He spins the blade between his hands, studies the handle, and nods. “I took it. And I won’t ever give it back.”
“What…” I draw in a long breath, then let it out on a grunt. “What did you do to make that person so mad?”
“Well…” And there he goes, blushing a little. “Normally, I’d straight up announce my shit, because I’m not ashamed of who I am and I never care what people think of me. But this is you, and we’re back to the fact that I kinda care what you think.”
“I won’t judge you,” I whisper. “My opinion doesn’t matter.”
He tilts his head to the side and studies me. “I took his girl. I was drinking at a bar one night, saw him and her together, and decided I liked what he had, so I invited her somewhere private.”
“You–” My eyes pop wider and wider. “Huh?”
“I fucked someone else’s girl, then I handed her back like she was just on loan.” He grins. “You’re judging me.”
“No! I’m… wow.” I want to be sick. “Yes, okay. I’m judging you.”
He chuckles. “It makes me a little sad that I just put that in your head.”
“Why did you do that with a woman you don’t care about? With a woman you didn’t even know?” I sit a little taller, but drag my towel higher so I remain covered. “Why do you give that away when it should be special between a man and a woman?”
“Sex isn’t something I consider special, Abigail. Not really. It’s just something people do, like exercising together, laughing together, drinking together. It’s a social thing that stopped being special to me after my first time. Wait.” His face pales. “You’re crying?”
“It’s the overwhelmed thing.” I furiously swipe a hand over my eyes. “It’s just… I feel like it should be special. It should be an expression of one’s heart and soul. It should be an ‘I love you’ and a declaration of true feelings.”
“The rest of the world doesn’t think like you.” He snaps the blade closed on his knife and lowers it to the floor. Or to his sock. Maybe to his pocket. I don’t know where he puts it, since his lower half is hidden from me, but then his hand comes back up, and his finger twirls my water. “I think it’s beautiful that you think the way you do.”
“You do?”
He lifts a brow as though in confirmation. “I also think it’s naïve and unrealistic. You’ve missed out on a decade of fun because you’re waiting for this mythical creature to come along and make you feel something that isn’t real. There’s no such thing as soulmates, Abigail. There’s no such thing as love at first sight or finding your other half. There’s just two people who make the conscious decision to choose the other person before anything else. Do you honestly think Jess and Kane knew they were it for each other the very second they met?”
I hate the tears that slide over my cheek as my heart crumbles from his callous words.
“Yes.”
His scoff makes me feel like an idiotic child. “Do you think Jay and Soph were just walking down the same street one day, looked at each other, and shouted‘there you are!’? You don’t think Katrina gave Eric hell for two years straight before she agreed to the first date? And do you think she and Eric didn’t fuck before that first date? They knew the truth.”
“The truth?”
He nods. “Fucking and love are not mutually inclusive. Fucking is something adults do together that feels nice. And if you happen to like each other enough to keep meeting up, then the love might come. But one doesn’t have to happen because the other did.”
“I want to believe they’re one and the same.” My breath hitches, drawing his eyes down to my chest. “I refuse to believe that the right people, if they were destined to be together, wouldn’t feel that thing between them when they meet.”
“I’ve met a lot of women, and I never felt athing. And I think waiting for that thing that doesn’t exist could become a crutch for you, Priss… an excuse not to dirty yourself up.”
“But that’s just it.” I push damp hair off my face, and bring my towel higher. “You call it dirtying oneself. That’s the problem right there, isn’t it? If there’s love, it shouldn’t be dirty. If it’s dirty, maybe it shouldn’t have happened at all.”
He brushes me off with a scoff. “There is a whole subset of humans who seek out the filth. They pay for it, they crave it, they lust after it. There are Susie-homemakers on every street who have married up and think they’ve found the fairytale, thatthing, but five years in, ten years in, Susie wants the filth.” His eyes slowly come up and meet mine. “There are entire industries that feed Susie’s not-so-unique cravings, and Susie funds that industry with her banker husband’s money.” Spence inches closer and digs his hand into my water so his fingertips brush over my thigh. “I haven’t met a single woman who said ‘no’ when I hurt them in bed.”
“Hurt?” My pulse skitters just as surely as I shoot away from his hand. “Hurt? You hurt women?”
“Not in the way you think, and not as an abuse of power. I might be bigger than you, and my hands will hurt you, but you’ll like it. They always do. You look at me right now like I smacked you on the chin. Those are your judgmental eyes, Abigail, but it’s not something you can know unless you’ve experienced it.”
“But why on Earth would someonevolunteerto experience it in the first place? What woman wakes up one day and thinks ‘today might be the day I enjoy being hurt’?”
“You’d be surprised.”
With sure hands and zero hesitation, he reaches out and yanks me back to the middle of the bath so water splashes over the side. My towel remains in place, but it rides up higher to show off my thighs. My bubbles are all but gone.
I clamp my legs shut for modesty, but with deft fingers and seemingly no effort on his part, he slides his right hand between them, just like he did in a fancy bathroom just a few hours ago, and when his finger taps my most sensitive flesh, I shoot up with a gasp and send more water splashing over the side.