Lion and Lace [Tom Hiddleston]

Episode 1

Dreams.

Strange things.

Sometimes we dream big, achieve it, and from the inside its more of a nightmare.

"Becca? Come to bed." Nathan calls from upstairs. I let out a soft sigh and close the laptop, switching off the lamps on the way to the bedroom. It isn't that I'm reluctant to go to bed, or that I'm not sharing it with a tall, dark haired and ruggedly handsome man. It's the fact he wants me there because he wants something from me and I feel a little obligated. Like when you ask for porridge for breakfast and then feel like breaking your mum's heart if you say you're tired of having it every day.

"I thought you were already asleep," I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"I bloody should be, it's after midnight."

I strip and toss my yoga pants and t-shirt onto the chair and slip between the sheets. I love clean sheets, even more so when the seasons are changing and the sheets are cool on warm skin. Nathan pulls me into a kiss, his tongue quickly finding mine as he rolls me to my back. It's nice and familiar, no need for soft kisses and breathy moments to build the anticipation. We have a rhythm, we each know the other's body so well at this point that it's like doing 'The Nutbush'. Everybody knows the steps; this hand there, a lick and suck there; and you don't need any sort of flair or talent to get through it. His big, calloused hand skims down my naked side all the way to my thigh and hooks it around his hips, and then he's teasing his shaft into me and moving it about just so.

"You do realise how this works, don't you?" He says, as though I need reminding right this instant. "You can't get pregnant from separate rooms."

Well, technically... if you pay a technician a lot of money or you have a turkey baster and just the right timing... but I digress.

I latch my mouth onto his neck and groan as he begins making that delicious friction between my thighs.

Not enough hours later I'm doing my best bum shuffle in a Qantas seat, trying to get comfy enough to sleep. The Sydney to London flight is ludicrous – a whole entire day on a plane. OK, that's a lie. There's a stopover in Singapore, or Dubai if you swing that way. But really, it might as well be a whole day on a plane. And then you arrive at Heathrow only to find that 12 hours have passed, not 24. Is it any wonder jetlag happens?

It's Spring in London, which I will never get used to. April is Autumn in Australia, and it should be that way everywhere. I get a little belligerent when I'm tired, and I've been up almost 28 hours. At least spring and autumn are somewhat similar, the evening is crisp and after a quick text to let Nathan know I have arrived safe and well I collapse into a coma in the fluffy hotel pillows and doona.

"Good morning!" I'm greeted by the lovely Rachel from behind the reception desk. She's been with us for a couple of years now, covering admin and some finance and all the odds and sods no one else wants to do. Rachel is just under 30, which makes her an entirely different generation to me even though it's only a handful of years difference. I don't hold that against her because she honestly sounds like she came straight out of Oliver Twist, I could listen to her speak all day and never get tired of it. Of course the generational gap means I had to explain the reference and play her a clip of it on Youtube, but I don't hold that against her either. "How's the Australian contingent?"

"Good, hon. I see you turned on the sun for me. Grumpy Mcbitchypants in her office?"

Rachel cringes. I think she's a bit frightened of Prue and doesn't know how to take her. She's not sure how to reconcile a boss who can tell someone their work is rubbish but their hair is fabulous in the same breath. "She'll be waiting for you in about two minutes. You know she'll fire you if she hears you call her that."