“You do make me feel good,” he said. “I feel good spending days like this with you. I feel good when you need me so muchyou find me instead another dance partner. You could choose to spend your time with any man, yet here we are, and that is important to me. It does make me feel good, Svana. And I don’t need you to give me that to…”
“Why are you fighting me about this? I thought menwantedsex?”
“They do,” he said. “Believe me, they do.”
“Do you?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yes. Of course I do.”
“But not with me?”
“Svana… That’s not…”
“Just say it, then I’ll know. You do not wish to have sex with me,” I said. “Just say that. I want to hear it.”
“I don’t want to have sex with you? Is that what you think? That is incredibly false,” he explained. “But love making is–”
“You made love toLydia!”
Cyrus scoffed. “I didnot.”
“What? You said… Whatotherwoman have youknownthen?”I asked.
“A few too many to count, love,” he explained. “But–” Suddenly he stopped. Canting his head as some sort of realization dawned on him. He started, then stopped, then said, “Princess…I’ve had plenty of sex, but never did Imake loveto any of those women. And Lydia, perhaps, could have been more… once upon a time, but… she wasn’t you, and that’s the whole reason we called it off.”
“What? What absolutenonsenseis that? Youhadsex with her?” I asked. “Yes or no?”
His cheeks flooded crimson. “Yes. You know that.”
I replayed his answer in my head. “But–What? I beg your pardon, sir, but I’m lost.”
“There’s a difference,” he said.
“What difference?”
“There’s a difference between sex and love making,” he said.
“No there is. I’m an expert on etymology. They both mean coitus,” I said.
“Coitus?Really?”
“Yes! And I am in no mood for your dissection of my vocabulary. I am quite tired of you considering me a fool. So. Please, just be frank with me. Why do I repulse you physically, so much that you cannot–?”
“The difference is— First of all, you donotrepulse me. I don’t even understand how you can think that. Do younotfeel how painfully hard I am whenever we are together? I’m not some weirdo; that isn’t disgust, Princess. That’s certainly want.”
My eyes widened, traveling to his pants then back to his.
“And secondly,” he said. “I didn’t…” He stopped, then his whole body adjusted in an odd sort of posture.
“You didn’t…what?” I asked.
“We’re talking about different things,” he said. “Sex and love making. Trust me.”
A pause and then, “...You mean to say…?”
“Boy, I’ve got egg on my face,” he said. His voice was worried, almost self-deprecating. “It’s your turn to forget I said anything now.”
“Are you…?”
