Page 58 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

“It’s not the kind of thing you do with a one-night stand,” he says beginning to unbutton his crisp white shirt. “You think it’s weird? Forget it,” he says.

“No.” I say. “I mean, it is weird, but what the hell. My hair needs washing anyway.”

A smile stretches across Liam’s lips. He moves towards me.

“Turn around,” he says.

I do as he says. He unzips my jumpsuit down to the small of my back. He pushes the jumpsuit over my shoulders and tugs it past my boobs. It crumbles into a denim heap on the floor.

He bites my shoulder as he unclasps my red bra sending panic to skitter across my skin.

“Would madam like to pick her shampoo?” he asks, opening a mirrored cupboard full of tiny glass labelled bottles.

“Madam would.” I say walking to the mirror-fronted cupboard.

I choose a shampoo with argan oil and pass it to him.

He puts it down on the side of the bath and shrugs out of his shirt.

He reaches for the sides of my panties and works them down my legs.

He offers me a hand to the bath.

I step in. “How’s the water?” he asks.

“Perfect,” I say, sinking into the oriental foam.

“Lay back,” he says, positioning a folded towel at one end of the bath.

I position my head on the towel. He takes a cup next to him and fills it with water from the tap. It trickles down the back of my neck. I hear him opening the small glass bottle and rubbing its contents into his hands. He begins to work it into a lather and then brings his fingers down on my scalp. His circular motions send volts of electricity through my toes which ricochet back up to my sex. He works my scalp hard, massaging intently.

He’s breathing deeply as if engaged in a sexual practice.

My breath is ragged, as if I’ve stepped over a line far away from the one I originally drew.

It’s impossible not to feel like putty in Liam O’Shaughnessy’s hands as his thumbs work into my curls.

“You smell so good,” he whispers in my ears.

After what seems like seconds but was probably minutes, he starts to wash the shampoo from my hair.

I hear him unbuckle his belt. His trousers thud to the floor. I turn my head to see his hard cock spring from his boxers.

He slips into the other end of the bath and pulls me to him. Our lips merging into one.

I pull back.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, tucking my wet freshly washed hair behind my ear.

“I need to know something.”

“Anything?” he says.

“I need to know if you murdered the girl you were arrested for murdering?”

He brings his thumb and forefinger to his forehead, creating a ripple of vertical lines.

“I told you the whole story.”

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