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Chapter one

Pixie

Unicorn;noun

A mythical animal typically represented as a horse with a single straight horn projecting from its forehead

The national animal of Scotland

A person (usually a bisexual female) who joins a couple, either for a single sexual encounter as a threesome or for a longer-term relationship

Glasgow, Scotland

If I don’t get at least one screaming orgasm from this experience, I’m giving up being a unicorn. And that would be sad, given that Scotland’s national animal is a unicorn.

Low-level classical music plays inside the hotel lift; the numbers on the panel increasing as it ascends. I have the carriage to myself, and I use the opportunity to stick my tongue out at the image of my reflection in the smoky mirror opposite where I stand. This place is fancy. The marbled floors of the lobby were so shiny I would be able to see my face in them if I got down on my hands and knees to look. I dread to think what a hazard that must be when it rains. And in Scotland, it rains a lot. It’s been drizzling consistently since Laura and I arrived a couple of days ago. This evening has been the first break in the gloomy rain, and I wonder if I should flag this rendezvous and take advantage of the fairer weather to wander the city. The architecture of the buildings fascinates me, and this city is full of interesting people and street art.

I wish we were staying longer. I’d love to explore more, but this is our last night here, so I’ve left my friend, Laura, to catch up with her brother, Alex, before we head back down south tomorrow.

It’d been easy to open up the hook-up app I’ve used on and off over the last couple of years, to search in my current location and see what other people have posted. I learnt early on not to set up my own listing. Unicorns are rare, and when I first advertised my desire to join established couples for a night of fun, I was inundated with requests.No, thank you.Now I onlylook at others’ listings and lean heavily into the vibes I get from the adverts before I make contact.

The listing I saw this afternoon intrigued me, posted only a few minutes before I started scrolling the ads. Call me basic, but the image of a beefy, tatted guy in a kilt lured me in. Even though I couldn’t see his head. I swiped to see a photo of a wonderfully curvy woman (again, headless) in a t-shirt emblazoned with the words, ‘I love men who whimper’ and I was fully onboard. That was before I’d even read the words accompanying the photos.

Come play with us. Looking for a fierce woman to join us for a night of fun. We’re celebrating with orgasms. Wanna join in?

How could I resist?

The lift dings with its arrival at the top floor. I wipe my palms on my jean-clad thighs and draw in a steadying breath before stepping out into a big lobby area. The first thing I notice is there’s only one door, situated between two giant plants in pots taller than I am, standing like sentries on either side of the entrance.

Is this the right place?I check my phone and open up the text convo I had earlier with ‘Saffy’.

Yep, I followed her instructions to the letter. But this looks more like an apartment than a hotel room.Ooh, this must be the penthouse.The previous fancy score has just gone up a notch.

I open up my texts with Laura and quickly type a message:

Me:

This place is fancy AF - I’m going into the only room on the top floor of the hotel I sent you the dropped pin for. Just so they know where to find my body later *winking face emoji*

Her reply is speedy.

Laura:

Please don’t joke about stuff like that. Any hint of red flags and promise me you’ll leave straight away.

Me: