"I'm not giving you a name! It's none of your damn business."
Damon pushes off from the dresser, moving closer. "I think there was no guy. I think you made him up."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it? Because everything about last night told me you'd never been with a man before." His tone is matter-of-fact, like he's stating an obvious truth. "The way you tensed when I touched you. The way you gasped when I pushed inside you. The way you looked at me like you'd never felt anything like that before."
My face burns with embarrassment and anger at being called out. "Maybe you're better than he was."
"Nice try. But we both know there was no other guy." He steps closer until I'm backed against the wall. "I know you were a virgin."
The words hang in the air between us like an accusation.
"That's not true," I whisper.
"Prove it then. Tell me one thing this guy taught you. One technique, one position, anything that would prove you learned about sex from someone else."
I stare at him, my mind completely blank. Because what could I possibly say? I don't have enough experience about sex to make up a convincing lie.
"I don't have to prove anything to you," I say finally.
"You're right. You don't. But the fact that you can't tells me everything I need to know."
"You're being an asshole."
"Yeah, I am." He places his hands on either side of my head, trapping me against the wall. "You want to know why?Because you lied to me. Because you let me think you knew what you were doing when you didn't. Because I could have hurt you."
"You didn't hurt me."
"I was rough with you, Viviana. I fucked you like you were experienced. If I'd known you were a virgin..."
"What? You wouldn't have touched me?"
"I would have been more careful. Gone slower."
"I didn't want you to be careful."
"That's not the point. The point is that being someone's first means something. Whether you want it to or not."
"It doesn't mean anything," I shake my head. "It's not a big deal."
"It means you're mine now."
The words are said so simply, so matter-of-factly, that it takes me a moment to process them. When I do, my stomach flips.
"I'm not yours."
"Yes, you are. In my world, taking a woman's virginity makes her yours. Especially when that woman is Roberto Bonacci's daughter."
"I'm not a prize to be claimed."
"Aren't you. You gave me something you can never give anyone else. That makes you mine."
"That's archaic and possessive—"
"And true," he interrupts. "If this was just casual sex, if being with me doesn't mean anything, then why are you still here arguing with me instead of walking away?"
I open my mouth to respond, then close it. Because he's right. If this really meant nothing to me, I would have left already.
