I awoke with a bit of a start and it took my brain a few seconds to catch up, to register where I was, and to realise that the warmth and comfort that enveloped me from behind was actually Martin, encircling me with his arms, our bodies intertwined as if we were madly tangled springs. I lay perfectly still for a moment and just listened to his breathing, so peaceful with its slow, steady rhythm, feeling the heat of his breath on my neck and shoulders, like a gentle caress of my bare skin, the sensation delicate, and ever so slightly ticklish.

I shift slightly and he mutters something under his breath, an endearing little grumble, muffled by slumber, his words incomprehensible as he tightens his embrace, wrapping himself around me so resolutely. The lights in the hall are still on and the room is bathed in a faint glow which I'm grateful for as I realise I need the loo, slithering out of his grasp and wriggling my legs from around his as I whisper to him of my urgent necessity. When I return, he has rolled onto his back and I find myself standing by the bed, gazing down at him for a moment. He looks so peaceful in this soft light, his bare chest and tousled hair somehow making him seem incredibly vulnerable. Sleep imbues him with a sort of serenity that I've never seen before, in this light he almost looks happy. Perhaps the scowl that he usually presents to the world is just another part of his well constructed defence mechanisms. Either that, or I've actually figured out an effective way to wipe it from his face, temporarily at least.

In this room, he's not only shed his clothes but somehow his wariness, the fierce invulnerability that makes him seem so much older than he is. Watching him now, with his smooth skin and long muscular limbs, he is just a beautiful boy, strong and vigorous and effortlessly athletic, in that casual, unselfconscious way that young men seem to have. I slip back into the bed, lying on my side facing him, and I hear him ask me if I am alright, his voice slurred by sleep. Reassuring him that I've never been better, I smile at his profile; he really does have the most irresistible pout when his face is as relaxed as it is right now, so peaceful and almost cherubic in its innocence. As I gaze at him I feel a ferocious surge of emotion; of tenderness, of protectiveness even, as the incredibly damaging behaviour of his awful parents begins to sink in and the realisation of what things have always been like for him, the horrible truth of his upbringing, starts to actually affect me quite intensely. We are a fine pair, really, the two of us, though I can't help but think Martin most definitely has had the worst of it. My parents were merely irresponsible whereas his seem to have been controlling and deliberately cruel.

Pushing myself up on my elbow, I reach across to his face, slipping my hand gently around his cheek and pressing the softest of kisses on to his mouth. I want to tell him again that I love him; this feeling is so fervent and intense that it feels as if it will choke me if I don't spill the words out into the half light. Now that I know something of his life, now that I believe I understand him a little better, I find myself aching for him, burning for him with the passion of a wildly intoxicated zealot, as if loving him can somehow drive out devils, heal what must be deep and festering wounds, and obliterate the desperate pain he must be concealing somewhere deep and inaccessible inside of himself. I feel his hand come up to my waist, drawing me against him with gentle encouragement, his fingers lightly caressing my skin, the heat of his body like a magnet as his lips part, and I am pulled irresistibly towards him.

However relaxed he seemed, however peaceful he appeared to be, as soon as he rolls me gently onto my back I realise his inherent intensity is still there, and I tease him about his rather impressive thoroughness, commending him on his skill at exploring and understanding me, and asking him to remind me if he'd won the anatomy prize as well as all of his other achievements. He pauses for a moment, leaning on his elbows and staring down at me speculatively, the semblance of a smile transforming his usually serious face. His hand comes up to stroke my hair, pushing it away from my face as he rests his palm against my cheek. For a moment we gaze at each other, and it's almost as if we are both suddenly incredulous. I can't help myself and I let out an involuntary giggle, running my hands enthusiastically across the muscles of his shoulders and down his back before I find myself fondling his bum rather appreciatively, complimenting him effusively on how nice and firm it feels.

Because he is Martin, he says nothing but, after a moment where the softness in his eyes almost made him seem vulnerable, he covers my mouth with his and kisses me until I am breathless, a fierce, hungry, unrelenting pressure that is both exhilarating and overwhelming. It doesn't seem to take long in his hands until I'm filled with an intense need and I hear myself gasping for air, exhorting him to take me, helplessly poised on the precipice while he ignores my imploring and continues to take his time, whispering in my ear with an amused pretence of innocence, asking me to clarify exactly what it is I want him to do.

When he finally does relent, the sensation is indescribable. He holds my hands gently, above my head, pressing them into the softness of the mattress as he gazes into my eyes, moving slowly yet emphatically until I feel an exquisite unmistakeable explosion that renders me momentarily helpless, and completely and utterly euphoric. As my head swims, I feel the rhythm change and, as I watch him close his eyes, I notice an almost imperceptible flicker of elation pass across his face and I realise that I've been digging for treasure my whole adult life, completely clueless, using a short stumpy spade and completely the wrong coordinates. It's suddenly so blatantly obvious why Libby felt so sorry for me, why she urged me not to settle for dross, why she insisted that I keep searching for mind- blowing. Miraculously, I've found it and now I don't want this moment to end as I run my fingers lightly up and down his rib cage as he kisses my forehead before burying his face in my shoulder. I feel his hand lightly brushing my breast and I squirm, and shudder involuntarily, uttering a strange, strangled squeak, and the noise that emanates from his throat in response sounds like it could almost be a laugh.

"Sorry." He says, raising himself back up onto his elbows and looking at me with a faint twinkle in his eyes.

"Bit intense." I reply, not quite sure if he recognises my awkward grimace in the faint light. "Just need a moment."

He nods at me, brushing my hair back from my face gently, gazing into my eyes with an disconcerting, rather scrutinising expression. I lower my legs and stretch them out either side of his, waiting for whatever it is he clearly wants to say.

"Louisa, last night you said that, when your parents left, you felt abandoned and, ummm, not good enough...and..."

"Yes. I did feel like that." I interrupt, in a quiet voice. "Abandoned and unloved."

He strokes my cheek thoughtfully, staring at me silently for what seems like an eternity before he finally speaks.

"And, umm, now...do you...do you still feel...unloved?"

"Now? I'm not sure." I tell him, frowning back up at him. "Should I?"

He looks at me for a moment, his eyes so very soft as he holds my gaze, before pressing his lips to mine in a kiss so infinitely sweet and gentle.

"No." He says softly, as we slip apart and he rolls onto his side, gathering me to him tightly and kissing my forehead again.

I feel him inhale deeply, his ribs expanding dramatically beneath my fingers as I run my fingers across the almost imperceptible, fine blonde hair of his chest. I'm still transfixed by the smoothness of his body. It's more sensual than I ever possibly could have imagined a man's body to be. I'm already only half awake, satiated and gratified beyond any expectation.

"No." I hear him say again, this time more firmly. "You really shouldn't."

I smile to myself contentedly as his slow, steady heartbeat thumps peaceably beneath my ear. Sleep quickly claims me and it's not until I awake with a start, several hours later, that I realise the significance, the enormity of what Martin was trying to tell me.