trotted off out of the room. While Shelley made ‘Don’t listen to him . . . tell me more!’ faces behind his back, Lizzie eyed Brent, who’d got up to fetch the teapot and top up their mugs. It was easier to talk to his narrow shoulders about certain matters.
    ‘Er . . . what do you know about BDSM? John seems to be into that sort of thing. He said he’d like to . . . well . . . experiment more next time.’
    ‘BDSM? Yikes!’ Shelley edged forward. She looked like a wide-eyed, slightly prurient pixie, with smudges of last night’s mascara and her cap of ash blonde hair standing up in morning tufts.
    Brent rolled his eyes as he set down the teapot on its mat in the middle of the table. ‘Oh, please don’t tell me he wants you to spank him? It’s much harder than it looks in the films and on the telly. It’s an art, and you can really hurt someone if you don’t know what you’re doing. Which, unless I know less about your previous adventures than you’ve told me, you don’t.’
    Eyes narrowed, he poured the tea, waiting; while Shelley seemed beside herself with excited anticipation.
    ‘No, actually, it’s the other way round. He wants to spank me . . . Um . . . to spank me again.’
    ‘Oh my, we are already in deep, aren’t we?’ Brent studied her over the rim of his mug, his pale blue eyes worried. But he also looking vaguely admiring, as if she’d impressed him somehow. All three of the house-mates shared quite intimate confidences, but she and Brent were especially close, both emotionally and about their sex lives. Lizzie hoped it could stay that way. She couldn’t bear to think they’d just hit a barrier with him when he needed both her and Shelley so much.
    ‘Deepish . . . although I don’t think he’s a vicious sadist or anything. It’s just a pain and pleasure thing with him.’ She stared into her mug, imagining it was a glass of gin, crystal clear and with answers swimming in it.
    ‘Do you even know what a sadist is? Or a dominant? They’re a bit different, you know.’ Brent’s voice was sharp.
    ‘Yes, I sort of get the gist . . . but it’s all theoretical, from sexy stories and what have you. I’ve never had any practice, really, other than a bit of horsing around that didn’t account to anything and ended up just getting rather embarrassing.’
    ‘Er . . . what horsing around? You’ve never told me about this?’ Shelley demanded.
    Lizzie felt rather hot all of a sudden. It was OK talking to one or other of her friends about personal topics, one on one, but this was turning into something suspiciously like a being grilled by the panel situation. ‘Er . . . don’t you have a special gig this morning?’ she asked Shelley, grasping a welcome straw that had just occurred to her. The two of them temped for the same secretarial agency, and she knew the other girl had something booked in