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our breathing returned to normal. And as I looked at him, his eyes closed and his long eyelashes making him look so angelic, it was almost impossible to reconcile him with the man who had just ensured I would be feeling the evening every time I sat down for days. I couldn’t figure out how I’d never thought of a hairbrushthat way before. Suffice to say I haven’t overlooked its possibilities again.
    I also never looked at Ryan in quite the same way again. As we both came down from our respective adrenaline highs there was a moment of embarrassment. He ran a gentle hand over my arse, assessing the damage and enquiring politely whether I was in a lot of pain. In a way that seemed very British somehow, I said I was fine, thank you, and then we fell silent. I think he felt disconcerted by how much he enjoyed hurting me – and looking back I wonder if he made a discovery about himself that night as he wielded the hairbrush.
    He certainly helped fit one of the earliest pieces of the puzzle for me. By the time he was preparing to go back to the States a few weeks later my arse had become intimately acquainted with that brush – and his hand – several more times, including one notable occasion when he got so aroused punishing me he came across my buttocks and then rubbed his spunk into my still-stinging bum. We had danced the beginning of a dance of dominance and submission but neither of us seemed quite sure what the next step was, or even knew to phrase it that way. During our last night together before he returned to the States I got a glimpse of what that next step might have been, and even now – years on and with the experiences I’ve had since – I still think our relationship had the potential to be amazing. It was just one of those things that ended sooner than perhaps in hindsight I would have liked it to.
    Before it did end, though, he really did pull out all the stops.
    I wasn’t a fan of outfits. I’d dug out my old grey gym knickers and netball skirt for a fresher’s week school disco night and kept the peace for the occasional fancy dress party. But all in all I was still just too self-conscious to enjoy dressing up. I felt ridiculous and it’s not rocket science to point out that when you feel ridiculous it’s hard to feel sexy.
    But the corset was different.
    That last night, as I kicked my shoes off, chucked my keys down and headed into my bedroom to get ready for my farewell dinner with Ryan, I found the box on the bed. It was one of those boxes so understated and discreet that despite its lack of label it screamed ‘ridiculously expensive boutique’. As I fingered the edge of cream ribbon bisecting it, Catherine, who had accompanied me down to reception to collect it when it was delivered earlier in the day, plonked herself down on the stool in front of my dressing table, mug of tea in hand, waiting to see its secrets. Ryan had told me he was giving me a goodbye present that he didn’t want me lugging home from the restaurant, but I had no clue what it was.
    Being both impatient and a big kid at heart when it comes to giving and receiving presents, there was no hope of me waiting till after the date to open it. And, as I rationalized to Catherine, he obviously wouldn’t mind, or he wouldn’t have brought it round. Well, that was my excuse and I was sticking to it.
    When I first opened the box all I could see was tissue paper. And then as I pulled back the folds and pulled out the gorgeous corset nestled within I took a little breath ofwonder. It was a rich vivid green. The kind of green that reminds you of lush countryside and summer and fucking outside amid the smell of fresh cut grass and sunshine.
    ‘Soph, it’s beautiful. Are you going to wear it tonight?’
    It was a gift as surprising as it was stunning. Being a tomboy at heart it was not the kind of thing I would normally have chosen to wear and, if I was being honest, it seemed an unusually tender gift for him to give me.
    But that