Didn’t need to ask who it was from, the bastard. Bloody Marty. He’d thought I wouldn’t be able to stop Jake from reading it, but I’d left early, laughing off my boyfriend’s surprise and catching the first tube up into town. Beating the weekday Christmas shoppers. Now I was here at Jake’s office, rifling through his mail tray, trying to stop my world from blowing apart. It had been a stupid thing to do. I knew it. Mental note to self: never agree to see an old boyfriend and, if you have to, whatever you do don’t go drinking with him. Especially not in the Heaven nightclub. God knows what had possessed me anyway. Even though Jake was a good ten years older than Marty, he was far better in bed—by miles. You weren’t supposed to admit that kind of stuff these days, were you? But it was true. Jake always took his time. I liked that. Even now, the thought of him doing the kind of stuff he did with me made my cock push against my fly. I shook my head and tried to ignore it.
