The lights aren’t on in the kitchen, only the hall and the bedroom, and now that it’s gotten dark there’s only the reflected glow of the other lights and the deep orange of the space heater blasting away in the corner.

I put my feet on another chair, lean back, drain the last of whatever the hell concoction I was drinking when the food came. Across the table, Liam’s just about out as well, so he finishes, slides me his glass.

“Your turn to get refills,” he says lazily.

“We should probably put the leftovers in your fridge or something,” I say, not moving a finger, the kitchen spinning slowly, lazily.

Liam’s not wearing a stitch of clothing. He answered the door with nothing but a pillow held over his dick, so I don’t know why he thinks I’m the one who scandalized the delivery boy, but it sure is nice to look at.

I hit that, I think fuzzily. Like three times. And I’m definitely gonna hit that again.

You’ve been drunk all day, having sex with someone you barely know instead of sorting out the mess you’ve made, a tiny voice says. What if instead, you sobered the fuck up and got home?

I hold my glass up to my lips again, hoping to drown that stupid voice once and for all, but it’s empty.

“Dammit,” I say, heave my feet off the chair, grab the glasses, and stand.

The bottle of brandy’s nearly out, so I empty it into our glasses and put it back on the counter.

“You drank all the brandy,” I tell Liam over my shoulder, opening the freezer for ice. I nearly hit myself in the face with the door.

“We’ve already gone over this with the whiskey,” he says. “It was you, because you’re a very bad influence.”

I reach into the freezer. The door half-shuts on me, and I breathe in frost, the chilly air puckering my nipples even through the shirt I’ve stolen from Liam.

“I’m not,” I call, my voice echoing through the cold as I finally locate the ice cubes, way in the back of the freezer, standing on my tiptoes.

I grab them, plunk a few into each glass, brandy splashing out. The freezer door shuts.

“There, I made you a drink,” I say, and boost myself onto his counter top. “But you have to come get it.”

Suddenly Liam grins.

“Don’t you want dessert?” he asks, while I’m mid-sip.

I laugh into my brandy, splashing some of it on my face, and I’m about to tell him just say dick, I know that’s what you mean, but instead he pulls a small cardboard container out of the takeaway bag.

“Did you mean actual dessert?” I ask, shocked.

He doesn’t answer, just winks at me. I take another sip, and he opens the box and takes out something white and cylindrical, a little smaller than a cigarette.

I blink. My brain doesn’t catch up right away, probably because I’ve been drinking steadily for hours now.

“Is that one of those candy stick things you get sometimes?” I ask.

He walks over to me, opens a drawer, pulls something out.

“You think I’d be bragging about getting candy stick things for dessert? What the fuck are you even on about?”

I giggle, because when I’m drunk I’m suddenly a giggler, and lean back against the cabinets.

“You know those mint things you get sometimes, and they’re sort of stick shaped and they’re pretty gross but I don’t know, maybe you like them?”

“Candy canes?”

“No, not candy canes.”

“I think you’re talking about candy canes,” he says, bringing it to his mouth.

He doesn’t eat it. He lights it. Inhales, holds his breath for a long moment, lets the smoke stream out of the side of his mouth, fucking smirking at me.

“It’s not a candy cane,” he says, which is fucking obvious by now, the acrid, herbal smell of pot hitting me full-on.

I’m still leaning against the cabinet, and he comes up to the counter, pushes my knees apart, stands in between them.

“Thought you might like a different kind of fun,” he explains, holding the joint out toward me.

I don’t take it. Thinking is kind of difficult right now, but I’ve got the strong feeling that I probably shouldn’t be smoking right now, not when I’m already tanked practically to the moon already, and not when I should be leaving and getting my shit together starting tomorrow.

I’m not opposed to smoking pot, I just rarely do it. Meaning that I might be stoned until this time tomorrow, since I’ve got almost no tolerance for the stuff.

“I’ll be stoned forever if I do,” I say, not moving.

He’s got one hand on my thigh, slowly inching it up. I bite my lip, wiggle toward him a little.

“Frankie,” he says, blowing smoke again.

“I—”

Suddenly he covers my mouth with his hand, leans in. Even in the near-dark he’s got that dangerous grin in his eyes.

“Wait, let me do the work for you,” he says, and affects a high-pitched voice with a terrible American accent. “I shouldn’t smoke any marijuana right now because I’m already drunk, and I have all sorts of shit that I ought to do like getting my life back together instead of relaxing for a couple of days and getting high with the sexiest man in all of North Britain.”

“Mmph,” I protest.

He’s still got his hand still over my mouth.

“Have some fucking fun, Frankie,” he says, his voice normal again, low and growly, shivers running up my spine. “You deserve it.”

He slides his fingers from my mouth, kisses me slowly. His tongue slides along my lower lip, into my mouth, the soft nicks of his teeth against my lip. It feels like he’s exploring me for the first time again, my body fizzing with the combination of nerves and anticipation.

He’s not wrong. There’s no reason I can’t get my shit together the day after tomorrow, or the day after that.

Fuck it, I think.

Liam pulls away slowly, hand on my leg, thumb stroking the inside of my thigh. Without saying anything I grab his other hand, the one with the joint, hold it up to my lips and inhale deep.

He grins, takes another small hit himself as I hold my breath. I can feel it working before I even exhale: the sensation that the air is suddenly tangible, sliding through my fingers, every inch of my skin sensitized.

I exhale, finally, coughing a little.

“There,” I tease, leaning in. “Now you’ve dragged me down with you.”

We kiss again, slowly, my hands working their way over his neck, his shoulders. Time feels like it’s getting stretchy, pushing and pulling, not that I mind because I’m happy to just do this forever. He pulls away, his mouth on my throat, my neck, one hand squeezing my ass.

I take the joint from him and take another long drag, inhaling as deep as I can because this — right here, right now — is all I want. I want to make questionable decisions with someone I barely know, and I want it to feel so fucking good that I nearly go out of my mind.

I hold my breath, smoke burning my lungs, and then Liam bites one nipple through my shirt and I moan, smoke escaping my mouth as he drags me forward, to the edge of the counter. It’s cold beneath me — I’m not wearing underwear — and I gasp at the sensation.

He takes the joint back. Bites my nipple again, tongue lapping at me through the fabric, pulls away to take another hit and the wet spot from his mouth is cool against me, puckering the nipple rock-hard. I run my hands through his hair, over his shoulders, his neck, his chest, watch him as he lets the smoke leak out of his mouth and holds the joint up for me.

“One left,” he says, and I take the hit right from his hand, then sit, head back, eyes closed for a moment. I’m still half-sloshing, half feeling as if my separate body parts are all drifting away if I don’t open my eyes and watch them, but I don’t really mind. It’s oddly nice to no longer be bothered with having to keep track of my hand, my toes...

I open my eyes, exhale as Liam stubs the end of the joint out right on his counter, not even looking at it. He grabs my shirt, pulls me in and I squeal, nearly falling off the counter, only his solid frame to steady me.

“Careful,” he mumbles, his lips already against mine.

“That was your fault,” I say into his mouth.

He chuckles, puts one hand around the back of my head, runs the other up under my shirt. Pinches my nipple and it’s like I’ve been zapped with electricity, sparks flying through my whole body, my back straightening as I moan.

“As long as that’s my fault, too, I’ll be all right,” he says, and pulls me off the counter.

I nearly fall, but Liam doesn’t seem nearly as affected by the pot or the alcohol as I am, and he catches me, rights me, grabs me by the hips and pushes me against the kitchen counter. We’re moving fast but it feels slow, like as he runs his hand up the inside of my thigh I can feel every ridge of every fingerprint on the soft skin there, like when he strokes my lips with the back of his knuckles each one causes a separate earthquake.

“Jesus,” he mutters into my mouth, and I gasp for air.

“What?”

“You don’t hear yourself?”

I ignore him, duck my head under his, press my lips against his neck, his shoulder, his chest, the urge to have my mouth against Liam overwhelming, unfathomable. I push him backward against his kitchen table, tracing the dark lines of his tattoos with my tongue, moving lower.

I grab his cock as my knees hit his kitchen floor, and I realize he’s got a fistful of my hair, his breath quick and ragged, and I drag my nails down one thigh just because I want to hear him gasp.

He does. He growls the word fuck and then I open my mouth, slide my tongue along the velvety-soft underside of his shaft, flatten it over the ridge, close my mouth around him and listen to his groan.

Now his other hand’s buried in my hair, too, pinpricks along my scalp making my eyes water but it feels good to feel like this, like every nerve in my body is being used. I grip the base a little harder, slide my lips down his cock slowly, purposefully, relishing the sensation of his warm, soft skin against mine until he’s at the back of my mouth and I pull back, running my tongue along his underside as I do.

I look up. He’s watching me, breathing fast and hard, like he’s trying to sear this into his mind forever, and I pause at the tip, swirl my tongue, push my lips down again as Liam groans.

It feels like I’m going slow enough to be glacial, but I’ve completely lost my sense of time. I might suck Liam’s cock for a minute or it might be an hour. I just know that he’s got his hands in my hair, I’m relishing every second of this, listening to him moan and growl, trying to memorize every millimeter of how he feels in my mouth.

Finally, I pull back and he holds me there, tilting my head back, cock bouncing an inch from my lips. His hands on my head are the only thing anchoring me to reality, otherwise I think I might float away, and as he looks at me without speaking I run my hands over my body, grabbing my breasts, pinching my nipples between my fingers.

“You didn’t finish,” I whisper.

“I didn’t yet,” he says, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Before I know it, I’m standing, then I’m in the air and I yelp out loud, the sound echoing off the stones of his little cottage. In seconds we’re out of the kitchen and in the bedroom, where Liam tosses me onto the bed, everything a blur of motion.

Then he’s on top of me, pinning my legs wide, mouth rough and needy against mine. I kiss him once and then shove him off, roll him onto his back. He lets me, grinning as I straddle him, my hands on his shoulders.

I can hear my own heart thumping, desire rattling through my veins with every beat: I want, I want. He runs his hands down my back, grabs my ass in both fists.

“Fucking tigress,” he growls when I let his mouth go. “I ought to let you have your way all the time.”

I kiss the side of his neck, lips under his ear. The world swirls, turns, the only solid thing in it the two of us so I reach down, grab his cock.

“If I am, it’s your fault,” I whisper, stroking him.

He smacks my ass with one hand, hard, the sting zipping through my body as I bite his neck harder, suck the skin there so he doesn’t go forgetting where he’s been.

“I can live with that so long as I go on reaping the rewards,” he murmurs.

I bite him one more time and then lean back, guiding him into me as I sit on him, my hands still on his chest as I gasp.

“Jesus fucking yes,” he whispers.

I sit back until my weight’s on him and he’s hilted inside me. I feel like I’m floating somewhere in the clouds as Liam grabs my hips, squeezing me hard, and I start rocking back and forth without even pulling out, just letting his cock move back and forth.

“Just like that,” he says, his eyes at half-mast. “Fuck me slow and hard just like that and it’s perfect.”

He’s right. I think I say something back, but even as I’m speaking my mind is ahead, elsewhere, leaning back with one hand on his thigh and he thrusts lightly, slowly, and it hits a spot deep inside me that nearly makes my body go limp.

“More,” I whisper, the only word my brain can form right now.

He does it again, hands rough on my hips, breathing ragged.

“Like that?” he whispers, his voice rough. “Is that how you want to fuck me, Frankie?”

I can only nod, every ounce of my attention completely focused on this, the intersection of our bodies, the way we fit together so well and I didn’t even know it.

I feel like a virgin getting fucked for the first time. I feel like a college girl who’s just gotten her first vibrator, like sex is completely brand-new. He keeps fucking me, slowly, and I keep riding him, our bodies moving together in a perfect rhythm that I never want to end.

His hands are everywhere on me. Liam grabs my breasts, sliding his fingers around my nipples, pinching them as he does. Each time our movements get a little harder, faster, more frantic, until at last his fingers are around my clit, slippery with our juices.

I last one more second and then I come, fingers closing around Liam’s thighs, head back, half-screaming. It’s like I’ve come in from the cold to a warm bath, a total shock to my system, every fiber of my being lit up and wailing.

I shake. I convulse. I’m mindless, coming and bucking, feeling as if my skin’s melting and my body’s coming apart at the joints and then Liam grabs me, pulls me down. His body goes rigid and even though I’m coming as hard as I am, I suddenly feel him stiffen and jerk inside me while he shouts, head back, every muscle in his body tensed.

I bend forward, hinging at the hips, pressing my face to his, finding his lips with mine. Even as I move off him, let him slip softly out of me, I’m still craving him. I feel strangely like I need him to put me back together as we roll onto our sides, still in each other’s arms.

At last he tucks my head under his chin, one hand stroking my back as I breathe against his collarbone, half thinking about how odd it is that under our skin is just blood and muscle and bone, half looking at an old tattoo of a roaring lion that he’s got right there, the lines slightly blurred and faded.

“D’you remember asking me what I’d get you to say if I wanted you to talk dirty?” he murmurs, the thick burr of his voice vibrating through the top of my head.

“You wouldn’t tell me,” I say.

“You got it right anyway,” he says, a smile in his voice. “Just shout my name over and over while you come, it’ll do nicely.”