The Kiss Thief(57)

“I should hate you.”

I took another sip of my drink. I wasn’t going to argue my defense. It was inexcusable whether she told me she was a virgin or not. “That may be true, but we’d both suffer if you do. And although I deserve my fair share of suffering—” I said, and she cut through my words.

“Yes, yes, you do.”

“I do,” I agreed, my voice too soft for my ears to believe it was mine, “but you don’t. You’ve done nothing wrong. And while I’m not a good man, I am not a terrible one, either.”

She looked down at her hands, inspecting them as she tried not to cry. The fact that I knew how Francesca’s almost-crying face looked like proved that I’d been less than an ideal fiancé to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”

She chuckled, shaking her head.

“You’d already made up your mind about me before I even opened my mouth at the masquerade. And frankly, I didn’t much care what you thought of me. But yesterday, I told you…no, I repeatedly told you I didn’t sleep with Angelo. Three times. So I think the better question is—why didn’t you believe me?”

I gave it some thought. “It made disliking you easier.”

“What a coincidence. Your actions made me dislike you, fiercely.” She crossed her arms over her chest, looking away.

“I do not dislike you any more, Nemesis.”

I didn’t hate her. I respected her. Even more so since she didn’t let her pride get in the way yesterday. She got down on her knees to prove a point. That I was a bastard, and that she was speaking the truth. I took her purity and knew that in order to fix this, I would need to give her some of my own pride.

A price beyond anything I’d ever agreed to pay. A security deposit to make sure I could keep my fiancée, not only physically but in the same mental state from prior to our engagement party. The same fiancée who rubbed her soft, little body all over mine in her vegetable garden every evening, gasping in awe every time I “accidentally” touched her clit through the fabric of her dress.

“Put your hands above your head,” I said, turning around to face her.

She arched an eyebrow, still staring at the wall.

“If you continue staring at it, I’ll have to give you a good reason to.”

“Such as?” I piqued her interest. That was my in.

“I’m thinking about a life-size portrait of myself.”

“My idea of a nightmare,” she mumbled.

“With Sterling standing above my seated figure, holding one of her novels.”

She bit her lower lip, stifling a smile. “You’re not funny, Senator.”

“That may be, but I’ll have plenty of time to find your brand of humor. Hands above your head, Nem.”

She turned her head to look at me, her eyes two pools of misery. Misery I created, adding drops of it every single day I kept her here. I didn’t look away. I faced the result of my sins.

“I’m still sore.” She was first to break the eye contact, looking down.

“I know,” I whispered. “I’m asking you to trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because if you stop trusting, you’ll end up like me, and that’s a miserable existence.”

Hesitantly, she curled her fingers around the edge of the headboard. My heart squeezed at the implication of her obedience. She wore the same simple, pastel lilac nightgown that she’d covered herself with yesterday. It rode up her smooth, milky white thighs. I dragged my hand from my knee to her inner thigh, massaging the sensitive area for a few minutes, loosening her bundled muscles. At first, she was as stiff as a stone, but when I moved to the other thigh and she realized I wasn’t going to go anywhere north without her permission, she began to relax under my hands.

“I won’t hurt you,” I assured her, sliding her underwear gently down her thighs, “in the bedroom,” I finished.

“You did yesterday,” she pointed out.

“And I apologize for that. From here on out, I’ll make sure it will always be good for you.”

“You said you don’t care about making it good for women.”

I said those words before I nearly raped you.

Not that I actually did in the eyes of the dry law. She asked for it. She begged for it. Got down on her knees for it. But it was to prove a point. We both knew she didn’t enjoy it. We both knew I took something from her I did not deserve.

Her eyes met mine as I spread her thighs, sliding my thumbs toward her slit and rubbing circles in the sensitive area near her groin. I did not bow down to anyone, much less a Rossi. But I wasn’t bowing down to Nemesis, I was merely making my own point. That sex was great, if done right, and if both participants were on the same wavelength.

“Don’t move your hands,” I ordered, my voice hardening with lust. I saw her chest rising and falling in a mix of anticipation and fear. I could work with that. Her legs quivered with adrenaline before I even laid my tongue on her. I slid her nightgown up and tossed it over her shoulder, exposing her pink, coin-like nipples.

Wretchedly gorgeous.

Wickedly innocent.

Irrevocably mine.

After she was completely exposed to me, I took off my shoes, socks, dress pants, blazer, and dress shirt until I remained with nothing but my black Armani briefs. Another thing I didn’t do often—get naked in front of a woman. Sex wasn’t indulgent. For me, it was an outlet. I rarely fucked my flings in a bed, opting for quickies, and even when I did, it usually didn’t last past my climax. Nemesis stared at my hard-on through my briefs, curiosity and dread swimming in her cerulean eyes.