In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(23)

“Had sex with virgins? A couple times. Once in high school, once in college. They didn’t bleed as much as you. One hardly at all. But I didn’t go in that hard, either! Because they f*cking told me first, Sveti!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, helplessly. “Really.”

He slid off the bed and slapped the door of the adjoining bathroom open with a smack of his elbow. The thud made her jump.

She stared at the patch of blood on the sheets. She hadn’t expected that. Or for it to hurt so much. Not from what her friends said about their first times. It hadn’t been such a big deal for them.

Though it didn’t surprise her. Many things that were no big deal for other people were fraught with peril and embarrassment for her.

It was, after all, the goddamn story of her life.





CHAPTER 5

Sam stared in horrified fascination at blood going down the drain, swirling around his toes. He should have known. In retrospect, it was so clear, but he’d been distracted by his clamoring dick, and the statistical improbability of a woman that beautiful managing to stay untouched for so long. And a contraceptive implant? What the f*ck was that about?

God. He wanted to slam his head into a door.

Her shadow flickered behind the shower curtain. Rings rasped, as the curtain slid aside. She waited. He couldn’t bear to turn and look.

She laid a hand on his wet shoulder. “Sam—”

“Not fair, Sveti.” He pushed her aside so he could step onto the mat and dried himself, careful not to meet her eyes. “You’ve been busting my balls since we met. But this? Is all this carefully scripted to make me feel like shit? If so, congratulations. It’s working.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t know—”

“That your hymen was intact? Seriously?”

“No! I mean, I didn’t know it would be like . . . that. My girlfriends said . . . well, it was different for them. Not so dramatic. I was actually hoping you wouldn’t notice, to tell the truth. I didn’t want you to know.”

With that, he did look at her, uncomprehending. “Why not?”

She hesitated. “I was ashamed,” she admitted, her voice halting.

That left him floundering. “You lost me, Sveti.”

She pressed her hands to her face. “It seemed silly. So childish. I didn’t want to seem like . . . a loser.”

“Everybody’s a virgin at some point,” he said. “There’s no stigma.”

“Oh, come on!” she snapped. “It’s embarrassing! That I could never manage to . . . that no one ever wanted to . . . oh, bah, I don’t know. To be twenty-four, to have gone to high school and college, and all that time, I never managed to get laid. It felt kind of . . . pathetic.”

His jaw was sagging. “You?” He stared down at her body, which was such an astonishment to his senses, he could barely formulate a thought. “You, the goddess on high? The princess on the pedestal? You, pathetic? That’s pretty goddamn funny, Sveti.”

“It’s strange, Sam, but I’m not laughing,” she said.

“You know you’re drop-dead gorgeous, right? You know that any man who looks at you wants to f*ck you. Tell me you know that.”

She winced. “That’s a ridiculous overstatement. I’m glad that you think it’s so, but I don’t feel it. I look in the mirror and I just see plain old me, nothing so earthshaking. But, ah, thanks.”

Plain old me. Hah. He gestured at his own erection, which had revved up to full length. “Check me out. Even after being traumatized, my banner’s still on high. I never thought I’d be so heavy into pain. I’m discovering all kinds of dark, scary stuff about myself.”

“Dark, scary stuff is my specialty.” She grabbed him from behind and gave him a tight, awkward hug, and then fled for the bedroom.

He lunged for her, clamped his arms over her belly, and hid his face against her hair. “All I wanted was to please you,” he muttered.

She leaned back against him, with a jerky, shuddering sigh. “I know,” she assured him. “Really. And you did. You do.”

“Why do you make it so f*cking hard?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice shook. “I swear. I would stop if I knew how, but I don’t expect it’ll get any better with time. I’m a mess, when it comes to . . . this kind of stuff. Probably not worth the trouble.”

It was precisely what he’d been telling himself ever since he met the girl, but his arms clamped tighter, squeezing out what air might have been in her lungs. “Trouble like my wildest dreams,” he muttered.

He was such a masochist, whispering sweet nothings to this girl, but she was leaning back, accepting the comfort of his body, and he was strung out on the sweet buzz that vibrated in his skin whenever they touched. It was a fleeting moment of grace before the next door slammed in his face, and he would, by God, exploit it to the bitter end.

He was just made that way. He never learned.

She wiggled in his grip, turning to press her face against his chest. She tasted the salt of dried sweat on his skin. The little flash of warm pink tongue acted like accelerant tossed onto a fire.

Then she reached down and gripped his cock.

Whoa. Sam’s breath froze. His shaft twitched and throbbed. She stroked, squeezed, from root to tip. For a virgin, she had some great instinctive moves. But no way. Not now, after what just happened.