‘What’s difficult about keeping my legs crossed and my thoughts pure for seven days?’
‘Quite a lot, I think you’ll find. There are challenges within the challenge. All will become clear.’
I crane my neck to look up at him. ‘You’re serious about this, aren’t you? Nothing I can say to change your mind?’
‘Not a word.’
‘And what are you going to do for these seven days? Won’t your right hand be worn to the bone by Sunday?’
He shifts a little, retracting his softened cock from my bottom. ‘I don’t remember making any vow of celibacy,’ he says lightly.
I manage to sit up properly this time, bolt upright. ‘You mean you’re going to …?’
‘Why don’t you wait and see? While you’re up there, put the kettle on, eh?’
***
I know I’m a hypocrite. It’s not as if I own Lloyd. I’m not even a possessive type of person. We’ve done threesomes, we’ve done swinging, we’ve added people to the mix and then multiplied. But all of that has made us stronger – if we can get everything we need from each other, why would we ever go elsewhere?
I suppose what I find so hard is the thought of Lloyd having sex that excludes me. When he’s had other women before, I’ve watched or joined in. What if he finds he likes the novelty? What if he wants to extend the openness of our relationship still further? Would I be OK with that, if it was what he wanted?
Goddamn, he was right. This challenge is hard, and it hasn’t even started yet.
On Monday I throw myself into my work, making sure I wear my most conservative trouser suit and lowest heels. If I don’t look sexy, I won’t feel sexy. Or so I hope.
It seems to do the trick, at least until I retire to Lloyd’s apartment for the evening.
‘Have you eaten?’
‘Yeah, got something in the kitchen earlier. What are you watching?’
Lloyd is lounging on the sofa in his dressing gown watching some kind of CCTV footage. When I get closer and recognise the feather-patterned hotel wallpaper, I realise it’s a film we made a few months ago. Of us.
‘Sit down and watc
h,’ he invites, making room for me beside him.
‘Uh, I think I’ll take a shower.’
‘No, it isn’t optional. It’s compulsory. Sit down and watch or you incur a fail.’
‘Oh, I get it.’ I grump and huff, but I take my seat beside him, dodging away when he tries to put an arm around me.
‘No you don’t. Come here.’ He pats his thigh imperiously.
I discard my jacket and grudgingly allow myself into his embrace. On the television, there is the crackling of a cheap microphone and some giggling off-camera.
‘So, Sophie,’ he murmurs into my ear, ‘have you been a good girl today? No crafty hands down pants, I trust.’
‘Shut up. I’ve been working.’
‘Working the johns in the bar?’
‘No, you twat. Working in my workplace.’
‘Give us your fingers.’ He takes my hand and sniffs the fingertips. ‘Hmm, I suppose you’ll pass. Strip down to your underwear.’
I remove the black trousers and plain jersey top. I didn’t dare risk the silk camisoles this morning – the feel of silk next to my skin would not have been helpful.