His hand leaves my neck and grasps the hem of my T-shirt, lifting it and breaking our mouth contact to get it past my head so I’m forced to release his shoulders and lift my arms. My lingering concern for my lack of sexy underwear is long forgotten. I can’t seem to focus on anything except him, his passion and his energy. It’s all-consuming, leaving no room for anxiousness or hesitation. Or, more importantly, that sensible gene that seems to have disappeared into thin air under his attention.

‘Do you feel better?’ he asks, breathing down on me, his groin pressing into my stomach.

‘Yes,’ I gasp, clenching my eyes shut, trying to comprehend what’s happening.

‘Don’t deprive me of your eyes, Livy.’ His hands encase my cheeks. ‘Open.’

I do. I open my eyes, my line of sight leading me straight to shimmering blues.

Leaning in, he kisses me sweetly. ‘I have to keep reminding myself that I need to take this slowly.’

‘I’m fine,’ I assure him, reaching up and resting the flats of my hands on his torso. He’s being a gentleman, and I’m grateful, but I’m not sure that I want him to take it slowly. The desire ripping through me is getting hard to control.

He pulls away and smiles, and I fall some more. ‘I’m looking forward to indulging in you slowly.’ He reaches down and starts to unbutton the fly of my jeans. ‘Really slowly.’

‘Why?’ I ask, stupidly or not.

‘Because something as beautiful as this should be savoured, not rushed. Kick your shoes off.’

I do as I’m bid and watch as he drops to his knees and peels the denim from my legs, tossing my jeans to the side before he hooks his fingers in the top of my knickers. I’m looking down at him as he draws them from my legs slowly, prompting me to lift each leg in turn so he can rid me of my white cotton. Reaching forward with his mouth, he kisses me softly, just north of the apex of my thighs, and I noticeably tense, but not because I’m nervous. I don’t feel any worries. He’s being so careful with me, but the heavy ache, low in my stomach, is intensifying with every second that passes.

He rises to his feet and reaches around my back, finding the clasp of my bra, his mouth resting by my ear. ‘Are you on birth control?’

I shake my head no, hoping it won’t deter him. My periods are regular and light and I’ve not exactly been sexually active.

‘Okay,’ he whispers, pulling my bra from my body. ‘Take my shorts off.’

His instruction makes me hesitate, the potential of him fully na**d unearthing a little bit of nervousness, which is crazy when I’m completely nude myself.

His hands are suddenly on mine and guiding them to the waistband of his shorts. ‘Stay with me, Livy.’ His words drive me into action and I slowly, carefully, push his shorts down his muscled thighs, not daring to look down. I keep my eyes on his superb face, finding it comforting. I can’t, however, avoid the feel of him when he’s free from his shorts and skimming my stomach. I quietly gasp, involuntarily stepping back from him, but he moves with me, his hand sliding around my waist and cupping my bum. ‘Easy,’ he whispers. ‘Relax, Livy.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I drop my head, feeling stupid and frustrated with myself. Those doubts are creeping in again, and he must sense it too because I’m lifted to his chest and walked to the bed, then laid down carefully before he takes something from the top drawer of the bedside table and positions himself over me, astride my waist, his hard, hot penis directly in my line of sight. I’m fixated, even more so when he rises to his knees and clasps himself. I flick my eyes briefly to his face, seeing him looking down, his lips parted and that wave loose on his forehead. It’s a pleasurable sight, but watching him rip the packet of the condom open with his teeth and slowly roll it down his shaft with ease is a light year past pleasurable, which only leaves me wondering what’s to come.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, planting his palms on either side of my head and nudging my thighs open with his knee.

‘Yes.’ I nod as I speak, not quite certain what to do with my hands, which are redundant by my sides, but then I feel him at my opening and they fly up to his chest on a gasp.

He’s staring at me, and my eyes refuse to leave him, even though I desperately want to clench them shut and hold my breath. ‘Ready?’

I nod again, and he pushes forward gently, slowly breaching my entrance and sliding into me on a loud exhale of air. Pain sears through me, making me quietly whimper and dig my short nails into his shoulders. I know my face is etched with discomfort, and there’s nothing that I can do to stop it. It hurts.

‘Jesus,’ he gasps. ‘Jesus, Livy, you’re tight.’ The strained expression on his face tells me he’s in pain, too. ‘Am I hurting you?’

‘No!’ I yelp.

‘Livy, tell me so I can fix it. I don’t want to hurt you.’ He’s braced on his arms, holding still, waiting for me to respond.

‘It hurts a little,’ I admit on a despairing rush of breath.

‘I can tell.’ He eases back gently but doesn’t pull out completely. ‘I have puncture wounds in my shoulders to prove it.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I immediately release him from my vicious grip, and he pushes forward again, only halfway this time.

‘Don’t be. Save your biting and scratching for when I f**k you.’ He smirks, and my eyes widen. ‘Come on, Livy.’ He retreats slowly and rocks gently back in. ‘Don’t be bashful. We’re sharing the most intimate act together.’

I find my h*ps lifting, wanting him to plunge deeper, now that the pain has subsided a little.

‘You’re egging me on.’ He drops to his elbows and gets mouth to mouth with me, easing back and pushing in a little further, circling his groin. ‘Tell me how it feels.’

‘Good!’ I breathe, inviting him to increase his pace with another tip of my hips.

‘I concur.’ He rests his lips over mine and teases my mouth with a brief dash of his tongue. It’s too much. I attempt to capture his lips but he pulls away. ‘Slowly,’ he murmurs, swaying in and out perfectly, gazing down at me and blinking lazily to match his gentle thrusting. This really is intimate, and he’s breaking me in, just like he promised. The quietness surrounding us is only slightly pierced by our matching, quiet, irregular puffs of air. Right now, I’m wondering why I’ve deprived myself of this feeling. This is nothing like I remember. This is how sex should be – two people sharing in each other’s pleasure, not sprinting to the finish line with no consideration for the other person, which is just how I remember my drunken encounters to be. This is worlds away. This is special. This is what I want. I know I shouldn’t be thinking that, especially since I’ve agreed to twenty-four hours and nothing more, but if I’ll have this to remember – him staring down at me, him feeling me, him worshipping me, then I think that I can cope with the aftermath.

I feel internal muscles that I never knew existed contract around him, sensitising me to each delicious drive, pushing me onward to . . . something. I don’t know what, but I know it’s going to be good.

He leans down and kisses my nose, then moves to my lips. ‘You’re tensing inside. Are you going to come?’