I climb onto the bed, tossing the towel he allowed me to keep off to the side. There’s no point in fake modesty, and I’m sure he wouldn’t respond well to it.
“One question,” he says.
“Yes?”
“Right now, are you fertile?”
I shake my head no.
“Good, we’ll track your cycle so I don’t get you pregnant. If you’d like, I’ll give you pills, but I won’t force you to take them.”
He crawls into position, nudging my legs apart.
My gut twists because I feel so on display. And yes, I know how ironic that is considering what I’ve done in the past.
I wish I’d taken the time to shave in the tub, but with my exhaustion, I hadn’t thought this far ahead.
Not that Hunter seems to care. He’s looking at my snatch with…interest? Not horny interest. Like I’m some kind of rare insect he’s spotted in the wild.
Which is a crazy feeling I don’t entirely like.
“Ah, can it start up here?” I ask, trying to change the vibe.
He looks up at me, his eyes roving over my body.
“Maybe we could kiss?” I offer.
“I’ll never kiss you.” His tone isn’t angry or warm. It’s neutral.
“Fine, but maybe you don’t have to startdown there,” I say, annoyed.
He sighs. “You liked what I’d done to you down here before.”
“And I’m sure I will again, but I want to know if other things make me feel good, too.”
His eyes flicker with frustration, but he crawls up my body so that he’s directly above me.
“Can you take off your shirt?” I ask.
Grumbling, he complies with my wishes, tugging his shirt off and throwing it onto the floor. Then, he settles into position, his warm flesh against mine.
Underneath his well-muscled body, I wait for him to do something, make some kind of move, but all he does is look at me.
And then it hits me. He doesn’t know what to do…
It’s a strange, sad surprise, but I’m sure it’s the truth. He’s never had sex in the traditional sense. The last time we were together, he’d asked to lick me because his friends enjoyed it. Apparently, it did the trick, but it probably wouldn’t have occurred to him to do it on his own.
Which makes this awkward for the both of us.
“Could you touch my breasts?”
He gives what I believe is a sigh of relief as his hand moves into position, gathering a breast and gently kneading.
This isn’t like the tub, where everything felt so clinical. His hand is big and warm and the way he works my flesh causes my vision to lose focus.
I moan, digging my fingers into his hair as I bring his mouth to my hardened nipple.
That I could be so forward with a murderous psychopath speaks to how turned on I am right now. Everything about this man is confusing, but that’s okay. As long as his mouth is on me, we’ll get along just fine.
