‘I just don’t understand why you want me,’ I admit, feeling insecure and vulnerable.
I know what I look like; I’m reminded every time someone stares at me or comments on my unique eyes, but I also know that I have very little to offer a man, apart from something pleasant to look at. My mother’s beauty was her downfall, and I never want it to be mine. I’m at risk of losing my self-respect, just like she did. I’ve made it so there’s nothing to know. Who would want to give any attention to a girl who offers no intrigue or interest beyond her looks? I know exactly who: men who want nothing more than a pretty woman in their bed, which is exactly why I deprive myself of the potential of being loved. Not lusted after, but loved. I never want to be my mother, yet here I am, tinkering too close for comfort on the edge of debasement.
I can tell that he’s thinking hard about how to answer my question, like he knows it’ll influence my decision to stay or leave. I’m willing him to make his next words count. ‘I’ve told you, Livy.’ He gestures me inside. ‘You fascinate me.’
I don’t know whether that’s the right answer but I slowly walk into his apartment, and I definitely hear a quiet, relieved exhale of breath from behind me. I circle the round table in his entrance hall, placing my bag on the white marble as I pass, before coming to a stop, not knowing whether to sit myself on the couch or go into the kitchen. There’s an air of awkwardness surrounding us and despite his words in the car, it’s difficult.
He walks ahead of me and shrugs off his suit jacket, laying it neatly over the back of a chair before making his way to the drinks cabinet. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asks, pouring some dark liquid into a tumbler.
‘No.’ I shake my head, even though he’s not facing me.
‘Water?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Sit down, Livy,’ he orders, turning and gesturing towards the couch.
I follow his pointed hand and take my reluctant body to the large cream-coloured leather couch while he leans against the cabinet, slowly sipping his drink. No matter what he does with those lips, whether it’s speaking or simply taking a sip of a drink, it’s distracting. They move so slowly, almost sensuously . . . deliberately.
I’m desperately concentrating on regulating my thundering heartbeat but I lose the battle completely when he moves towards me and sits on the coffee table in front of me, his elbows braced on his knees, his drink suspended in front of his lips, his eyes simmering with all sorts of promises. ‘I need to ask you something,’ he says quietly.
‘What?’ I blurt the word quickly, worriedly.
His glass lifts slowly but those eyes stay on mine. ‘Are you a virgin?’ he asks before tipping the tumbler to his lips.
‘No!’ I recoil, mortified that he’s taken my reluctance as an indication of that. But in truth, I wish I was.
‘Why are you so offended by my question?’
‘I’m twenty-four years old.’ I shift uncomfortably in my seated position, diverting my eyes away from his inquisitive stare. I can feel my face heating, and I want to grab one of his fancy silk cushions to cover it.
‘When was the last time you had sex, Livy?’
I’m dying on the spot. What does it matter when I last slept with someone? Running seems like the best option for me but my reason for escaping has changed.
‘Livy,’ he prompts, placing his drink down, the chink of glass on glass making me jump slightly. ‘Will you please look at me when I’m speaking to you?’
His sternness irritates me, and that’s the only reason I do as I’m told and look at him. ‘My history has nothing to do with you,’ I say quietly, resisting the temptation to snatch his drink and down it.
‘I simply asked you a question.’ His surprise at my sudden spunk is clear. ‘It’s usually polite to answer a question when you’re asked one.’
‘No, it’s down to my discretion whether I answer any questions that I’m asked, and I don’t see what relevance your question has.’
‘My question has plenty of relevance, Livy, as will your answer.’
‘And what’s that?’
He looks down at his glass and swivels it on the table for a few moments before slowly returning his eyes to mine. They cut straight through me. ‘It will determine whether I f**k you hard immediately, or break you in first.’
I gasp, my eyes widening at his obnoxiousness, not that he’s affected by my shock or reaction to his crass words. He simply takes his tumbler and has another slow sip of the dark liquid, keeping his unrevealing eyes on me.
‘I don’t like repeating myself, but I’ll make an exception,’ he states. ‘When was the last time you had sex?’
My tongue is knotted in my mouth as I remain under his watchful eyes. I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want him to think that I’m even more pathetic than he must think already.