Page 28 of Untether

Particularly when said sexual partners look like Maddy and Belle.

I steer Aida through the throng—or maybefrogmarchis more accurate. As I do, I enjoy her spectacular rear view. Her dress is equally cutaway at the back, exposing her shoulder blades, and the cream silk drapes subtly, sensually, over her gorgeous arse.

When we hit the glowing pink bar, I turn her and press her up against it, stepping forward so I’m crowding her a bit and waiting till she raises those dark eyes to mine.

‘I’m sorry Maddy said that,’ I begin. ‘It wasn’t helpful.’

‘It’s okay,’ she says unconvincingly. She shrugs, and the move is chic and almost European.

I slide my hands up her arms till they reach her shoulders and roll my palms over them.

‘I haven’t fucked Belle,’ I say, ‘for what it’s worth. I was with Maddy once, and I did a couple of Belle’s Unfurl sessions, but Rafe commandeered those pretty quickly.’

She arches her eyebrows. ‘TheUnfurl session?’

‘I can’t tell you that,’ I say quickly. ‘But it’s water under the bridge. Believe me, we all try to pretend it never happened. The guys would have my balls otherwise. And Maddy’s become a really good mate, actually. There’s nothing there at all.’

She gives a stoic little nod. ‘Thank you. And I know that.’

I watch her face. Watch the troubled thoughts that flit across it as plainly as clouds across a summer sky. ‘So what’s the problem?’ I say. I let one hand skate along the crest of her shoulder, under the glossy comma of her hair and up her neck. As my thumb drags along her jaw, she lets out a tiny sigh and moves her head almost imperceptibly into my touch. I can see the moment she decides to downplay what’s bothering her.

‘There’s no problem. It’s obviously slightly jarring to be confronted with the reality of you and your lifestyle. Those women are incredibly beautiful, and they’re half my age. Yeah, it’s triggered my insecurities over getting naked with you, but I’ll put on my big-girl pants and deal with it. End of story.’

So this is what it’s like to have a conversation with an actual adult. No acting out. No giving me a hard time. No projecting her shit onto me. No passive-aggressiveI’m finewhen she means the opposite.

It’s refreshing.

It’s also kind of heartbreaking.

‘You absolutely don’t need to feel insecure,’ I tell her,sliding my other hand along her shoulder and under her hair so I’m cradling her face. So she can’t look away. ‘I don’t pursue women based on age, the younger the better. I pursue them based on how sexy they are and how alluring I find them. And right now, God bless them, they don’t hold a candle to you. Because you’re the most captivating woman in this building tonight. I have no fucking interest in anyone else.’

Her eyes, almost black in this light, flicker over my face like candlelight in danger of being extinguished. Like they’re searching for a kernel of honesty to latch onto. I smile down at her, stroking my thumbs along her jaw. My feet are planted firmly on either side of hers so she can’t escape.

‘I’m so ready to go it’s not funny,’ I tell her, pressing my body against her so she can see how serious I am. Her eyes widen, and she drops her gaze to where our bodies are flush. ‘We can get started right now if you want.’ I jerk my head towards the doors to The Playroom. ‘But we’re doing this at your pace, not mine. And I promise, your first proper session will be right up your street.’

‘You still haven’t told me what you’ll be doing to me,’ she says, eyes narrowing.

‘I’ll be doing plenty to you,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll tell you about it on camera.’

And then, because I don’t want her pestering me for clues and because that scarlet mouth of hers is twisting deliciously as I grind my erection against her, I lower my face to hers and take those lips in a scorching kiss.

19

CAL

‘Why are you calling me?’ my little sister asks. At least, I think that’s what she asks. It’s not one hundred percent intelligible over the din of toddler shrieks.

They’re happy shrieks, at least.

I think?

It sounds like carnage over there. I glance around my gorgeous, minimalist penthouse flat and inwardly congratulate myself on my life choices so far.

Annabel is married to a fund manager called Giles. They live in Fulham and own way too many Cath Kidston tea towels and have popped out two babies, twenty months apart, which is incidentally the same age gap as between me and her. Obviously, Annabel is my parents’ favourite because she’s produced grandkids and at least pretends to conduct herself like a responsible adult.

She and Giles are indescribably sensible and boring, and if I didn’t adore my sister so much, I’d despise them.

‘Just calling to check in,’ I say, my nonchalance belyingthe fact that she rarely hears from me, WhatsApps and drunken voice notes aside.

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