Well, I knew what we’d done. I always had. And done it anyway. But suddenly all I could see was Steve’s face.
The way he’d looked at me, his eyes a barbed-wire snarl of hatred and despair, as if he’d already known what was going to happen. And the reality of cooling sweat and heavy bodies and my arsehole sticky with someone else’s come.
And it filled me with regret, self-loathing, and discovering I had made yet another f*****g awful decision.
I turned awkwardly in Matthew’s arms, my jeans catching against his trousers, and my c**k knocking damply into his. He barely moved, still almost fallen over me, breathing in rasps.
“Tell me,” I said, “you’re breaking up with Steve. As in, right the f**k now.”
There was a way too long silence. Probably it was a good time to pull up my pants.
I
