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“Sorry. That’s no actually what I was gonnae do, but your arse is distracting.”

He squeezes one cheek, then the other, like he’s testing fruit at a market. I should probably object to being handled like produce, but I find I don’t particularly mind. Then he slides a pillow under my hips, propping my bottom up in the air, and nudges my knees apart with his own.

Oh dear. I suddenly have a very clear idea of what he can see from back there, and it is everything.

“Christ, Briony,” he says in a low voice. “Best fucking view in the West End. I could look at your pussy like this all night.”

I bury my burning face in the duvet.

His fingers slide down until they find me from behind. “Still wet for me,” he says, sounding very satisfied. “Even if missionary didnae exactly go to plan.”

“Mmm.”

“Relax for me.”

His other hand slips underneath me and finds my clit. He takes his time there, tracing slow, lazy circles until my breathing goes uneven. Then he eases a single finger inside me.

“That’s an easier size for you than my cock, eh? But I’m just getting you ready for it.”

He strokes in and out, unhurried, his other hand never stopping on my clit. After a while, he works in a second finger.

I tense.

“Relax, baby,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

I make myself breathe out. And gradually, I do relax. It’s hard not to, really, with one hand circling me at the front and his fingers moving steadily inside me, curling every now and again in a way that makes my toes curl too. Soon I’m moaning into the duvet.

Shiitake mushrooms. This man really does know his way around a woman’s lady parts.

“I think you’re ready for my cock, baby,” he says eventually. “Can I put it in again?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes.”

His fingers slip out of me. I feel him behind me, the press of him at my entrance, and then he pushes in.

And this time, it’s easier. Maybe it’s because his fingers have done their job. Or maybe it’s because I can’t see him coming, so I’m not bracing myself for it. Either way, my body opens for him in a way it wouldn’t before.

He goes slowly at first, then less slowly. We find a rhythm we never managed when I was on my back. He slides in and out more readily, reaching ever deeper.

“That’s it,” he says. “Good girl. The more you get used to me, the easier this’ll get.”

With each stroke, I notice the stretch a little less and the rest of it a lot more. It feels good. Ryan grunts, low and rough, every time he sinks in.

I can feel him in places I’ve never felt anything before. Surely, I think, surely that has to be all of him now⁠—

And then I become aware of something gently slapping against me with each thrust. Pretty sure it’s his testicles.

Goodness.

“I’ve got all of you,” I gasp, hardly believing it.

“Aye, right up to my balls.” He sounds breathless and very proud of me. “Well done, flower girl. Does it feel good?”

“Mm-hmm. You can go faster if you like.”

“Aye?”

He picks up the pace, his hands gripping my hips, and something starts building, low and tight.