Ugh, why did I agree to this little question-and-answer session, and why does he care about my sexual history? It’s obviously nowhere near as busy as his. I debate shutting it down, but dammit, I want to know more about him, and I have a feeling this is the easiest way to go about it. He already knows I don’t have much experience, so it’s not like I am revealing shocking facts. Somehow, it is still embarrassing to admit. “It just happened one time.” It appears I now have his undivided attention. You would think I have just admitted to having two vaginas. Clearing my throat, I add, “It’s my turn again. How many times have you slept with Monique?” Shit, why do I keep harping on that? Wasn’t knowing he slept with her enough? Do I need details? Yes, it appears I do.
He raises his glass, taking a drink of the wine before answering. “Just the once and before you ask, it was one time too many. Monique is very…aggressive, which is fine in bed, but I quickly grew tired of her palming my cock every time our paths cross. I started to get the feeling she’d bite the fucking thing off if necessary to get what she wanted.” He surprises me by trailing a finger over my lips. “Please feel free to palm, lick, or suck me anytime you want, anywhere you want, sweet Lia.” I don’t need a lot of sexual experience to suspect I could come right where I sit, with no clitoral stimulation. Sexy, casual Lucian is deadly, and I want to puddle at his feet in a needy heap. “I believe it’s my turn now,” he says as he removes his hand to continue eating. “Why was it just the once? You’re a beautiful, sexy, responsive woman. Did he not take care of you?”
Closing my eyes briefly, I wonder why I’ve let this continue. This is going to be a humiliating admission. “I…it was my first time, so it was uncomfortable and over pretty quickly. He thought something was wrong with me…when he saw my back.” It was Lucian’s turn to drop his fork. He appears angry as he stares at me.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Did that bastard say something to you?”
Tracing my fingers over the granite of the countertop, I say, “He acted like I was some kind of freak. He…left and then told his friends I had something. Jake, my roommate’s boyfriend, was so angry; he knew what had happened to me from Rose.” Lucian’s chair scrapes back, and he is at my side. I continue to look down, mortified that someone as perfect as Lucian would know of my shame.
“Lia, look at me.” Reluctantly, I obey, seeing the fire simmering in his eyes. “You don’t have anything to feel bad about. Everyone has scars; some are visible and some aren’t. This punk didn’t deserve to be your first. He had no interest in pleasing and putting you first. Don’t waste a fucking thought on him; he isn’t worth it.” I can’t stop myself from climbing into his big arms. He is warm, strong, and smells panty-meltingly divine. I want to take my tongue and lick every inch of his body. Before I can put that plan into action, he pulls back, looking down at me.
“Hey, don’t you owe me another question?” I tease. He nods in agreement, and the scar on his neckline catches my attention. I run my finger across it, feeling his body stiffen. “How did this happen? Were you in an accident?” He freezes before pulling abruptly away.
“I have some work to do tonight. I’m going out of town tomorrow for a few days. You have your key, so you can come and go as your schedule allows. There shouldn’t be much to do here while I’m away, so don’t worry if you have schoolwork to do. He points at the dishes, adding, “I’ll clean this up later. Let me walk you down to your car.” He hasn’t looked at me through his entire speech, and I am reeling. I don’t think it was a coincidence that he is all but throwing me out the door after I questioned him about the mark on his neck.
“I can clean the kitchen before I leave. It won’t take long,” I offer.
“Just leave it,” he snaps before taking a deep breath. “Can you just do as I ask?”
“Okay,” I answer, walking out of the kitchen to find my handbag still sitting in the foyer. He follows quietly, opening the door for me. The ride in the elevator to the parking garage is silent, and I fidget with the strap of my bag. If not for my job with him, I fear I would never see him again; of course, there is no guarantee I will. As I unlock my car door, I mumble, “I’ll see you when you get home.” I cringe knowing it came out more like a question than a statement. He leans over and kisses my forehead, and I fight the urge to cry; he is putting distance between us. Even a quick peck on the lips would have been preferable to the platonic kiss he has given me.