“Not badly at all. In fact, I’ve grown rather attached to the looking glass.”
Her sultry giggle dispersed wisps of heat through his blood. He’d never known a woman to be so chatty after intercourse. Primrose, however, seemed intent upon reviewing their sexual activities, and, instead of putting him to sleep, the conversation was having the opposite effect.
He’d climaxed vigorously not a quarter hour ago, and already he had a cockstand. Goddamn. Such recovery was exceptional, even for him.
“This is lovely, isn’t it?” she said with a happy sigh. “I feel so free. I never thought having a lover would befun.”
His arm tightened around her waist. “Don’t get any ideas. It’s only fun with me.”
She giggled again, turning to face him. Even in the dimness, he could see the gleam of mischief in her eyes. “Possessive, are you?”
“You’re mine,” he stated unequivocally. “In bed, you may play any games you want. Outside of bed—I won’t tolerate it.”
“You needn’t be so serious.” A pout entered her voice. “I was only teasing. I have no intention of taking other lovers.”
“Good. Because I won’t allow it.”
“Come to think of it, isn’t the pot calling the kettle black?” she said with a huff. “After all, you’ve had plenty of lovers.”
“That was in the past.”
There was a pause. “How long ago in the past?”
Damn, she’d caught him off guard. His jealousy had distracted him from the fact that her hand had crept slyly and directly onto the lid of Pandora’s Box.
Apprehension prickled his nape, but he said dismissively, “It’s been two years.”
“Who was she?”
Christ.He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. To bring into their bed a figure that ought to have disappeared from both their lives long ago. He couldn’t allow the beauty blossoming between him and Primrose to be tainted by his weakness—by his sheer stupidity. Perhaps later he’d tell her; there was no reason to do so now. Not when they were just finding their balance in what had been a tempestuous journey.
“I don’t discuss my past lovers,” he said. “You’ll have to take my word for it that what you and I have are different.”
“How is it different?” she persisted. “How am I different from all your other lovers?”
You’re different because… I love you. Goddamnit.
Aye, he was in love with Primrose. There was no denying it. As a girl, she’d had a piece of his heart; as a woman, she’d owned the whole bloody thing from the moment their paths had crossed again at the masquerade.
He loved Primrose—and he also understood her. She wasn’t ready to hear those words from him. She was skittish about their affair as it was. Besides, experience had taught him that love didn’t necessarily change anything. He couldn’t help loving Primrose, but he also knew better than to expect anything in return.
“You’re different because you’re you.” He traced the contours of her face, framing its delicate strength. “Unique, captivating—and a saucy little baggage. You need a man like me to take you on.”
“I’m not a baggage,” she retorted. “And I don’tneedany man.”
“Don’t you?” In an easy motion, he rolled onto his back, hoisting her on top so that she straddled him, her knees bracketing his hips. He felt her shiver, the moist kiss of her cunny against his abdomen, and his erection reared against her bottom. “Could have fooled me.”
“Wretch.” She sighed it.
“You’re right, however. It’s notanyman you need—it’s me.”
Gripping his prick with one hand, he ran the engorged head along her dewy slit.
“You’re mine, Primrose. Say it,” he instructed.
“I’m yours,” she said breathlessly.
Triumph blazed through him. “Bloody right, you are.”
