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floor and pulled away to retrieve it. But still, in the brief moment of physical contact, something stirred deep inside Dean. He imagined Helena wearing nothing but thigh-high boots and holding a whip.
    ‘Helena.’ He pronounced the name as if he’d never spoken it before. It felt like the sound originated from deep within the bowels of his soul and travelled through his whole being before it reached the air.
    Helena blushed. ‘You’re excited. I’m excited. But it’s not long to wait now, babe.’
    She stepped backwards and then stepped forward again and gave him an awkward hug. Dean tried to hold onto the warmth of her body a moment longer before letting go and moving away himself. The colour rose to his cheeks.
    ‘Perhaps I should go. We should say a prayer and then I’ll go,’ Helena said.
    She dropped to her knees. An unworthy image from the internet porn he watched flashed into his head, of what women often did in those films when they were kneeling before men. Quickly he knelt beside her, but not too close. They said a prayer of thanks. Then another awkward hug and Helena left.
    Dean pressed his face against the cold surface of the wall. At least she hadn’t wanted him to kiss her. He chuckled at the ridiculousness of it. He had a fiancée; a quarter of an hour ago he was thrilled imagining they might have sex for the first time, and now he was relieved that they hadn’t kissed.
    So far all their kisses had been sloppy, teeth-crashing things, filled with the emotion brothers and sisters might have when they kissed each other. Not that he knew what that felt like; in his family brothers and sisters did not kiss each other, did not speak to each other.
    He pushed his back against the door and took a deep breath. He would have to learn how to kiss properly. That was a good place to start. How could he expect to satisfy Helena in the way a man should satisfy his wife if he didn’t even know how to kiss her? The internet was full of advice, he was sure he could find some technique tips on there. With a clear conscience he went to his spare room and clicked his computer on.
    An hour later he was sitting naked in front of his webcam giving his most private fantasies to a woman he’d only lightly flirted with online before.
    ‘Do you want to know a secret, little slut?’ the woman who identified herself as Crimson whispered into the computer screen.
    Her webcam was set up so he could only see her mouth. The image of her lips filled his computer screen. He could see fine lines in her bright red lipstick where it cracked as she spoke.
    ‘Yes, please, mistress.’
    ‘I know who you are. I recognise you.’
    Every muscle in Dean’s body froze. What if she was one of his clients? Someone he was supposed to be helping recover from their addiction. He could lose his job. But he didn’t recognise her voice. None of his clients had ever whispered the things she’d been whispering to him, though. Did people have different voices when they were being sexual? He could lose his job.
    He waited. Her lips were closed and smiling; she was obviously waiting for his reaction.
    ‘I am honoured that you would remember seeing such a pathetic worm as me.’
    She laughed. ‘I live near your church. I’ve seen you and your too-good friends milling about. I think I saw you today with a gorgeous blonde. Is she too-good, worm? I’m going to give you my address. Come and see me. Wear a coat, nothing else.’
    ‘When would you like me to visit you, mistress?’ His voice was quavering.
    ‘Now.’
    Her webcam went blank, but an address appeared in the message area of the window, then she went offline. Was she preparing for his arrival? The thought excited him. He moaned into the empty air as his cock throbbed.
    He tried to steady himself, be the unemotional, logical man that Helena said she loved.
    He’d gone online fresh from being congratulated by Helena’s family, his mind swimming with images that he was going to get married