Page 24 of A is for Aftercare

“But what if he says yes?” Calvin asks.

I snort. “Aye, right. I think hell would sooner freeze over.”

“You won’t know if you don’t ask,” Gabe says.

“Either way, it would be fucking awkward,” I snap. “Ifhe says yes—and it’s a big fuckin’ if—everything might be okay for a wee while, but what happens if we have a rammy or break up?”

Gabe frowns. “Arammy?”

“Aye, you know, an argument?”

Gabe laughs. “I didn’t, but now I do.”

“Are you wanting a relationship or sex?” Calvin asks.

That pulls me up short. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything that could be called a relationship. The last time I was serious about a guy was long before I moved to London. An infatuation is a million miles from a relationship. It’s best to focus on what I want right now.

“I want him on his knees,” I whisper.

All kinds of other fantasies pour into my mind, of Archie naked and tied to my bed, blindfolded, while I tickle him with a feather or run ice cubes over his skin. While I kiss him, touch him, and make love to him.

I run my hand over my face, trying to scrub the naughty daydream away. “I need another drink.” I glance at their glasses, but they’re both mostly full.

It doesn’t take me long to get served and take my drink back to my friends.

“What do I do?” I reply.

I know the answer. I have to ignore my lust for Archie and just get on with it. Eventually, I've no doubt it'll die down. But the truth is, I haven't lusted after anyone in quite some time. I go through the motions at my parties, happy to play the Dom to anyone who wants a spanking or to experience some sensory play, but none of the men I've played with has captivated me. For some reason, Archie Morris has got under my skin, and I'm not sure why.

“I’m guessing from the invitations he sent us that he doesn’t know what kind of parties you throw,” Calvin says, scratching the patch of hair on his chin.

“No.”

“Why don’t you tell him and see what his reaction is?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“He’ll run a mile.”

“Or he’ll ask if he can come to one,” Gabe says.

“Would it be a bad thing if he runs?” Calvin asks. “At least then you wouldn’t have to be in the same room as a guy you want but have told yourself you can’t have.”

“Of course I can’t have him.” I sip my beer. Even though it’s good ale, it goes down like a stone. “Would you ever screw one of the models you photograph?”

Calvin straightens a little. “That’s different.”

“How?”

"I'm in a position of responsibility, and my models are often letting themselves be very vulnerable around me. I'd never abuse that." He drinks a good-sized gulp of beer. "But if I were to meet a guy I'd photographed in a bar or a nightclub, that would be different."

I’m not sure I see much difference between not fucking a model and not fucking my PA. My friends are definitely not helping to douse my physical attraction to Archie. And that’s all it is. I only met him three days ago, for fuck’s sake. I’m lusting over a sexy young man. The fact that he’s a superfan is probably adding to my infatuation with him—it’s always nice to have my ego stroked.

“What if he found out about the parties by accident?” Gabe muses.

“By accident?”