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big and hard between her thighs. She bit her lip in anticipation as he rubbed it against her slick entrance and then he thrust smoothly forward, as far as he could go, deep inside her. She heard herself cry out softly and then he pulled back with smooth, tantalising slowness almost all the way, and began to thrust forward deeply again and again at a slow delicious pace. Her pleasure began to climb again.
    Tangling a hand gently in her hair he tugged softly.
    â€˜Look,’ he whispered. ‘Look how gorgeous you are.’
    She lifted her head, unsure of what he wanted, and then saw. The huge gilt mirror leaned against the opposite wall, depicting them in the honeyed glow of the single table lamp as he took her steadily from behind. He held her reflected gaze steadily with his own as he thrust into her again and again, one hand cupping her breast and teasing the nipple as the other moved between her legs to circle her most sensitive sweet spot with one finger. She moved against him, working towards the height of her pleasure, feeling it there for the taking, unable to tear her eyes away from the mirror, watching him take her. She felt the tension in his body change, his breathing up the pace, and as she finally tipped over into a sublime deliciousness she had never known he was right there with her.

    ****

    The light filtering through Izzy’s closed eyelids was brighter than she was used to, and her first thought was that she’d forgotten to shut the bedroom curtains in her flat.
    She opened her eyes. The light was brighter because the high sash windows of the hotel room were dressed with the flimsiest of silk curtains. They put the tiny windows and concrete view of her flat to shame.
    Boutique Hotel. Reinvention Get-Over-Joe Mini-Break. One-Night-Stand.
    She froze in the king-size bed, the vague cushion of euphoria on which she had woken deflating as if stuck with a pin. She turned over inch by careful inch, knowing perfectly well what she would see before it came into view. She stuffed a mouthful of squashy pillow into her mouth to stifle her own squeak of shock.
    Dark tousled hair, smooth skin with a faint tan, the beginnings of stubble on the chiselled jaw and thick eyelashes that were wasted on a guy. They’d spent half the night screwing every ounce of energy out of each other. Her toes curled just at the thought of it.
    She peeled the pillow out of her mouth so she could take in a big calming breath.
    It could be worse. Wasn’t it practically obligatory for a one-night-stand to never look as good as you remembered them the next morning? He certainly bucked that trend. Which was more than could be said for her. Sitting up carefully, she caught sight of her own insane reflection in the huge gilt-framed mirror at the side of the room. Her hair stuck out at odd angles and last night’s mascara was smudged panda-style beneath her eyes. Her face reddened as she flashed on last night’s use of that mirror. Had that really been her? Shy, retiring Izzy?
    She had to get out of here.
    Thank goodness he was sound asleep. She checked her watch. A little past five o’clock. A new undiscovered benefit to having a body clock that woke you up at cockcrow no matter how little sleep you’d had: you could make a swift exit after an ill-conceived fling without discovery.
    She held her breath and eased her way out of the bed then around the room, picking up her clothes, dressing, keeping every movement smooth and pin-drop quiet. Oliver didn’t stir. She wondered randomly where in Highgate he lived, and squashed the thought immediately.
    The flipside of last night’s triumphant fingers-up at Joe trickled into her mind. Last night it had been all about getting even, all about trying to make some kind of sense of what he’d done so she might move on. Now in the cold light of morning the wider implications of what she’d done kicked in.
    Was this what the morning after was like for Joe?