“I’ve done it before, okay? Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“Yeah, I’ve done lots of stuff.” She grabs my T-shirt from me and yanks it on over her head, covering up her beautiful body.
“Lots of stuff? With who?” I growl.
“Doesn’t matter.” Her eyes hold mine, full of her usual fire.
“It matters to me,” I grit, failing to rein in the overwhelming urge to pull her to me and demand she never so much as look in another man’s direction ever again.
“Just… I’m not a virgin, okay?” She looks away as if she’s embarrassed. “The tip went in, so…” She shrugs.
“Just the tip?” My jaw clenches. Who the fuck is this other guy who’s been near enough to her to get ‘just the tip’ in?
The need to tear someone’s head off makes my pulse pound in my ears.
“Yeah, it went in you know… a bit. So I’m not a virgin.” She meets my eyes and then snaps hers away again.
“Doesn’t count,” I hiss.
“It does.” She glares at me.
“Did he come inside you?”
“What? I told you?—”
“Was his cum dripping out of you like mine is right now.” My eyes drop to the apex of her thighs where she’s covered herself with my T-shirt. I frown, wishing I could still see her, to assess how much I’ve hurt her. “Was it?”
“Denver!” she gasps.
“Fuck, Sinclair!” I snap my eyes up to her face. “Tell me who he is right now.”
“It’s none of your business. And no, he didn’t. I told you no one ever has.”
The inferno inside me is doused, but merely a fraction.
“Tell me,” I urge again, more quietly.
“Why?”
I shake my head, my teeth grinding.
“So you can what? Add him to your hitlist? No way.”
I run through the possibilities in my head.
“Someone you know?”
She clamps her lips together.
“Someone you see regularly?” I press.
She’s silent and dread coils itself around my windpipe.
Fuck no.
“Brad Garrett-Charles?” I spit.
