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Macsen looked like he was thinking for a second, then held his hand out for the vodka.

He took a big swig and grinned. I thought I was about to get my jacket back but he looped his fingers through the belt loops of his jeans, lifted his hips off the sofa and pulled them off.

I was now face level with his crotch, constrained as it was by a pair of navy briefs that left little to the imagination.

“Go big or go home,” he said.

“Fine.” I held out my hand for the vodka and took off the other sock. I took too big a swig and spluttered but did my best to smile at him. I washed the vodka down with beer. “Now we’re more even,” I said. I’d not eaten much and could feel the alcohol getting to my head.

“So…when was your last fuck?” Macsen asked.

“Not fair! You already asked that question!”

“Nope, not in the rules,” he parroted back at me.

“Bastard.” I took off my jacket, feeling naked despite the shirt and trousers. I was at maximum three tough questions away from being naked. I took another big swig of the vodka. I was more used to the burn now, so took an extra sip.

“When was the last time you saw your mother?” I asked. I had no idea where the question had come from, but Macsen’s face soured. The last time I’d seen him he had left home for seemingly the last time. It had taken us quarter of an hour to notice he was gone.

“Two weeks ago. I popped in for a cuppa,” he said.

“Are things OK between you now?” I asked. I still remembered the day he’d walked out. It had taken about fifteen minutes for anyone to realise he was gone and hours for anyone to realise he wasn’t coming back any time soon.

“One question only, Hywel.” Macsen looked at me with evil in his eyes. “So. I’ll ask again. When was your last fuck?”

I hesitated for a second. Did I want to take my shirt or trousers off? No way. Did I want to answer this question? Still no way. “Two weeks ago. My boyfriend…ex-boyfriend now, Brian — fucked me in the shower, in our apartment.”

“Fucking hell, I didn’t ask for any extra details,” said Macsen with an evil grin. “Hot though.”

“Yes, it was. Until I found out I was his second that day.” I looked directly into Macsen’s eyes. I wanted to see if he’d revel in my misery.

Instead, he winced. “That’s rough. Sorry to hear. Hit me with your worst question.”

“When was yours?” I asked.

“Four weeks ago. Not long before I moved in here.” Macsen held his beer bottle up, realising that he had emptied it, and held out his hand for the vodka.

I gave it to him and he swigged it as easily as drinking water and wiped his mouth with the back of one hand.

I was normally one for more proper types — bankers, investors, Oxbridge graduates.

But something about his raw animalism turned me on.

“My question,” he said. I finished my beer in the break between the statement and his next question. “Why stay with me? You’re rich, you’re successful. Why not get a hotel elsewhere? You can afford the taxis.”

I could lie. I could say that I wanted to be closer to my car, or closer to Prentis.

But one thing one didn’t do in a business negotiation was lie.

And this felt like the highest stakes business negotiation I’d ever had.

I took the vodka from him for some liquid courage, and slowly unbuttoned my shirt.

When I let it drop behind me I knew I didn’t imagine the way Macsen’s eyes roamed downwards.

I wasn’t hugely confident. I had been going to the gym consistently for years but plenty of Michelin star meals had left me with a little bit of extra weight.

But Macsen looked at me like he was hungry for me.

“As you asked a question twice earlier I guess I can do the same…why did you choose to move in here?”

“Fuck, no.” Macsen took the vodka from me and took a big gulp down. He could take the jacket off now and draw even with me.

But of course, he didn’t. He used one hand to shuffle his briefs off and used the other to cover his manhood.

I did my best not to peek, but I kept feeling my gaze drifting downward.

I knew he noticed too because every time I looked at him he was looking right at me.

“As I said, go big or go home,” he said.

“Fucking hell, man.” When my gaze drifted down again, I noticed he was struggling to contain himself under one hand. The vodka, beer and sexual frustration all caused me to say something I wouldn’t have been caught dead saying otherwise. “Getting excited?”

“Shut up,” said Macsen. He put the vodka down to put the other hand over his cock but I knew he was getting hard. I was too, but I was being constrained by my boxers and trousers. “Fine. Who have you fucked in the village? Before you went to London, I mean.”

I felt myself blush. “Pass me the fucking vodka. I don’t shag and tell.”

I ripped off my trousers, leaving me sat in my boxers with one arm carefully angled to disguise my hardening erection. It felt like we were on a rollercoaster ride, hurtling rapidly toward what we both knew was about to happen but that neither of us would admit to.

“How about you?” I asked.

“No one. I was living in Aberystwyth by the time I started fucking…and Llywelyn, Tudor, Glyn…none of them took me fancy. That new nerdy guy in the memorabilia shop though? I would do whatever he asked.” Macsen laughed.

I looked down again at his crotch, and this time I knew he was watching me. His hands were struggling to hide it now, and I could see the head poking out from behind them.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Macsen asked me.

“Is that your question?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“Then yes, I am feeling uncomfortable,” I admitted.

Macsen blushed and his expression became inscrutable. He leaned forward to grab his briefs from the floor. I moved them further away, out of his reach. I was feeling bold, brave tipsy and incredibly fucking horny. “I didn’t say I wanted this to stop.”