‘Was that the guy you slept with after me?’
The question came completely out of left field, and all the more so for the way his mouth was driving her body to another climax, his tongue exploring her slowly, sensually, so that coherent thought was almost impossible.
‘What...guy...?’
The words were gasped between her teeth and he pulled away, moving his tongue to her inner thigh so she flinched as he kissed her sensitive flesh there, and she ached for him to bring his mouth back to her sex, back to the very core of her being.
‘After the show, in the grey shirt.’
‘Tim?’ He was a hands-on, flirty guy in general, but they’d only ever been friends. ‘No.’ It was a groan. Now his hand moved to her flesh, his finger pushing inside her so that she bucked again, lifting her hips in an instinctive welcome to his proximity.
‘No?’ His finger swirled and she whimpered low in her throat.
‘He’s...just a friend.’
‘So who was he, then?’
‘Who?’
‘The other guy.’
She dropped her hands to his hair, running them through it, pleasure like a blade pressing against her. ‘Please.’ The word fell from her lips.
He relented, running his tongue over her womanhood so that pleasure filled her, release close at hand. But his question hovered on the periphery of her mind and a tumbling sense of shame rolled through her.
She’d lied to him. It had been a moment of silly pride, an embarrassment, a desire not to have him think that he’d been the sum total of her sexual experience. In the heat of the moment, she’d thrown it at him to unsettle him, but now she wished she hadn’t. She wished she’d owned her inexperience without apology.
‘Was he good, Jemima?’
The question made no sense. His tongue slid over her nerve endings; she groaned.
‘Did he make you shout his name?’
She shook her head, needing to deny this, to tell him she’d made it up.
‘Don’t...he...it wasn’t...’
And then he was bringing his body higher, his eyes latching to hers, his expression like thunder. ‘On second thought, perhaps I don’t want to hear about him.’
Cesare entered her then, swift and intent, and she cried his name into the room, but he kissed her, swallowing the words, his mouth hypnotising.
Their bodies moved in unison, the possession mutual, the insanity all-encompassing, and they exploded as one, satiation enveloping them both, filling them both and tearing them apart all at once. He rolled off her, his breathing loud, and she pushed up to study him, her own pulse still tearing through her. She was out of breath—her fierce desire had pushed it all from her system—but she needed him to hear her, to understand.
She couldn’t say why it mattered, but not being honest with him felt completely counter-intuitive. ‘I didn’t sleep with anyone else.’
He rolled his head towards hers, his expression giving little away.
She found it hard to meet his eyes but she kept speaking, not backing down from the decision she’d made, from what she knew to be the right thing. ‘You were so arrogant and self-assured, and I hated the fact you thought you could click your fingers and I’d come running, so I made it up.’ Heat bloomed in her cheeks. ‘I didn’t think you’d care, anyway. I definitely didn’t think you’d ever bring it up again.’
His finger lifted her chin so her eyes were forced to meet his.
‘I’m the only man you’ve ever been with?’
The masculine arrogance of that question was obvious and she rolled her eyes in response. ‘Yes.’
His grin was her reward. Sexy, arrogant, devilish. ‘You are mine,’ he said simply, and her heart did a funny little two-step.
‘I’m not anyone’s,’ she countered, and the words felt strange in her mouth, her tongue reluctant to frame them.