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When I wake, I’m disoriented. I sit up and look around, getting my bearings. I’m on the sofa. I get up and stretch. It’s dark outside, and I realise I’ve slept most of the day.

As I walk around the kitchen, I spot Delilah’s jacket. I recall her shrugging it off last night before we went upstairs. I pick it up and pull it to my face, inhaling the scent of her perfume. It’s like a shot of adrenaline, something that surges and runs through my body.

It’s like an instinct, the next steps. I head to the bathroom to freshen up and brush my teeth. Then I grab my things and pick up Delilah’s forgotten jacket before heading out to my car.

I drive to her house, the radio playing as a distraction. Three times I stop at traffic lights and debate whether I should turn around and go back home. This is a stupid choice, but I can’t stop. I carry on driving until I’m parked up by her shop.

It feels like I’m compelled to do the next steps. I grab her jacket. Get out of my car. Lock the doors. Walk in the direction of where she lives. Stand on her doorstep. Prepare myself to see her again.

I hold the jacket in one hand, the other poised, ready to knock on the door I saw her go through with Felix this morning. I take a breath because I know this is reckless. I could just arrange for the jacket to be delivered to her at the shop. I don’t need to turn up unannounced, late at night, under the pretence of giving her back her things. Not when she’s already told me she doesn’t want anything more than what happened last night.

I’m about to turn and leave when the door opens. There’s a shocked little gasp, likely because she wasn’t expecting to see anybody on her doorstep and I’ve startled her.

She’s dressed in a long black coat. It’s one of those mac types, the buttons done up from collar down, the belt tied at her waist.

Any sentence I had in my mind about returning her jacket fade. I feel like I’ve forgotten most of the words in the English language. I blurt out the only ones I feel capable of recalling and speaking.

“It turns out, I also make bad decisions,” I state.

“I forgot my jacket,” she says at the same time.

“I saw,” I say, lifting the jacket slightly so she can see I have it. I look at her properly again, taking in the coat she has on, what looks like sheer black tights, and her little black shoes. “Are you going out?” I ask.

Is she going on a date?

She doesn’t immediately reply. Instead, she reaches for me, fisting my top and using it to pull me towards her, into the little hallway area. She shuts the door behind me and twists the key in the lock, then takes a step back from me. I watch as she unloops the belt of the coat. Then she slowly opens the buttons. When they’re all undone, she shrugs the coat off. Underneath, all she has on is a black underwear set, and then I see she isn’t wearing tights but rather stockings and suspenders. She makes the underwear looks amazing. It’s made of a sheer black lace with little pink ribbons. They run up the centre of the cups for each breast, right over the nipples, tied in a loose little bow at the top. They’re peekaboo underwear—God’s gift to every hot-blooded person who likes women.

My eyes travel down. I spot the little pink bow on her underwear, and I know a slight tug will undo the ribbon and turn them into a pair that are crotchless and beyond sensational. The suspender belt is black lace with matching pink stitching.

She looks like a present to open. A delicious present.

“I told you I make bad decisions.” Her voice wavers a little.

I force my gaze to travel back up to her face. Her beautiful blue eyes hold mine.

I drop her jacket to the floor before I take a step closer towards her, reaching out and putting my hand on her waist. I trace the skin, then let my fingers travel up. I stop at her bra, my fingertips moving over the pink ribbons.

“Going anywhere special?” I ask. My own voice is hoarse.

“I was just coming to get my jacket,” she replies. Her eyes twinkle slightly, but I can see her breathing is ragged, her chest rising and falling quickly. I’m mesmerised.

“Good job I saved you a trip,” I murmur.

“Feels like I’m in your debt, being saved the inconvenience of having to drive over. Is there anything you want me to do to show my appreciation?” she asks. She still sounds like she’s teasing, but I can tell she’s just as affected by me as I am by her.

I tug at the pink ribbon. First the left cup, then the right. I trace my finger down the slits the ribbons reveal, my fingertips skimming over her nipples.

She trembles slightly and licks her lips, and that’s all the encouragement I need. I pick her up, and she wraps her body around me—arms tightly around my neck, legs around my waist. I take a step towards the staircase behind her, the one that’ll take me to where she lives.

“Should I be expecting Felix to jump out and punch me?” I ask.

“Felix is a little pussy cat, really. Besides, I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions, even if they’re bad,” she replies. She moves and dips her head, giving me a quick nip on the neck. Her teeth graze my skin, and it’s like a shot that runs both up and down my body.

“What are you deciding, Delilah?” I ask. I will her to choose me, for however long she wants me around. I’m hard and desperate. I want to take her upstairs, throw her on the bed, open the last remaining ribbon, and let my fingers find out just how wet she is.

“I’m deciding to let you upstairs, where you can throw me onto the bed and fuck me.”

It’s a verbal echo of the exact scenario I’ve been desperately thinking.