Made for sharing.

It was no good; she'd asked.
He knew what she expected but still he wasn't prepared for it.
Last night, with her, had been brilliant. She'd willingly offered so much of herself to him, and he had willingly over-indulged on her generosity with a hedonistic selfishness.
Now, back at home, as they were eating, she had asked, almost nervously, and as much as he knew what she now hoped for he just couldn't do it.
He really wasn't the man she clearly thought he was.
It was the last Rolo and it bloody well wasn't going to be hers.