She gets distracted from her preparations for John's arrival by a phone call from Bea. In her usual manner she starts pouring news on Olivia, right after a hurried 'hello' and her habitual 'so this is what happened.' Olivia doesn't blame her. Any other given day Olivia would have nowhere to go and nothing else to do, and most likely if she was working she'd fancy a break. That has always worked in their relationship - just not today.

Olivia listens patiently to Bea's account of the meeting where she 'cocked up that prick from marketing' and once she switches to musing what hat she needs for her hols with Olivia's Dad in the Caribbean next month, Olivia notices her watch. Holy mother of monkeys!

"Bea— Um, Bea—" Olivia's trying to fit a word in. "Bea! I have a guest tonight!"

That gets Bea's attention.

"Oh?"

"Yes, John's coming over, and I need to change."

"Oh god, yes! You're probably in your PJs? Don't put on the same red knickers! Do you have black lace? Put on makeup! Red lipstick! Hair up!" Bea's barking commands.

"Bea, I need to go–"

"You need heels! And what food do you have? Meet him in the door in smalls and something on top so he has something to take off! No bra!"

"I'm hanging up, Bea..."

"After this one, Dane, you're talking! I still haven't gotten any report from the previous shags, and it's the first time in seven years we actually have something to talk about!"

Ouch.

"Firstly, you know I'm not discussing it with you, Bea. And also, I need to go!"

"Bye! Shag his brains out!"

She hangs up, and Olivia realises she's managed to clean up her flat while Bea was blathering. Now, Olivia has ten minutes left, and no desire to change.

Bea was wrong, Olivia's not wearing PJs. Her bottoms are yoga harem trousers, and on top she has her favourite tee that says 'May the mass times acceleration be with you.'

Olivia's been struggling with the question of lacy underwear, since coincidentally she has to describe quite a lot of taking said underwear off. She wears sport bras - since society requires her to cover her nipples, and wires in traditional bras might or might not have correlation with breast cancer - and cotton bikinis, since they're the most comfortable for her. She did go all red and sexy on John upon Bea's advice last time, but it was endlessly uncomfortable. And somehow she just doesn't want it now. She quite agrees with many women's approach of putting something special on to 'spice it up' - and again, it makes sense to do it for oneself, and not for the bloke, who should really decide for himself whether he's aroused or not. Right now, Olivia feels sexy as it is, from the whole idea of conducting an experiment and from not having seen him for a few days. Plus, let's face she's a smitten kitten. Yeah, yeah, it's early, but why does it have to be a barney? You two are doing great, Dane. Relax and enjoy.

She opens the door, and there he is. A tall, wide, and delicious drink of water. She jumps and hangs onto his neck. His palms are on her arse, and he hoists her up. Hm, it is indeed comfortable, if the bloke is supporting you. Also, he's quite a heavy poppet. Meaning, there are no bony angles digging into her inner thighs. She properly fancies the whole bear man thing!

"Hello," she purrs, and he grins back.

"Good evening to you too, Liv."

She lifts an eyebrow. "Liv?"

She leans in and kisses the very corner of his soft warm lips.

"Liv," he asserts. Oh la la, three sounds, the last one gently vibrating on his bottom lip, and you are toast! But then his confidence wavers, and he smiles shyly. "Yeah?"

"'Liv' is perfect." She nods and kisses him properly.

After a few moments of copping off she notices that he's only supporting her with one arm, the other hand's splayed on her shoulder blades. So, that's possible. Very good.

"Are you taking notes?" he asks, and his shoulders start shaking in his usual rumbly, whole body laughter.

"Maybe." She leans to his ear and gently bites the earlobe. "We should go to the bedroom, though. In case the experiment fails, we'll have the bed as an option to fall back on."

The pun earns her a guffaw. Alright, Olivia Dane's officially into puns.

He carefully puts her down on the floor and takes off his jacket. While he's toeing off his shoes, he gives her a merry look over.

"I love the bottoms. You're very pretty."

And that is how compliments are done, ladies and jellybeans. Well, at least if you want to impress one Olivia Dane. She has certain pet peeves when it comes to compliments, and according to Bea it's her 'deep rooted insecurity of being the daughter of a former model.' All Olivia can answer to this is that the aforementioned insecurity is indeed deep rooted and not that deep hidden.' You look great today' to her ears sounds like 'you looked like shite yesterday, and probably will tomorrow.' 'You look great in this dress' is a compliment to the dress, not the person.

"Thank you." She blushes and smiles at him gratefully.

And then she thinks she might as well ask, to gather information, since asking straight seems to be the thing between the two of them.

"Do I look better like this or in the red knickers and bra?"

He hangs the jacket, turns to her, and is giving it a thought. It's adorable! The bloke's really trying. He rubs the tip of his long nose with his index finger in the already familiar gesture.

"It's different. I mean the knickers were... just wow. And it fit the mood." He's following her into the living room. "But on the other hand... I don't know how to explain it. But I like you like this. You're cosy."

She freezes and slowly turns to him. His face drops.

"I meant, you're soft— Oh blimey, that didn't sound any better."

"Are you meaning to say I'm a 'girl next door' and not a sexy kitten?"

To be honest, she kind of gets what he's saying, but she's suddenly enjoying watching him squirm.

"No!" His face's almost horrified. "You're a very sexy kitten!"

That makes it worse for him, he even grows pale. She takes pity on him.

"It's alright, John. I get it." She laughs, and stepping to him she wraps arms around his waist. "I can be both, but you like the soft kitten more."

She's snorting into his jumper.

"I like all your kittens," he mumbles, and she laughs louder. "I might actually fancy the kittens."

His voice is even and quiet, and she stills. Did he just say what you think he said?

"Sorry, Liv." Now he sounds regretful. Which we cannot allow, can we? "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable–"

"I fancy you too," she interrupts and presses her cheek to his sternum. "A lot."

He exhales sharply in obvious relief.

She lets him go, picks up his hand, and leads him to the bedroom. He's over their - though mutual - yet slightly unexpected confession session, and he's twisting his head trying to see her flat. She'll show it to him later - maybe she'll introduce him to her dining table. Right now she's planning to release all her kittens onto him, so to say.

She stops in the middle of the room and turns to him. He stands, expressing a mixture of eagerness and obedience with all his large body. If before she'd been pleasantly 'tickled' by the sexiness of this situation, now she's ravenous!

"Are you OK with following my instructions, John?" She sounds very, very raspy. "For research purposes, we should recreate the circumstances I have described in the book, so I would have to talk you through them."

He gulps, she can see his throat bob, and he nods.

She picks up the hem of his jumper and pulls it off, John bending down to help her. The white tee from underneath follows, and then her hands lie on his belt. His arms are passively hanging along his body, and she licks her lips. Her knickers are wet. She's always thought that it was a figure of speech, but she's so 'there' right now! She unbuckles his belt and pushes his denim down. That is what they - well, her and a whole bunch of other ridiculous writers - call his underwear was tenting from his raging erection. He's still not moving, and it can't be better than this!

She pushes her harem trousers down, together with the knickers, and jerks off her tee. Between the two of them all they have on are his pants. She steps closer and brushes her hand confidently along his cock up from the root to the tip and then cups his bollocks. Where did this confidence come from? From his slightly parted lips, burning eyes glued to her, and his complete immobility.

"Pants off, please." She's not asking, she's commanding.

The boxers hit the ground, and she picks up the Durex on the bedside table, and rolls it over his cock. He shivers visibly - this massive body, with black hair and lovely muscles from footie and rugby and rowing, and all hers to savour! Yum! She then stretches her arms to him, signalling him to pick her up. And the experiment starts.