In my defence, I didn't know it was ex-sex at the time. I thought it was celebratory "the break is over and we're happy again" sex. (I'll think of a catchier title for that version later.)

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure there are circumstances in which sex with your ex is absolutely fine; if you want to do this yourself, then by all means please dont let me stop you!

But you both need to be on the same page. Me and Declan, it turned out, were in different books. I was in an epic romance novel and he . . . Well, to be perfectly honest, I don't think he's actually a massive fan of reading. He was probably watching the film version of a completely different book on DVD.

Admittedly, we'd not spoken much about our "relationship" when we had first met up in O'Neill's earlier that evening. In fact, I hadn't actually had much opportunity to speak at all; I'd been a bit starry-eyed, overjoyed at seeing Dec in the flesh again after so long. I'd been content to mostly listen as he filled me in on everything he'd been up to while we'd been apart.

"So... did you miss me?" I'd eventually asked eagerly, when there was finally a gap in conversation for me to wriggle myself into. Declan had grinned then, that effortlessly charming smile that had first attracted me to him when we first met.

"Of course, Abs!" He'd replied warmly, as if he couldn't believe I'd even had to ask. He winked, and my insides churned themselves into melted ice cream, as per usual. "In fact, I actually had an amazing dream about you the other night."

"Really?" I breathed, my cheeks heating up. He had been dreaming about me? This had to mean something.

He edged closer to me in the booth, mouth moving to within a few inches of mine. "Really," he confirmed, voice lowering. "You. Me. Bed. Handcuffs."

Oh my goodness.

"It was so hot," he added. "Maybe we could . . . Bring it to life?"

So yes, maybe Little Miss Optimist was rearing her perky little head a bit too soon, hope sparkling in those aforementioned starry eyes. But I genuinely thought this proposition meant our break must be over. As he pressed his lips against mine, his stubble scraping against my skin, I relaxed into the kiss, swallowing a gasp as he subtly (I hoped, given the public setting!) brushed a finger along one of my nipples. God, I'd missed the way he could make me feel, with just the simplest of touches.

We'd met for drinks at 7pm; we were back at his flat before 7.45 pm.

Maybe that should also have been a major tip-off. But I was blind to the signs.

I have to admit the handcuffs comment had actually freaked me out a bit though. Initially I was just happy he'd been dreaming about me at all, and I probably got a bit over-excited; but as we entered his flat and he started to peel the clothes from my body, I realised I wasn't sure I was going to be able to completely invest in his vision.

You see, I'd also had dreams about handcuffs; but mine were always nightmares about me getting arrested, for a variety of crimes. Shoplifting. Grievous bodily harm. Grand theft auto. Crimes I would never commit, as I was the ultimate Good Girl. It may have been my inner bad girl having a whale of a time in my subconscious, but the dreams usually woke me in a breathless panic.

As a result of this, I was worried that if he put handcuffs on me there was a possibility I wouldn't react well. A full-blown freakout in the bedroom probably wouldn't impress much.

So, when Declan backed me towards his bed, and enticingly dangled the furry novelty handcuffs in front of me, I said impulsively: "Can you wear them first?"

Doubt flashed across his face, and he sucked in air sharply. "Okay. Let's do that." He agreed, albeit hesitantly.

And, do you know, it was actually surprisingly hot. Despite my initial reservations, I got into it pretty quickly: moving on top of him, teasing him with my fingers and tongue and lips. Taunting him. Making him beg a wee bit. Of course, the fact our break was finally over made it feel even better.

I'd missed being intimate with him so much.

He groaned in satisfaction afterwards. "Let's try the cuffs out on you now," he said, his smile pure filth. Feeling a bit more relaxed about the whole thing by this point, I nodded agreeably, and grabbed for the handcuff key, which I'd placed on the windowsill behind the bed.

I couldn't resist one last kiss before I released him though. "That was amazing," I informed him, reaching towards the cuffs with the key. "I'm so glad we're back together; I missed you so much."

He visibly winced at that. "Um, about that, Abby . . . I don't actually think getting back together is the best idea."

What the fuck?

My mouth dropped open, and my grip on the key loosened at that shocking statement.
The key bounced on the mattress above Declan's head, and I tried to grasp for it, but in my slightly dazed state I knocked it behind the headboard instead.

We heard it land on the floor at the same time, and Dec's eyes widened, clearly panicked. No doubt cursing his timing. After all, why would you not wait until you're actually freed from the handcuffs before you officially dump your girlfriend?

Now, I could have been a massive dick about this, just left him handcuffed and naked, with the bedroom door wide open for one of his flatmates to find when they got home later. But of course I couldn't bring myself to do that . . . I was, remember, a Good Girl. It was a curse.

Plus, despite everything, I knew doing such a thing would definitely burn my bridges for good with Dec. The idea of him recounting that version of the story to any of our mutual friends made me want to cringe.

So instead you can currently find me underneath the bed, searching for that bloody key, and trying to stifle my tears. While Declan shoots lame platitudes at me from somewhere above, obviously still worried I might abandon him before I complete this not-so-rewarding treasure hunt.

"You're such a lovely girl, and we've had such a great time . . . I know you'll make someone a great girlfriend; unfortunately I don't think you're meant to be my girlfriend.

"And you look like you've been having such a great time without me. It's made me so happy to see how much you've been thriving on your own!"

Hoist by my own petard.

"Cool, I understand, no problem!" I call, trying my best to be breezy. It's more like a monsoon under here though, my tears coming thicker and faster. I rattle what appears to be an empty beer can against the underside of the bed, using the ensuing clattering noise to cover up a giant sniff. "I'll just find this key, and then I'll get out of here."

Why am I such a pushover? I can't help but wonder to myself as my fingers finally close over the key, much to my relief. I really should be a bit more confrontational here; ask him why he slept with me if he had no intention of getting back together with me.

But I won't. Instead I'll just let him get away with it because, deep down, I know there's no explanation that I'm really going to want to hear. The real answer, it seems, is the obvious one: "ex-sex".

Of course, I bang my head as I edge back out from the dusty darkness, just to add insult to injury. Or injury to insult, perhaps, in this specific case.

"Got it." I unlock the cuffs and Declan seems relieved. Until he clocks my face, that is.

"Abby, are you okay?" He asks, horrified. "Have you been crying?"

Is he fucking kidding me with this? He dumps me two seconds after sex, and then is surprised I'm upset?

I can't deal with this guy any longer.

"Allergies," I lie. I force the biggest, most teasing grin I can under the circumstances. It's more of a grimace, to be honest. "You might want to run a vacuum cleaner under your bed once in a while; it's like a dust storm."

I wriggle back into my knickers and dress, feeling like an absolute idiot. At least I've stopped crying for now but I suspect it's a temporary break, and those pesky tears will be making an uninvited return visit in no time.

I need to get out of here.

"I hope we can still be friends." Declan's cliché game is strong today. Each word stings like salt, carelessly rubbing against my wounded heart and ego. I cringe, then inhale sharply to keep my voice calm, as I step into my shoes.

"It's all good. See ya, Dec." Without looking at him again, I virtually sprint from the room.

He's still talking even as I leave his room, but I don't hear a word because the humiliation and anger rumbling inside my head drowns it out. I fumble with the lock on his front door, letting it bang behind me as I step out the corridor. The noise echoes through the close, and clears my own fuzzy brain, leaving me feeling strangely numb.

I check my watch. It's only 8.05pm.

I've accidentally had ex-sex for the first time in my life.

And I didn't even get to have an orgasm.

Yeah. Reality can suck it.

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