Page 104 of Dare
My brows rammed together. The question came out like a statement. “You’re not a virgin.”
“I’m twenty-two years old,” she reminded me, as if that justified everything.
Except she’d been imprisoned since childhood. So who the fuck had introduced her to sex?
Her expression implied she had as much experience as I did. Or rather, she assumed she had as much experience. However, my retinas were too busy detonating to conceal a forsaken thing. Notwithstanding how I’d eaten Flare alive in the chamber, experience did not stare back at her.
Flare stilled in disbelief. “You’re … you haven’t …”
“I’ve been busy,” I snarled, dismissing the matter. “Did they hurt you?”
The little beast gave a start. “I answered that already.”
Yes. When we had discovered the grotto, she’d confirmed no one had ravished her.
Nevertheless, I repeated myself. “Did. They. Hurt. You?”
“No,” she upheld. “He didn’t.”
“He,” I repeated, the pronoun drawing out my fangs.
Flare shrugged. “I don’t have a preference. Everyone is comely to me, so long as their soul is beautiful. But yes, it was a man. We shared a cell for a while.”
We had the same penchant. My limited history aside, I had no type. Intelligence attracted me, among other unique facets belonging purely to this woman.
Relief that she hadn’t been violated eased the death grip on my chair, another brutal inclination taking its place. As they had when I’d pumped my cock in the forest, images blackened the edges of my vision. Flare writhing beneath a male. Encouraging it. Enjoying it. Prior to the medical chamber, someone else had made her climax, presumably more than once.
Mine.
Again, the offensive word inserted itself into my brain.
Mine.
As though I were the least bit entitled.
Mine.
At Flare’s gasp, I registered my hands groping her hips. The unspoken word must have also surfaced on my face like a blemish.
In the candlelight, her pupils kindled. “You’re jealous,” she realized with too much enthusiasm.
“I am not jealous,” I growled. “I’m livid and plotting to commit a dozen counts of murder upon my return to Summer’s mainland.”
Rather than repulse Flare, this confession only brightened her features. “Why?”
I sidestepped the question. “Did he taste you?”
“No.”
“Did he make you come?”
“I don’t know.”
Considering Flare was no longer chaste, I had supreme difficulty believing she couldn’t tell the difference between an orgasm and a one-sided ejaculation. “Did it feel the same as it did on the night you dry-humped my cock? And in the medical chamber, did it feel the same as my mouth?”
She glimpsed my lips. “Nothing has ever felt like your mouth.”
The answer breathed life into my veins. My expression must have revealed as much, because she resurrected her earlier question. “So is there more?”