“You mean disease? No! I’m perfectly fine. Are you—?”
“Completely fine,” he clipped out. “I was asking if there were complications with delivering Lily that affected you?”
“No. Just the usual leftover imperfections of stretch marks and... Well, you can see I’m still carrying a bit of baby weig
ht. Lily weaned herself three months ago and apparently these aren’t going away.” She waved at the chest that remained a cup size bigger than prepregnancy.
“I assure you I don’t consider any of those things ‘imperfections.’ Particularly the added curves. Is that the source of your hesitation? You’re self-conscious? We can keep the lights off if it will make you more comfortable. I’d prefer it, too. Otherwise my scar from my appendix surgery might turn you off.”
“Why would—Oh. All right, I get your point.” She rolled her eyes.
He paced closer, which made her freeze in place, skin growing tight with anticipation while nervous butterflies filled her torso, swirling around in every direction.
He touched her chin, coaxing her to meet his gaze with her own. “We’ve done this before,” he reminded her.
“About that...” She clasped his flat wrist and squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s the only time I’ve had sex. Ever.”
She felt the flex in his wrist and the slight increase of pressure in his grip on her chin.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded, voice seeming to resonate from the depths of his chest.
She did, meeting his gaze with chagrin. She wasn’t ashamed of being a virgin so much as feeling guilty for having misled him that day.
All she could see were his eyes, iridescent almost. Like granite that revealed flecks of precious gems when wet, glints of blue and green in the gray surrounding a giant black pool. His pupils were huge. Atavistic.
Yet skeptical.
“Ever,” she reiterated helplessly.
* * *
Rico couldn’t think of another time he’d been utterly speechless. Not that his mind had the capacity to filter any moments other than the one she was referring to. The shyness of her hands squeezing him through his pants and fumbling with his belt.
Enthusiasm counted for more than expertise when it came to lovemaking. If he’d given any thought to her lack of finesse, he had likely imagined she was as overcome as he was. He couldn’t say his own performance had been particularly adept, given the stolen nature of their tryst.
He remembered clearly that moment afterward, though, when his lingering pleasure had dimmed because he had feared he had hurt her.
Is your cycle starting?
I guess. Sorry. She’d been mortified.
Don’t apologize. At least we’re safe from—
He’d been appalled at forgetting the condom. He never forgot.
“I don’t like lies,” he warned her now, lips numb. This news was melting his face off his skull.
“I’m being honest.” She winced as though she was squirming inside. “I want to sleep with you, but I don’t want you to be...” She swallowed. Her voice remained strained. “Disappointed. I don’t want to be disappointed.”
The word wafted over him, so far from what he might be feeling as to be incomprehensible. Then his ego absorbed the hit.
“Were you disappointed that day?”
“No.” She withdrew from him a few steps and crossed her arms.
But she had nothing to compare it to. Her lack of experience began to penetrate. Belated concern struck. They’d been quite passionate. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. I mean, a little, but not...” She looked to the ceiling as though seeking deliverance. “I was fine with the discomfort. There were compensations,” she added with a small groan of embarrassed irony.