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“Yes. Okay. One time only.”

Right, then. I slide a hand up her back and make to pull her back down to my mouth, but she resists.

“There’s…one thing.” She won’t meet my eye. Her cheeks are burning. “It’s been a long time for me. A really long time. I don’t think I can go all the way tonight.”

Disappointment hits me harder than it should, considering twenty seconds ago I was half expecting her to walk away. I keep it off my face.

“But,” she says quickly, “we can do other things.”

I wait.

“You know. Stuff.”

She gives a wee wriggle on my cock, and the disappointment melts clean away. Whatever “stuff” means, I’m in.

I lift my head, and she bends to meet me. Between kisses I get out, “So, what does ‘stuff’ mean, flower girl? What do you want?”

“Touching,” she says. It’s barely a whisper.

I can work with touching.

I help her off me and sit up beside her on the mat, then hook a finger in the collar of her T-shirt. “This needs to come off, if we’re touching.”

She lifts her arms. I pull it over her head and drop it. Underneath she’s in a plain white bra. I reach round her and unhook it. She shrugs it off and folds her arms across herself.

I give her a moment, then gently touch her wrist. “The rules are the same as earlier. Any time you want to stop, for any reason, just say the word or tap me twice. All right?”

She nods, then lets me ease her arms apart.

Her tits are wee and perfect. Pale, the pink nipples already tight. I take my time with them. Cup them in my hands. Brush my thumbs over her nipples, back and forth. Watch her eyes flutter shut. When I roll one nipple between my finger and thumb, she bites her lip so hard I think she might draw blood.

“Does touching mean I can use my mouth?” I ask.

Her eyes open. She nods, and I’m on her without delay. I take a nipple into my mouth and suck, and the noise she makes—high and surprised—goes straight down my spine. I switch sides. Her fingers find the back of my head and hold on. She makes that sound again, and my cock twitches in my shorts.

“Wait,” she says.

I stop at once and look up.

“I just…I want to see you too.” She pulls at my T-shirt. “I want to touch you.”

I strip it off. Her hands come up and press flat against my chest, then her fingers start to travel. Over my collarbone, down my pecs, across my ribs. When she reaches the spot where Kovac caught me in the third round, I flinch.

“Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“Naw, Kovac did. You’re fine. Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. She traces the tattoo that runs across the right side of my ribs. Her fingers slow on the wings.

“I’ve only seen this from a distance before. I thought it was some kind of bird, but it’s a phoenix, isn’t it?” She looks up at me. “You told me you picked the skull on your arm off a wall because you thought it looked cool. Don’t tell me this one doesn’t mean anything. Rising from the ashes…”

I don’t answer her. Instead I slip my hand down the front of her leggings, under the waistband of her knickers, and cup her.

She gasps. Actually gasps. But she doesn’t pull away, and she doesn’t tap me twice. Her thighs fall open the smallest bit.

I lean closer to her. “Fuck, flower girl,” I say into her ear. “You’re soaked. So wet.”

She turns her face into my neck. I glance at the mirror, and there we are. Her, bare to the waist, flushed all down her chest, my hand disappearing down the front of her leggings.