Thinking before acting had never been something I was particularly consistent with, so taking a quick photo of the side of my boob and sending it to Max wasn’t a considered move.

The dancing dots appeared and then went. Five minutes, then they were back again.

I pulled my hair over a nipple, letting a little bit of pink slip through, changed my phone to selfie mode and snapped a picture. I edited it straight away, adding horns and a tail to my boob. I didn’t make it a habit to send pictures of my anatomy to anyone, but the vibe I had received from Max so far was that pretty much anything was safe with him, although I had a feeling he had a side that would come out differently when he was in the bedroom.

I liked sex; I liked it rough and hot and gentle and long. I liked a good fuck up against a wall or being taken quickly in a bathroom. I loved the feel of a man and what my body could do to him. I liked to experiment and role play, and I liked someone who knew what he was doing with a woman. I did have an exhibitionist streak and I liked my body being looked at. Standing at the window with just my hair covering my nipples, knowing that Max was looking even though we’d barely even kissed was exhilarating.

My curtains were now closed, the lights dim. I lay naked on my bed, eyes on my phone, waiting for his response. My other hand slipped between my legs where I was wet to the point of dripping and I began to stroke my clit in circular motions, imagining Max was there with me, pinching my nipples, biting at them, fingering me.

My orgasm happened quickly and violently, hips lifting off the bed and I cried out involuntarily as my body shook. Once the earthquake had subsided, I lifted my hand and looked at my fingers that were coated with my juices. I took a photo and saved it. Maybe at some point I’d send it Max. Maybe.

My heart pounded, overtaking the fact that I was insanely turned on again by his words. I wasn’t sure about dating. A good fuck was more than welcome, and I had no doubt that Max would be good—what I had felt through his jeans was bigger than my favourite vibrator—but I knew already that he would be good at the whole dating scene.

My finger hovered ready to type a response. I knew what I wanted to say, it could just change things. There was a chance that after I’d completed my PhD I wouldn’t be staying in London. Opportunities could lie elsewhere and having a steady boyfriend would create complications. But I wanted to spend time with Max, to get to know him, to see if he lived up to his dirty talk.

The banter we’d been exchanging via email spilled into our text messages over the weekend. I took to sending him useless history facts; he sent me comments on what his siblings were doing, including a few photographs usually of Seph in inevitably stupid poses. By Monday morning, I’d achieved a hell of a lot of work to support my dissertation, arranged to meet a historian in Ypres in November and had decided that a date with Max wasn’t going to be that scary.

Jackson called me shortly after lunch on Monday to ask me to go into his office to see him regarding some paperwork that needed signing and to have a quick chat over what he had done so far. I was surprised by how quickly he had got around to contacting my grandfather’s lawyers, given the other cases I knew he must have on, and I wondered if Max had pulled strings to get his brother to start it so fast.

The offices of Callaghan Green were set in one of the older buildings near Borough Market and I was met by a tidy and well organised reception and a smiling woman.

“I’m here to see Jackson Callaghan,” I said confidently. Although I didn’t have a clue about the intricacies of law, except for some of its history, I was very rarely intimidated by places or situations or people. If Jackson managed to send some of my grandfather’s inheritance my way, he would take a fee, so I didn’t feel indebted towards him or overawed by his reputation.

“He’s expecting you. Take a seat and I’ll let him know you’re here.”

I smiled and sat down, picking up a legal magazine that had the recognisable face of Maxwell Callaghan on the front. I kept my laughter to myself and started reading through the article on him, listing his achievements, his formidable presence in court, the major cases he’d won and the small section on his personal life where he refuted having a girlfriend and insinuated that he was married to his job.

“I’m more fun than what that article makes out,” a voice whispered into my ear and I jumped in surprise, almost hitting the ceiling. “I think I am anyway.”

“I’d say so. I take it the journalist didn’t know about your liking for dirty talk?”

His eyes shone wickedly. “She didn’t send me cleavage shots first thing on a Monday morning,” he said quietly so he couldn’t be overheard.

I wanted to touch him, to bring his face to mine and let his tongue in my mouth, but the receptionist was watching us in amusement and this was where he worked.

“Jackson asked me to come in,” I said, fighting the urges.

“I know. Follow me.” He led me through the building, passed a dark wood staircase with intricate carvings and original tiles on the floor to a dark wood door with Jackson’s name on it.

Jackson was sitting behind a desk, his phone stuffed between his ear and shoulder, both hands full of paperwork. “I know Van, but they can’t start until next week, so you’ll have to get the delivery put back. It’s one of those things.” He looked up at us and scowled at Max who was doing some sort of action with his thumb. “I have to go; Max is here with Victoria. Love you. See you tonight. Yes, wear that.” There was a dirty laugh. “Seriously. People in my office.”

“How fucking under the thumb can you be?” Max said, taking a seat. I now understood the gesture.

Jackson didn’t look fazed. “One day you’ll understand. Ignore my brother, Victoria. He has some issues that he’s been working through for a while.”

I heard Max swear under his breath.

“I’ve spoken to your brother’s solicitor this morning and asked to see the will they claim they have in their possession. I mentioned to them that once any such document materialised I would be having an independent expert look at it to ensure it wasn’t fraudulent as part of our due diligence. They’re getting back to me,” Max said.

“You didn’t have issue getting my grandfather’s solicitor to pass the case to you?” I said, surprised already. I’d been telling myself for months that I’d rather keep my sanity than have a fight with my brother over the money.

“None whatsoever. Your fees should’ve been paid out of your grandfather’s estate from the start, so all the bills you received from them and the refusal to do any work until you were up to date with costs were completely bogus and seem to be a stalling tactic, which I’ve claimed. I’ve also told them I’m reporting them to the solicitors’ regulation authority, so to put it in layman’s terms, they’re fucking shitting themselves. That’s as far as we’ve got.” He gestured to a file on his desk. “I need you to have a look through those and sign where I’ve starred. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble understanding what’s there, but Max has offered to go through it with you anyway.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much for this,” I said, picking up the file. “What should I tell my brother when he contacts me. He won’t be happy about this so he will be in touch.”

“That’s easy,” Max said. “You tell him to fuck off and that if he needs to contact you he does so through your solicitors. Unless you have a good relationship and you do want to talk to him.”

I shook my head. My half-brother was several years older than me. He hadn’t got along with my father, who my mother had married after her first husband—Francis’ father—died. After my parents were killed in a car accident he’d hated me even more. I was the apple of my grandparents’ eye and although they’d treated him fairly, he’d been inexplicably jealous. “I’d rather not speak to him again. If he gets in contact I’ll tell him that. Thank you.”

Jackson nodded as his phone began ringing. Max gestured to follow him out and he led me to another office, slightly larger, messier, with an old antique looking table near the window. “My room,” he said, almost proudly. “I think I spend most of my life here.”

“I think that about my computer. I spend most of the time at it. Is there anything in here that you don’t think I’ll understand?”

He shook his head and pulled a chair over to me, taking me through each page one at a time, adding in comments about the history behind the legalities and where certain terms stemmed from. He was patient and animated, clearly in love with his subject, as I had expected him to be.

“You never told me you taught history,” I said, my leg pressed against his, the warmth being passed through going straight to my centre.

“Don’t insult me, Victoria,” he said, his voice deep and melodious. “You know I don’t have time for pointless subjects.” He was teasing, his smile broad.

“You were loving all those history facts I sent you over the weekend,” I said, weakly punching his upper arm.

“I loved the photos more.” His gaze dropped from my eyes to my chest and lingered long enough for desire to bubble in me. I dug in my back pocket for my phone. Keeping the screen hidden from him I sent him the picture of my fingers.

His phone pinged, the photo thankfully not coming up on screen. “I changed the settings to protect your modesty,” he said, unlocking the screen. “Fuck, Vic. Is this what I think it is?”

I sent him another, one I’d taken this morning as I was getting ready, a mirror selfie where I was wearing a black lace bra and matching panties, my nipples visible through the fine lace. My face was out of the picture; not that I didn’t trust Max. You just never knew who might end up with his phone or mine.

“Is this what you’re wearing now?” he said, his voice low and gruff.

“Yes,” I said. “Do you like it?”

He groaned, burying his head in his hands. “What am I going to do with you?” he said, more to himself that to me. “I lasted less than thirty seconds jacking off to that photo you sent last night! I’m seriously concerned that should I ever get the opportunity to be inside you, I’d be a massive disappointment. You’ve turned me into the teenage boy I never was, Victoria.”

I stood up and pushed my chair away, turning him around so I was facing him. I cupped his chin with one hand and made him look at me. “We have a date on Wednesday. If we still like each other after that, let’s go out Friday. Then we have the weekend.”

He shook his head. “I can do Friday but I’m going to see my sister on Saturday.” He lost some of his swarthy colouring; clearly something there was bothering him. “Friday and Sunday. That’ll be three dates.”

“You have a three date rule?” He looked at me, puzzled. “No sex until after the third date?”

Max laughed, his hands holding my hips. “I want you to know that I’m attracted to you for you and not just the best pair of tits I’ve ever seen parts of.”

“I get that,” I said, perching my ass on his desk. My fingers went to the buttons on my shirt and started to undo them slowly. His eyes stared, transfixed. My bra became exposed and his hands froze, still on my hips. Between my legs, my pussy burned and I yearned for some friction to ease the ache, but the waiting would make it sweeter and clearly both Max and I were happy with delayed gratification.

The bra had a front fastening and came undone easily, pinging back and letting my breasts spill out. I was big for my frame and they were perky. An ex-boyfriend had once suggested that I could always fall back on being an erotic model if I ever fell short. The idea had turned me on, but I was too aware of the pitfalls it could’ve caused professionally and my heart was in history and making a name for myself as an academic.

I pinched my nipples, making them harder still and Max’s breath became deeper, faster.

“Is your door locked?” I said. We were side on to the door and large bay window which had privacy glass installed.

“No,” he said. “And my brothers and Payton will walk in.” He kept eye contact with me whilst speaking which softened me further towards him.

“I shouldn’t stay like this for too long then,” I said, taking hold of his hands in mine and guiding them to my breasts.

His touch was light, reverent, a finger on each hand tracing over the skin in concentric circles, making their way to my nipples which were puckered and hard enough to cut glass. He pinched sharply, sending an electric current straight through to my pussy. I knew I was soaked already. And then his mouth was on my left nipple, nipping and sucking. He switched to the right, leaving the left shiny and cooling from his mouth, his hand caressing the flesh.

“How wet are you?” he said, his fingers now working magic, pinching and stroking and massaging.

“You wouldn’t need to do anything else to be inside me,” I said honestly. I didn’t know how I was going to get back home without having to bring myself to orgasm somewhere.

“I don’t want you to touch yourself until I make you come,” he said, then kissed each nipple.

“When will that be?” I wasn’t sure I could keep such a promise.

“After Sunday. I’ll do the same too. And I want more pictures of your underwear. And of these.” He tugged and I gasped. I was close to orgasm and he knew it. A hand slipped down my body and up my skirt. His fingers stopped at the top of my thighs. “You’re so wet your panties are soaked through.

He pushed his chair back and pushed my skirt up. At first I thought he was going to go down on me, but instead he started to devour my juices from my thighs, completely ignoring where I needed it most. He bit the soft flesh, then licked and kissed it, leaving my breasts exposed.

A knock sounded at the door and I jumped. He laughed and stilled me with his hands. “Come back in five,” he shouted gruffly, reminding me of the man who I had met nearly two weeks ago. Then he gave one quick kiss to my clit and moved back, staring into my eyes and holding my breasts with his hands. “You taste like my every favourite thing.”

I was passed coherent speech, only capable of thrusting my breasts into his hands and causing him to laugh.

“I could have you right here, over my desk and pound into your pussy like the world was ending around us. I want you coming on my cock so hard that the only name you know is mine and then I’m going to do it to you all over again, so when you walk everyone knows what you’ve been doing and everyone knows who you belong to.” His eyes were dark and wild. He let go of my breasts, leaving me exposed to his gaze.

“The only person I belong to is myself,” I managed to hiss, broadening my chest and spreading my legs, keeping the power with me because he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

He didn’t smile. Instead his hand went to his trousers, undoing the zip and pulling out his cock. He was large and thick and I couldn’t stop the quiet moan that fell from my mouth when I saw it. He stroked himself and my chest began to rise and fall, my breathing laboured.

A knock at the door sounded again. “Max, your client’s here.”

“Make them a coffee and I’ll see them in room three,” he said, his hand still on his cock.

“Maxwell,” I said, quietly, not wanting to be heard. “We need to come. I want you to fuck me, but if you’re not going to, let me get myself off while you come on my tits.”

I pulled my skirt up round my waist and slid off my panties, deciding to leave them there for Max—they were too sodden to put back on. My hand went to my centre and I pushed a finger inside me, watching him watching me. His hand on his cock began to move faster as he watched, drawing closer. I saw pre-come glistening at the tip and licked my lips, wanting him in my mouth, then between my tits.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice a low whisper. “Everything about you is so fucking beautiful. Your pussy, your tits, your fucking legs. But it’s your feistiness that gets me, your independence and your intellect. You don’t stop captivating me.”

My fingers moved around my clit and I felt my orgasm running up at pace. He came closer, one hand still touching his cock, the other on me, two fingers pushing into my tight cunt. I came immediately, his fingers skilled and demanding, trying to hold in my cries. Hot lines of come spurted from him onto my breasts and he let loose a low call of my name, his fingers still inside me.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck.” I watched his face; he was mesmerised with his semen coating my chest.

I grabbed my phone and took a picture, keeping my head out of the frame. “There,” I said. “An important occasion forever captured in digital.” We looked at each other and started to laugh, the thick sexual tension lightening.

Max pulled his fingers out and cupped my sex as if trying to provide comfort. “You’re amazing,” he said. “I’ll get you cleaned up. I think your underwear’s out of commission though.”

“I can walk home pantyless.”

His look was one of pure protective male. “Only if I’m walking with you and I have to see a client. I’ll get you a car. And some new underwear. And I need to kiss you. I’ve had my fingers in you and I’ve come all over you, but I haven’t kissed you properly yet.” His hands left me, leaving me cold and went to cupboard, pulling out a towel. “I should wash you down, but I like the idea of still being on you.”

“I’m going to need another orgasm if you carry on talking like that,” I said.

He started to gently wipe away his come from my breasts.

“I know the feeling. I want to pick you up and take you to a cave somewhere so I can fuck us into oblivion.” He put the towel down and with fingers that shook slightly, did the clasp on my bra and then started to button up my shirt, struggling to match the buttons correctly.

“Let me finish,” I said, lifting one his hands and bringing it to my lips to kiss. He let me complete the task, watching and then leaned down and kissed me, my mouth opening for his and letting his tongue in. The kiss was deep and slow, more tender than I’d expected and I didn’t want to go back to the office or home afterwards. I wanted to stay with him, for more of those kisses.

“I have to see a couple of clients,” he said, apologetically. His gave me a hand to help me off the desk and then kept hold of me. “I’d rather be going somewhere with you, but I will see you Wednesday.”

“You will. And I’ll text you later. Or phone you,” I said, feeling my face heat. We hadn’t spoken on the phone yet.

“I’d like that. I’ll call you a car. We have a guy we use if we need to give people lifts. I trust him with you.”

I saw that his hands were still fidgety and that although I certainly didn’t feel as if he was panicking after the level of intimacy we’d shared, his brain was overthinking something.

Ten minutes later and I was sitting in the back of a limo, my saturated panties tucked inside Max’s desk drawer, wondering why I wasn’t feeling panicked and where this strange sense of calm had come from, and how long, exactly, it would last.