“You don’t,” I interrupt him.
Jamison looks over his shoulder at me again, and his eyes flicker down to my mouth, then he swallows heavy and looks away again. He breathes out.
“I heard you,” I tell him quietly.
He looks back again, frowning.
“What you told that girl—that I rub you the worst?”
His mouth pulls tight.
I stare straight ahead.
“‘Not like that,’” I quote him. “‘Never like that.’”
“We haenae,” he reminds me, and I toss him a stern look.
“That’s not how you meant it.”
He looks annoyed. “Oh, and ye ken I meant it, do ye?”
“I know how you meant for her to hear it.”
He looks away again, staring at his hands. “Aye, well, I was full of shite thon night too.”
I sigh, pick up some water in my hands, and drip it slowly back into the tub. The drips drip louder than you’d think they might. That, or it’s just quieter in here than you’d think possible.
“Did you bring her back here?” I don’t know why I ask that for. Because I already feel sad? To make myself sadder? To fight with him?
“No’ here,” he tells me.
A sneaky clarification.
I inhale sharply, and I think he hears it.
“But somewhere?”
He’s quiet for a moment, and then his head falls back against the side of the tub. “Aye.”
I nod once, feel my heart sink at the thought of his hands on someone else.
“So—” I drag my finger around the edge of the bath. “How many girls have you had sex with in this bath?”
He scoffs.
I stare at the back of his head, frowning. “That many?”
He turns over his shoulder again, scowling. “No’ that many.”
“How many then?” I ask, and our noses are so close they’re almost touching.
His eyes fall down my face, and then he turns away from me again, lets it hang there.
“None,” he says after a moment.
“What?” I stare at him. “You said—”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, telling the wall in front of him. “Forbye, this girl frae England bathed in it once and ruined it.”
“How?” I ask, mortified, my cheeks on fire.
He shrugs again, back to holding his wrist and staring at it. “Just felt sick thinking about anybody else being in it after her.”
Hold on. What?
I blink a few times, then look over at him.
Is he—?
My heart starts going absolutely mental on the spot.
I tap-tap on his shoulder, and he turns back around, and then I just take his cheek in my hand and brush my mouth over his.
It is, in the scheme of kisses, a tiny one.
My lips barely part his open. It’s shy and nervous, but it does the trick, because as soon as our lips touch, his body turns the whole way around and he takes over. He slips his hand behind my head and kisses me as he kneels over me. I curl my arms around his neck, and he lifts me out of the water, drenching himself in the process.
This doesn’t stop him, doesn’t slow him down. I don’t even know whether he noticed.
He carries me backwards towards his bed and then lays me down on it. His eyes brush over my body, and then his hand touches my face. This sweet frown appears.
“I d?nnae want t’ force anything. I ken that ye haven’t, and yer not—”
“I lied to you before too,” I tell him, and the frown on him shifts a little.
“Aye?”
“On my birthday, when you asked me why I didn’t want to…” I trail off. “With Peter, and I said I didn’t know. I did know.”
Jem licks his bottom lip. “Why d?dnae you do it?”
I give him a look. “Please don’t make me say it.” I roll my eyes. “I already don’t have clothes on.”
He pulls a face. “Bow, that’s mostly how this thing here goes.”
“Jem.” I cross my arms over my chest, covering myself as best I can.
He keeps going, eyebrow up and playful. “Sure, it’s an important component to it, so it is.” He reaches down and pushes some hair behind my ear.
“Please.” I give him my best pleading eyes.
He smiles down at me, uncrosses my arms from over my chest, swallows heavy. “Just say it, Daph.”
I sigh and glance away from him as I do. “It wasn’t what I wanted.”
Jamison crawls over me, takes my chin between his finger and his thumb, and angles my head so I’m back to looking at him. “Aye, and what do ye want?”
My cheeks have turned into full-bloom roses, and I poke him in the ribs.
Jem gives me another look. “Say it.”
I swallow nervously and take a few deep breaths that come out shallow. “I’d like you, please.”
A smile breaks over his face, and he drops his body on top of mine, my face still in his hand. “Then ye shall hae me.”
He pulls his own shirt off, and I stare up at him wide-eyed, and he smirks for a second before he grabs me by the waist and throws me farther up the bed, crawling up after me.
“Take your trousers off,” I tell him, because I’m nervous.
“Easy.” He sniffs. “Settle down.”
I gesture to myself. “I don’t like just lying here, naked.”
He clicks his tongue and gives me a playful look. “Well, I like it.”
“Jamison.”
He laughs, kicks off his trousers, and glances down at himself. “Is that a wee bit better then?”
I stare at it, and my eyes go wide and my face bursts into flames. “Does wee mean something different to you than it does to me?”
He beams over at me, chuffed, tosses me a little wink, and chuckles. Then he clocks my face, and his goes a bit serious. “Are ye nervous?”
I nod quickly, swallowing.
“Well, fuck.” He rolls his head back. “Now a’m nervous too.”
I flash him a look. “Don’t be mean to me.” I shake my head. “You’ve done it a thousand times.”
He pulls a face. “No’ a thousand.”
I roll my eyes. “Many, many times.”
Jamison pulls another face. “Ye cud just say many? Ye daen need to say ‘many, many.’”
I let out a sigh and look up at him with heavy eyes. “What if I’m bad at it?”
He holds my chin between his thumb and his index finger. “You cudnae be.”
“I’m sure I could be.” I tilt my head, considering it. “After all, we had such a good kiss just now, and what if—”
His face pulls. “Sure, are ye going to blether on the whole time then?”
I give him an indignant look. “Perhaps.”
A little smile escapes his lips, and he plays with some of my hair between his fingers. “Okay.” He nods, watching me.
“Okay?” I give him a proud look.
“Aye.” He nods. “Works fer me.” That makes me happy, and he rests his chin on my bare chest, looking over at me. “Will I talk ye though it?”
“Oh!” I nod quickly. “Please, if you wouldn’t mind.”
He licks his bottom lip and sits up, staring down at me. It’s a funny kind of stare; it would have been awfully intimidating if his mouth wasn’t so pink and his eyes hadn’t gone all tender at the edges.
“Ri’, well first.” He cocks an eyebrow. “I’ll lie down on top o’ ye.”
And then he does. You know when you’re cold on a winter’s night and someone throws an extra quilt on you, and you settle in happily under the heaviness of it? That’s how it feels when he lies down on me.