“Well, colour me surprised. You are a gentleman, after all,” I say.
He laughs. “Don't tell Debretts. They haven’t used this measurement yet.”
Silence falls, and I lie for a long while with his arm lax across my stomach. His breath is hot on my shoulder, and I can smell sex and his warm scent. Eventually, I stir. “I’m definitely having a shower this time,” I announce. “I smell like a regular at a brothel, and I’ve got come in places that a decent boy would blush at.”
He chuckles lazily. “Good job you’re not a decent boy, then.” I laugh. “I like the way you smell anyway.”
“I suppose you would, you Neanderthal. You were the one using your dick like a hose.”
I wriggle out from under his arm as he makes lazy complaining noises and finally stand up.
“Just so you know, I’m totally going to use up all the expensive bath shit in your bathroom, Max.”
“Even the hairnet? Surely that can’t contain your mop.”
I shrug. “I nick them, but I have no idea why. Who actually ever uses them? They always look like they’ve been sitting there since the eighties. I’m taking the bathrobe and slippers though.” I look around the room. “And the biscuits and the little tubs of milk.”
“Thank you for enlightening me on your kleptomaniac tendencies. It’s good to be forewarned. Are you sure you don’t want the kettle too?”
“I’ve got one of those already,” I say in a lordly fashion. “But you can never have enough sugar sachets.”
His laughter follows me as I wander through to the bathroom, pinching an apple from the bowl on the table as I go.
The bathroom contains a smorgasbord of products, and after eating my apple and pawing through the selection, I settle on an organic oat-and-honey body scrub and ensconce myself in the shower with my phone blaring music as I lather up.
I’m singing along to Lady Gaga when the glass door opens. “Hello,” I say, grinning at Max. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“It’s a joyous surprise,” he says wryly and holds out his hand for some soap. I squirt it into his palm and am utterly discombobulated when he starts to run his soapy hands over my body.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He peers at me, looking slightly confused. “I would have thought it was fairly obvious, but as you’re a little slow, I can inform you that I’m washing your body.”
“But why?”
He shrugs. “Felt like it.” He gives me a leering glance that makes me relax immediately. “I happen to like your body when it’s naked.”
“Of course you do. You’re not alone in that sentiment.” I sigh dramatically. “Have at it, then. Who am I to deprive you of all of this perfection?”
“Thank you,” he says solemnly and proceeds to wash me. He moves on to shampooing my hair, and my eyes close at the amazing scalp massage he offers.
“You’re wasted as a journalist. You could take this up professionally,” I inform him, and he chuckles. His naked body brushes against mine, and although I can feel that his cock is hard again, he makes no attempt at doing anything.
“I’m not actually a journalist anymore, but thank you for offering me an alternative career path as a naked shampooer. I’ve been at a bit of a loss as to what to do next.”
I swing round to look at him. “You’re not a journalist anymore?” He shakes his head. “So, what do you do?”
He gives me a wry glance. “Hang around in Waterstones and pick up snarky men?”
“Good luck with that. You don’t tend to find a lot of them in there. Your sex life is going to take a drastic dive.”
“I don’t know about that.” He tips my head back and rinses my hair, grabbing a towel when he’s finished so I can dry my eyes. “It’s looking pretty fucking good at the moment.”
I eye him as I step out of the shower. “So, why have you packed up journalism?”
He grins at me, the water cascading down his exceptional body. “Haven’t you read my book yet? The details are all in there.”
I shrug. “I’m waiting for the right moment. It’s unlikely to come during this millennium, so give me the Cliffs Notes version.”
He bursts out laughing. “You’re absolutely terrible for my ego.”
“And yet something tells me it will be fine,” I say wryly. I raise my eyebrow. “Well?”
He looks slightly awkward. “I actually tried to retire from overseas assignments last year, but it never took. I missed the adrenaline rush too much, so I went back.” He pauses, and a funny expression crosses his face. It looks almost haunted. “I shouldn’t have gone back because my reflexes had dulled enough to cause problems.” He shrugs. “So, I retired again.”
“And what are you going to do apart from write things that entail whole forests being decimated to print your very wordy words?”
The haunted look vanishes, and he laughs with what seems like relief. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”
“Will you cover domestic news?”
He shakes his head immediately. “No, that’s not for me.”
“Not enough excitement at dog shows and talent competitions?”
He steps out of the shower and takes the towel that I hold up for him. “I fancy something different, but I’m not sure what. So, until I decide, I’m going to hang out in expensive hotel rooms and pick up men in bookshops.”
“Find a cheaper hobby,” I advise. I consider him for a few moments. “Why don’t you write a crime novel?”
“What?” He looks startled.
“You were so disturbingly emphatic about your ability to commit the perfect crime, so put your money where your mouth is and write that.”
His mouth drops open in surprise. “I’ve never considered that.”
“Just a thought. This way, you can actually use your casual hobby of dreaming up horrific murders.”
He leans against the counter, watching me as I pick up a tube and squeeze it.
“What are you doing?” he asks, a thread of laughter running through his voice.
“Applying a face mask to keep my youthful complexion.” I look down at the packaging. “It protects against the toxins of modern life.”
“Not sure they’ll help against The Sun and Piers Morgan.”
I laugh, and silence falls for a long second as I apply the mask. Then he shifts position. “I’ve been thinking,” he announces.
“Somehow, I know that means trouble.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong.” He pauses. “No, it’s just that I really enjoy your company. You make me laugh, and you’re an excellent shag.”
“You sound like you’re considering adding that to my CV.”
“Would it help?”
“It would really open up the job market for me.” I eye him, my heart picking up to a panicky pace. “What are you saying here, Max?”
He gives an awkward shrug. “I just thought that maybe we could do this a bit more.”
I stare at him, flabbergasted.
He rushes to explain. “Not in a seeing each other type of situation. God, no. I absolutely don’t ever want that. It’s more of a meeting up if we ever fancy a shag with no strings at all.”