“Don’t do that,” I lift to climb off his lap, and he stops me with his hands on my thighs.
“Do what?”
I change the subject. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“You’re better off not knowing.”
I pull back and nod. “I thought that would be your answer. Can’t give me an inch, huh?”
I don’t miss the ironic twist of his lips as he gently lifts his hips, his growing erection letting me know precisely what inches he would readily give me.
Rolling my eyes, I take my place beside him and click off my lamp. We lay in the dark, inches away, untouching. We’ve never been in bed together, not in the domestic sort of sense. And I curse my stupid emotions for feeling what I shouldn’t when he begins running the pads of his fingers along my arm.
Utter fucking disaster.
Minutes pass, as I stay quiet beside him. His touch lulls me into a state, a minute before he pauses his fingers.
“Why did you sleep with them both?”
“Whoa.”
I click the light back on and slide to sit at the head of the bed, peering down at him. If his pupils are any indication, then he’s been pulled way under. Those painkillers must be potent, or he’s a lightweight. Otherwise, he would never let me hear the hint of jealousy in his voice. And it is undeniable.
“Why do you want to know?”
I get a half shrug. “I’m curious.”
“No, you’re not, you’re judging me. And it’s none of your business.”
His voice is faint when he speaks. “Je n’en ai aucun droit.” I have no right.
“English, Tobias.”
“I have no right. Answer the question.”
His voice is so raw as if he’s been mulling this over and it pains him to ask. What do I have to lose by being honest? Nothing. This man knows me. He sees me more clearly than most others I’ve known for most of my life. But only because he’s studied me as his opposition.
“Sexually, for me, it started like a college phase. I’d only slept with two other boyfriends before I met them.”
“You weren’t in college.”
“It’s an expression.”
“I know the expression,” he replies with an edge. But the look in his eyes isn’t condemnation. It’s curiosity.
“I know I’m not the first woman they shared, so don’t think relaying that will make a damn dent in me. And don’t be such a prude. Wasn’t it the French who coined the term ménage à trois?”
His eyes narrow to slits.
“Come on. I’ve been on the receiving end of you. I know you aren’t a saint.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why does it matter?”
He stares at me with expectancy.
“If you get this from me, I want something from you.” He opens his mouth to speak, and I lift my hand. “And it’s got to be good. A real confession.”
He smirks, his expression boyish, and I soak it in knowing all too well this is a side of him he rarely reveals. His guard is down, even if it’s drug-induced. “When I was twenty-one, I slept with every woman in the June edition of a French lingerie catalog.”
Maybe I didn’t need that confession.
His lips turn up at my reaction.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not jealous, I’m…”
“Judging?”
“No. But exactly how many girls was that?”
“It was a boutique.”
“You aren’t joking.”
He slowly shakes his head, and his lips press together like he’s trying to hide a threatening smile.
“How is that even possible?”
“I was bored.”
“You were…bored.”
“Yes.” He shrugs. “But it was just the once.” His accent makes his comment almost comical. Almost.
“So, what, the other eleven calendar months didn’t appeal to you?”
“It was a college phase,” he supplies blandly.
“Well,” I clear my throat, “there you go.” I move to turn off the light, and he stops me.
“That answers nothing.”
Positioning my legs to sit crisscross style, I sit and scowl at him. “You really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”
“Don’t you already? Aren’t you the one who mapped my life up until now—my motives?”
Silence.
I gaze over at him as he adjusts himself on the pillow, his sculpted arm bulging as he does. I uncap the water on my nightstand with the image of Tobias, ten years younger, alone in a hotel room with naked lingerie models.