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“I’ll give you five orgasms later if you agree to meet me. And you can be as loud as you like.”

“I’m working today.” I pout, the promise of getting my rocks off seeming to dissipate more with every passing moment.

“What time do you get off?” I smile at his question. He rolls his eyes. “When do you finish work, you heathen?”

“Officially 9 pm, but I usually just stay until closing if I’ve nothing else on.”

“And what time’s that?”

“11 pm on a weeknight.”

“But you can finish at 9?”

“Yeah, as long as we have enough staff in.”

“Bar? Or restaurant?” he asks. I stiffen at the question.

“What makes you think it’s one of those?”

“The hours you’re keeping. What bar is it? I can come and pick you up.”

“Ha, nice try. But I can come and meet you. Where are you staying?” He names the fanciest local hotel, and my brows spike up in surprise.

“I would have thought you’d be in the Travelodge. Isn’t that where they normally put the workmen?” I ask.

I swear a blush rises on his cheeks.What’s that about?“I had some points to use up. I decided to splash out for the first week.”

“Well, in that case, I’m happy to help you make the most of it. I can come there from work. Should be with you by 9.15 pm.”

“How will you get there?” He frowns. I fidget, realising he’s still pinning me up on the wall. It’s pretty comfortable, even with my jeans still open. I push at his shoulders. and he eases me down to my feet. I reach to button up my trousers, but he gets there first. I tremble when his knuckles graze my belly as he does up the zip and button.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“How will you get there?” He repeats his question.

“It’s not far. I’ll walk.”

He shakes his head mutinously. “No.”

“What do you mean, no? I’m a grown ass woman. I can do what I like.” My defiance raises its head.

“Get a taxi.” His tone is bossy.

“For a five-minute journey that I can walk in ten? No, thank you.” I’m arguing for the sake of it now.

“Then the arrangement is off.” He sounds so final. Is this it? The moment when I’ve finally been out-stubborned? It had to happen sometime, but I’m proud of my thirty-year streak.

“Come on, Cam. I live here. I know the routes to take to stay safe. You don’t need to worry.”

“Call me,” he says. “Call me before you leave your work building, and we can talk on your walk over. Or just keep an open line in case you need it.”

I ponder it for a moment. It would mean he’d have my number. But if the man is promising me a ratio of five orgasms to one—and I’m not doubting that he can deliver that—then I think he’s probably earning the right to my phone number.

“Okay. But only on the proviso that you don’t use my number for anything too serious. Drunk booty calls and ‘you up’ messages when you’re horny only, okay?”

He lets loose a chuckle, causing a warmth to spread through me. “Of course,” he agrees.

I guess that’s alright then. I’m doing this. If only to see if he can pull off the five orgasms. And maybe a little because it’s really damn good to see him again.