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I roll my eyes. “A gentleman also doesn’t text from different numbers when he gets blocked.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “A gentleman doesn’t give up that easily.”

I tried—truly, I did—but the flutter in my chest refused to be stilled. Every time I’m near him, I feel human before anything else,

I don’t feel the need to purge.

As his hand lands in mine, as he would gently touch my hair, kiss my forehead, call me baby, cook for me.

I try to recall when was the last time someone paid even the slightest of attention to me, and come up empty.

Maybe I am an attention seeker. Is that so wrong?

To want even one person to look at you as if you’re not broken?

We leave my flat, his large, warm hand wrapped securely around mine as he guides me to his car.

He opens the passenger door for me, but before I can get in, his gaze drops to my bare shoulders, the look on his face practically screaming, I told you so.

And infuriatingly, he’s right. It’s cold, goosebumps already prickling across my skin. I just wanted to defy him one way or another.

I drop myself in the passenger seat, staring at his thick, round arse as he walks around the car and gets in.

The moment he settles beside me, his scent—amber and musk—wraps around me, and I can’t help the slow, almost greedy inhale I take of him.

He turns the heater and seat warmer on before shrugging off his coat and tossing it onto the backseat. The engine roars to life, and the sleek black Mercedes-Benz glides forward with ease.

With the extra layer gone, his build is even more obvious. Thick and defined arms, the back of his hand is veined, his fingers wrapped firmly around the gear shift commanding it any and every way.

One hand resting lazily on the steering wheel, driving with effortless meticulousness. He is the epitome of desires, like something pulled straight out of a fantasy.

How is he even real?

“You’re drooling.” His hand shoots forward, his thumb swiping across my lower lip in a slow, sensual glide.

His thumb lingers for a while before he pulls back, resting it on the top of his thighs. I was sitting on these thighs a few days ago, riding him, consumed by my own lust.

“I’m not.” I mumble, almost stumbling over the words as I turn my head and stare out the window instead.

I lean back, watching the city lights blur past like distant stars. He turns on the radio, and Abstract by Hozier fills the silence.

I sing along and every other song that follows after it. His gaze flickers with amusement as I shout the lyrics, as if the voice is coming from deep within me.

I’m so happy it makes me scared.

He drives past the Oxfordshire bridge, taking a narrow, barely-there path until it opens into a hidden ridge.

The road winds up into a narrow stretch, the city slowly shrinking behind us until it’s nothing but scattered lights in the distance.

The engine dies, and he gets out of the car, rushing to open my door. I step out from the warmth and can barely control the shiver that rakes through my body. The air is colder up here, carrying only the faint hum of life far below.

At the top, it opens into a small clearing, just enough space for a car or two, though tonight it’s empty. From here, the entire city glows beneath us, and it’s all too real, ethereal.

“Wow.” Is all my brain can conjure at the moment, too mesmerised by the view. I choose to breathe in the peace rather than ruining it by running my mouth.

I spread my arms, letting the wind hit me with full force, my hair whipping wildly around my face as the cold air rushes past.

Every fibre of my being feels electrified, and I let out a small, breathless laugh, the sound stolen by the night.