‘And you’ll fuck me?’
He laughs gruffly. ‘We’ll see.’
* * *
I have no idea what’s holding me back. It’s new terrain in that she’s a virgin but sex, at the end of the day, is sex. So why? Why am I standing in my kitchen feeling like I’m the victim of some kind of abstinence torture, aching to possess her, feeling at the same time like I can’t? Like I shouldn’t.
Because there’s some kind of vulnerability to her. I feel like...there’s something. I can’t put my finger on it but there’s an air of sadness that lies just beneath the surface.
And while I have slept with more than my fair share of women, it’s never been out of anything other than mutual desire.
I’m not someone women regret. At least I don’t want to be.
Would she regret me?
Probably.
And there it is.
The reason I’m pouring us a wine instead of carrying her over my shoulder into my room and throwing her down on the bed like she’s been begging me to do.
She’s a twenty-three-year-old virgin and that makes no sense. There has to be a reason for it. A long-term relationship gone bad? Maybe she’s run away from a cult? Or she’s a member of a religious faction? In any event, something’s changed and, whatever that is, I’m pretty sure it’s something I definitely don’t want on my conscience.
She wants me to fuck her but it’s like she’s got a lion on her heels.
Why?
Does it matter? My dick is indignant.
My brain holds tight. It matters. A bit. Enough to stall me.
I carry two wine glasses through the apartment. She’s on the deck, her arms braced on the railing, her eyes glancing across the view. There’s a huge black void—the ocean—but you can hear and smell the sea, the boats coming and going, the water lapping, to know it’s there.
The city is to the other side, all shining lights and high-rises, old wars and ancient grudges.
I hand her a wine. She turns to face me. ‘To good old-fashioned sex.’
I laugh, despite my misgivings. ‘Not too old-fashioned, I hope.’
She shakes her head and her cheeks are still stained pink from how I made her come in the lift. God, that was hot. She was hot. She’s like a livewire, ready to blow.
‘Tell me why.’
It’s a challenge now and, before she can offer a whimsical demurral, I shake my head.
‘Tell me why.’
Her teeth massage her lower lip. I drop my hand to my side, perfectly still. Watchful.
‘Why what?’
‘Why are you a virgin?’
‘I haven’t had sex,’ she replies very literally.
I respect that—the quickness of her mind. ‘Why not?’
She swallows, her eyes flicking away. My brain surges, certain that I’m onto something. This isn’t just happenstance—what happenstance could explain this, anyway? There’s a reason. A mystery. Something behind her choice not to have sex—and now, something behind her choice to sleep with me.
‘I just haven’t.’
‘I don’t buy it.’
‘Tough.’
I laugh. ‘Now, now, don’t get all defensive. Don’t you think I have a right to know?’
She shakes her head. ‘It’s just sex. That doesn’t confer on you any right except to fuck me.’
‘Another excellent point, Millie.’ I move closer, my eyes locked to hers, sipping my wine. ‘And yet...’
‘And yet?’ She has to tilt her head to look up at me.
‘I don’t want to be something you wake up and regret.’
Relief fleetingly passes across her face. ‘I won’t.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because I’m in my head.’
I laugh softly. ‘And I want to be in your body.’ I push my hips forward so she can feel my rock-hard dick against her flat stomach. Her breath catches in her throat. She shivers. ‘But I’m not some teenager without a degree of self-control. If we do this, I want to take precautions.’
Her eyes spark with mine and there’s a silent challenge in her steel-blue gaze. ‘You think you’ve got self-control?’ she murmurs, ducking down and sliding out from under my arm, moving down the balcony a little way.
I watch, without following. ‘Yeah. Enough to know I have to be sure my partner in bed is there because she really wants to be.’
‘Oh, I want to be there,’ she promises, sipping her wine before placing the glass down on a table.
‘You’re beautiful,’ I say honestly.
She shrugs. ‘You don’t need to flatter me. I’m not here for compliments.’
I bite back a laugh. She is unlike any woman I’ve ever known.
‘I just mean you could surely have had your pick of guys at any time before now.’
Even in the subdued lighting of the balcony, I see her face pale. Curiosity grows—and also the certainty that I’m right. There’s more to this than just an insanely hot proposition. I’m good at reading people and there’s something about Millie that speaks of a vulnerability, something she’s working her hardest to hide from me.
I think back to every encounter we’ve had. To the way she spent the first month she came to O’Leary’s avoiding my eyes, like she wasn’t even sure how to talk to me, let alone look at me.
And now, this. Why?
Nothing adds up.
‘Millie...’ I groan, and now I step closer. Her chin tilts at a defiant angle. ‘I want you,’ I say thickly. ‘I’m surprised by how much, to be completely honest. But I’m not the kind of guy who takes advantage of anyone.’ Out of nowhere, I think of my mum, and the way my dad made an art form of walking all over her. I am not Clint Brophy. I never will be. I soften my voice. ‘If this is because you’re hurting or sad or something has happened, I need to know that now.’
She reaches for her wine again, sips it, then replaces the glass.
‘My mother died.’ She says the words clinically, but that doesn’t matter. I hear the throb of grief as it bursts through her.
‘When?’ My own response is clinical too, like I’m in court, where I make it a necessary habit to keep my emotions at bay, even when I feel them deeply.
‘A while ago.’
‘I see.’ I don’t.
‘She died.’ Millie swallows, her throat jerking convulsively. ‘And after the funeral, after everything had calmed down, I packed up my life and came away. I’m travelling because she never got a chance to. I put my life on hold when she was sick, Michael. I put everything on hold because she needed me.’
Her fingers curl around the bottom of her shirt and, as I watch, she lifts it up slowly, painstakingly slowly, inching it over her flat stomach, to her breasts, then over her head. She looks at me as she drops it to the floor, at her feet.
‘But now... I want to make up for lost time. I want to do everything and see everything and I want to sleep