I giggle to myself, then pick up a tub of lotion and slide my fingers delicately across the thick, creamy moisturiser. It smells like raspberries, swe...t and fragrant. I rub it into my skin, caressing my tits and stomach, moving downwards towards my inner thighs and back up again. This time I'm rougher, repeatedly pulling at my nipples and dragging my nails across my stomach, leaving faint red lines behind. I bite my lip and suck in my breath. I need your fingers, your lips, your hands, your. ‘No, but I feel slightly out-numbered here. If you want to ask me questions, I want to know in what context you’re asking them. It’s not often that I get woken up at…’ I looked at the clock. ‘Shit, it’s five o’clock. What the hell’s so fucking important that you’ve got to wake me at this time of the bloody morning?’ ‘I’m making enquiries concerning your wife’s accident.’ ‘What fucking accident?’ ‘Your wife was involved in an accident last night and I would like to know where you were around. More

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