‘Since you’re asking nicely,’ I said pertly, placing it on the bedside table.
His eyebrows crept higher.
‘And if I didn’t?’ he asked with deceptive politeness.
I felt the delicious danger prickle at my skin.
I shrugged, sniggering self-consciously, like a kid caught passing notes in class.
‘Lie down on your stomach,’ he said.
I had been expecting more banter before business so I didn’t react straightaway, until he took a step closer to me and then I threw myself face down on the duvet, hiding in its clean, comfortable folds.
‘So,’ he said, and the mattress groaned under his weight. He straddled me, his knees either side of my thighs, my legs pressed down. ‘I’m your bitch, am I?’
‘No,’ I giggled.
‘But that’s what your friends think I am. Your friends think that I crawl around this flat on my hands and knees in tight leather shorts, until you decide to take them down and thrash my arse. Don’t they?’
‘Maybe something like that,’ I mumbled.
‘Yeah, maybe something like that. Do you know what I think you should do? I think you should call them up on the phone later on and describe some of the things that I’ve done to you. Do you think that’s fair?’
‘Depends what you do,’ I said. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I haven’t made my final decision yet,’ he said. ‘But you can be fairly sure that these aren’t going to be necessary.’
He yanked down the pyjama shorts, raising himself up for a moment so that they could rest around my knees.
I yelped and tried to wriggle out from under him, but he clamped his legs tight around me and smacked his hand down on my bare bum.
‘You’re going to keep still, Pip,’ he said. ‘And behave yourself. Aren’t you?’
‘I’ll try.’
Another smack.
‘I need a bit more commitment than that,’ he warned.
‘I’ll be good,’ I promised. ‘But what are you going to do?’
‘Something I’ve been thinking of doing for years. But somehow never had the confidence to suggest. Until now.’
‘Why now?’
‘I’m not worried you’ll think I’m a disgusting pervert any more. You know I am.’
‘That’s for sure.’
‘Good. So you won’t be too shocked by what I’m about to do to you.’
He got off me and began rummaging in his work bag, which he’d dropped by the side of the bed. I twisted my neck to watch him. His face was redder. He was still a little bit nervous, for all his bravado. I wanted to hold his hand and tell him it would be OK. How absurd – what would be OK? I didn’t even know.
His hand emerged from the bag wrapped around a small squeezy bottle full of colourless gel. He put it down and I read the label. ‘Slide-a-ride’. It was a lubricant. We’d never used lube before because, well, I usually didn’t need any assistance in that department. Dan only had to look at me a certain way for my knickers to flood.
So …
He reached into the bag again and pulled out a rectangular cardboard and cellophane presentation package, of the kind you might get a set of bath products wrapped in at Christmas. Except there were no body lotions or bath salts in this box.