I shifted in the driver’s seat because my erection felt pinched in my jeans.
“—and I was sprawled on my back with all these graded papers digging into my spine while you were standing on the floor between my legs so you could...you know. Then you hit this spot in me...Oh, my God. It felt so good. I somehow kicked over the monitor of my computer screen. But you just kept going, and I think I was about to come, but then I woke up all wet and aching, and I never did find out how that dream ended.”
Oh, I knew how that dream ended.
But damn. This was not good. Hearing about how I’d made her wet and aching snapped the chains around my control as if they were scissor blades plucking apart a tendril of hair.
“You probably shouldn’t be talking about this to me,” I told her, my voice gruff.
She glanced over. “Why not? You’ve had sex, haven’t you?” Then she snorted and threw her head back to laugh outright. “What am I saying? You’re Noel Gamble. You’ve probably had sex more times this month alone than I have in my entire life.”
I scowled. “Okay, now you’re just being insulting.”
“Six,” she said.
I shook my head, not following. “What?”
“I’ve had sex six times in my life. Three different guys.”
My mouth fell open. Jesus. I hadn’t needed a head count. But hell, now that she’d given me one, I thought maybe I had had more sex in this month alone than she’d had in her entire life. Okay, not this month or even last month, exactly. But definitely during a football season month.
She tipped her head to the side and frowned thoughtfully. “Wait. If you’re not willing, does that count?”
Zipping my attention to her, I almost ran a red light. Stomping on the brakes, I exploded, “Excuse me?”
“I said—”
“I heard you! Jesus Christ. If you’re not willing, I don’t think it’s even considered sex. It’s called rape.”
She had not just told me she’d been…No. No way.
Frowning thoughtfully, she murmured. “No. No, my parents told me very specifically I couldn’t call it that. Told me I couldn’t tell anyone, couldn’t go to the police or talk about it ever again. No.” She gave a vigorous shake of her head. “It wasn’t rape. I deserved it. I agreed to go on that date with him, after all. I even climbed into the backseat with him on my own free will. They said I should’ve expected it.”
Should’ve expected…?
Jesus. I thought I might vomit. But, what the fuck?
With my fingers choking the steering wheel and pretending it was her goddamn rapist’s neck, I managed to ask, “How long ago was this?”
“Nine years. I was fourteen. It was my first time.” she pressed a finger to her lips thoughtfully before adding, “I don’t think a girl’s first time should ever be like that.”
“No,” I agreed quietly. “No, it shouldn’t.” I thought about Caroline for some reason. Shit, she’d had that dance tonight, hadn’t she?
What if that Scotini boy expected more from her than she was willing to give? What if she agreed to climb into a backseat with him for a couple kisses then got scared when he wanted more and tried to put on the breaks, but he didn’t let her? I’d break every bone in his fucking body. I was tempted to pull out my phone and check on her, but I wanted to be here for Aspen, too. She was obviously going through something right now, and I liked being the one to hear her drunk disclosures.
“Have…” I licked my dry lips as I turned down her block. “Have you ever told anyone about this before, besides your parents?”
I prayed that she’d tell me she’d gone to the police, despite Mommy and Daddy’s wishes, and the asshole had been thrown behind bars, where he’d stayed until he died after being gang raped himself by twenty other inmates. When she didn’t immediately answer, I glanced over at her as soon as I pulled into her drive and parked.
She’d curled up in her seat with her knees bent to her chest and her arms wrapped protectively around her legs. It gave me a view of silky black panties, but at the moment I was too worried about her to ogle them.
Looking a decade younger than twenty-three, she sent me a wide-eyed glance. “Of course,” she said. “I told my therapist. It’s very chic in my parents’ world to have a therapist. But mine actually helped me get over it. I mean, the first guy I was with after it happened didn’t reap any benefits. He didn’t even stick around to finish our one encounter together because I freaked him out so bad. He pulled out as soon as I started crying. Then he ran off and never called me again. But the second stayed through more than one encounter before he stopped returning my phone calls. That’s something though, right? It’s progress.”
I hissed a curse under my breath. Bastards. All three of them. I could tell every one of her past partners had hurt her, even if they hadn’t been like the first prick. I wanted to pull her into my lap and just hold her. Or maybe even show her what the good side of passion was like.