“I’ll give you a stipend.”
I shake my head. “No. There’ll be no money between us.”
“I wouldn’t be paying to spread you out on my cot; I’d be paying to make your life easier. As forBottom of the Jug, you do realize most patrons go there to satisfy their sexual needs?”
“Most, not all. Some go for the drinks and the delicious food.”
His eyes flick over my face, quick sweeps of blue darkened by indecision. “Have you ever”—his throat dips—“slept with a man for coin?”
“No.”
His deep exhale warms the tip of my nose. “Good.”
“Would it have been a deal breaker?”
His grip widens until his thumbs and index fingers sink between my ribs. “No, but I prefer to be the only Lucin familiar with the shape of your body and the fragrance of your”—he lowers his nose to the delicate skin behind my earlobe—“cunt.”
I break out in goosebumps. Never would I have imagined my body reacting to that skeevy word with anything other than distaste, and yet, from Dante’s lips, it sounds downright sensual.
As he trails kisses to the sharp bones of my shoulders, I confess, “The night of the revel, I kissed someone else because I thought you hadn’t invited me.” When his mouth stops moving, I add, “It didn’t go any farther than a kiss, though.”
“Who?”
“No one you know.”
He lifts his head. “So not a Lucin?”
“Because you knowallthe men in Luce?”
A nerve twitches beside his flattened lips.
“How many women have you kissed?”
He releases my waist. “It’s not the same.”
“Why? Because you’re a man?”
His cheek flutters again.
“Have you lost count?”
“I’ve never kept count.”
“And yet you frown upon my trifling experience?”
“You’re right. It’s unfair.” After a beat, he says, “Forgive me.” His hands slide back around my waist, then up the length of my spine. “No more talk of other men.”
I shoot him a pointed look. “Or of other women.”
A smile softens his lips. “Or of other women. Just you.”
“Just you.”
He gathers me to him and kisses me long and hard, with teeth and tongue, as though to scrub away the traces of another’s presence. When we break apart for air, he rasps, “I like your dress, even though I’d have liked it better if you were wearing the one I purchased for you.”
Thankfully, he misses my grimace because his eyes are fastened to the pulse-point in my neck. He pushes away my hair, uncovering Antoni’s hickey. I expect a scowl, but instead, Dante lays his mouth on the faded bruise and suckles.
Is it wrong that I like this small act of possession?
