𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐫. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾

smoke and honey.

Matty was a charming dinner guest, childishly impressed with my pasta machine and the basic aglio e olio I cooked for us. I felt another twinge of disappointment when he had to leave at last, admitting that he was all sticky and needed to go home and clean up. He managed to balance his facetiousness with an absolute transparency that was endearing in conversation. He poked fun at himself in the same sentence as gently mocking others, and demonstrated an almost crippling self-awareness, all whilst knowing his own, very great worth.

Once he was gone, the silence in the house was more noticeable than usual, and I threw on a Warp Records mix whilst I showered, leaving the bathroom door open so the music would filter through and the mirror wouldn't fog so much. I took extra care over removing makeup with a soft flannel, choosing fresh pyjamas; I was in a pensive mood, feeling especially aware of my body and heeding its sensory demands. As I ran a comb through my hair and opened up my laptop, sprawled atop the bedsheets, I scrolled slowly through the camera roll from earlier in the day, a dozen frames from the kitchen and over a hundred from within the studio.

Matty was the last person in the world to need photoshop, in my opinion. If anything, it was little details like stubble from a missed spot shaving, or the tiny beading of perspiration on his collarbone caused by the powerful lighting, that made the images more immediate and arresting. It wouldn't be exaggerating to say it also made his appeal more visceral. As I cycled through the images, his face loomed larger in the frame, as I had knelt down and hovered over him. The light was still pretty good, no shadows obscuring his features - the light had been gentle, diffused - and suddenly my own hand came into shot, reaching down from the corner of the frame and cupping his cheek.

I inhaled sharply, drawing my legs up towards me. The silk of my nightdress and the cool air in the room tickled my upper arms as I scrutinised my own work; the cherry, first whole and plump, still full of juice, then split open, staining his lips carmine. The effect was dramatic besides his dark eyes and that pale, even skin with shadows beneath the eyes like bruises. Even in two dimensions, he was mesmerising. In his absence I could reflect more freely on my desire for him, and there was no getting around that desire, or negating it entirely, despite what I'd said to Molly about not trying to sleep with him. Well, I might not try, but I might not have to. It might just happen; I dared to hope it would, against my better judgement. I decided to leave it up to him, see how he responded next time. After all, he'd been the one with the raging hard-on, and I had almost felt sorry that he wasn't able to get some relief. What if I'd offered to help with that? What if?

I was jolted out of my idle, erotic daydream by the vibration of my phone a few inches away. The glowing screen announced two messages from Saul in quick succession.

out in bethnal grn not far from you

you home? fancy some fun?

I grimaced as I considered a response, then pondered my own gut reaction. Why would I turn him down? I was so wound up from the day's shooting that I could do with the release. But, I realised, I had my own idea for how to resolve that, and it didn't involve bringing another man into bed. In fact, it might corrupt the vision in my head if I took leftover desire from working with Matty and transferred that libido onto Saul. In fact, the thought vaguely repelled me, they were so different. Never the twain shall meet.

I picked up the phone and tapped out a brief reply.

too tired! but thanks for thinking of me, hope you're having a good time

Very cordial. Generous, in fact. I slumped back onto the pillows, sighing listlessly. Nothing else was going to distract me - it was no use. All I could think about was Matty, his voice, his hands, his mouth, that fucking erection he did nothing to hide. It took less than five minutes to make myself come. I was slick from the lingering arousal, and the things my mind conjured up were filthy and startlingly vivid.