Page 80 of Not in a Million Years

‘It’s a converted 1920s warehouse, not Victorian. And besides, I don’t have the keys.’

‘Hold on, I think I might have a plan. You’ve got a decent sound system, haven’t you?’

‘Sure. I mean, it’s nothing special but it’s okay.’

‘Right. So you don’t play music – you play something else. Come with me.’

Bewildered, I followed him into his workshop. The space was cavernous and silent, all the machinery switched off. On the bench, I could see a part-assembled table, its legs thrusting upwards. The familiar smell of turpentine and varnish and linseed oil and whatever else he rubbed lovingly into those sleek, glossy pieces – like a man grooming racehorses, I thought fleetingly, or massaging every curve of a lover’s body – hung in the still air.

‘The acoustics in here are fantastic,’ Daniel said. ‘I discovered it when I started making videos for TikTok. I’ve got quite into the whole sound-editing malarkey – I’m just learning, but I make a decent fist of it. We can cut out any dud bits and I’ll chop it around and repeat bits to give you a good three hours of quality audio.’

‘Sorry if I’m being dense.’ I hesitated in the doorway. ‘But what, exactly, are we doing here?’

‘Making a sex tape, obviously.’

‘Making a what?’

‘Sex tape. Not a real one, doofus. Unless you particularly want to – although, no disrespect, I don’t recall you being much of a screamer.’

My face flamed, remembering that night with Daniel in Alsaya. I couldn’t possibly say if I’d screamed or not – it had felt more as if every inch of me had been silently singing, like the women in the operas Daniel and I had watched with Andy. Only apparently quieter. Thank God.

But he remembered it too. And he was suggesting – what, exactly? That we did it again? But he’d said, Not a real one. So he didn’t mean that. My face must have given away my utter confusion, because Daniel said, ‘Kate, you really are a bit slow sometimes. Have you not seen When Harry Met Sally?’

‘Oh!’ Relief, tinged with disappointment, flooded me. ‘I get it. Like when Meg Ryan faked an orgasm in Katz’s Deli. I’ve been there. The salt-beef sandwiches are—’

‘Kate. Focus, please. Think Pornhub, not Tripadvisor.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Good. Now, come over and pull up a stool.’

Seconds later, we were perched on opposite sides of Daniel’s workbench, his phone propped up between us against one of the table legs. He opened an app and pressed a red button.

‘You go first,’ I said, overcome with shyness.

‘I think not. What kind of man do you want your neighbours to take me for?’

‘Okay, fine. If you insist.’ I took a deep breath and exhaled it on a long, ‘Oooooh.’

‘You like that?’ Daniel said, his voice low and guttural.

‘Yes!’ I squeaked in surprise at the way his words had made me feel.

‘You want more?’

‘Yes! Give me more! Lower. No, higher!’ I felt myself entering into the spirit of things, and Daniel nodded approvingly.

‘Ah,’ he gasped. ‘Baby, that feels so good!’

‘Do me!’ I said. ‘Do me hard!’

‘You want it hard? Do you, you dirty, dirty bitch?’

‘Oh God, yes! I want to feel you hard and deep!’

‘Then suck my dick and call me Master.’

‘What the—’

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