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“Am I getting you addicted to orgasms, then?” he asked, his hands drifting along her back in a circular caress.
Damned if she didn’t let out one of those happy giggles. “Maybe. But mostly I’m worried that you’re never going to, you know, consummate this marriage.”
“I will make love to you. That’s a promise.” He leaned down, kissing her nose, which crinkled. “Just not tonight. I’ve already wrung you dry.” Her eyes lifted to meet his, and he kissed her gently again, this time on her mouth. “And I loved it. Don’t think I didn’t.”
“So that wasn’t you holding back?” she searched his face.
“I didn’t cut loose enough for you?” He lifted an eyebrow.
Her skin flushed with the prettiest of tints when she got turned on. It was visible even in the dim room.
“No. It was…” She swallowed but didn’t try to pick up the train of thought. Her body slipped to the side, curling into his warmth. She rested her head on his chest again. Then she lifted her arm, staring at her scar.
He hadn’t forgotten. “Do you want me to replace the bracelets?” he offered. He might have been angry, but he’d also been honest. She wasn’t wearing anything the Albanian had bought her ever again.
“I’m not sure.” She let her arm lower until it rested over and around his stomach. “We talked about me tonight, but I had other topics in mind.”
“You can ask me anything. Is this about something else Giulia said?” Montrell tried to think back to earlier in the day, but most of it was a blur of words.
“She said you have a savior complex.” Beatrice’s fingers flexed against his side. “Is it true? Am I one in a line of women you’ve saved?”
“What?” Montrell sat up too suddenly, accidentally dumping her onto the bed. He waited for her to sit up beside him before he gently took her chin, searching her eyes. “Is that what you think?”
She looked so damn remote again. “It doesn’t make sense,” she whispered.
He released her to brush her hair behind her ear. “I don’t understand. What doesn’t make sense?”
“I don’t meet your needs.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she glared as she rushed on. “You admitted you’re holding back. I’m the one always taking.”
Montrell made a sound in his throat. He hated the way she looked when she said that. “It’s not a hardship. I get off on giving.”
“Exactly. You’re used to it. And it’s obvious you, well…” She frowned down at her hand, which was clenched around the comforter.
“Well, what?” he asked.
Her tone dropped. “You’re good at it.”
It was no surprise he wanted her again. He always wanted her. His hands shook from the need to reach out and clamp her against him. She’d admitted she enjoyed it, even if it was in a roundabout way.
He wanted to give her the opportunity to enjoy it again.
She licked her lips, and he held in a groan. “I mean,” she continued, “you’re practiced at it. Experienced.”
“Are you jealous?” Heat rushed through him as his body vibrated.
“I’m not!” Beatrice was back to looking exasperated. Then she bit that gorgeous lip. “It’s not about you; it’s about me. I don’t want to be one of many.”
“There’s no one like you, Bea.” His hands found her waist, wanting to pull her against him. He didn’t. Instead he dipped his head to catch her gaze when it would have skittered away. “There’s been no one since you.”
“What?” Her eyes widened as they latched onto his.
“There hasn’t.” It wasn’t that Montrell didn’t enjoy sex. He loved it and had had plenty of it before the engagement. After, he had always pictured her when someone came onto him, and that wouldn’t have been fair to them.
“But you said you have a high libido.”
He laughed. “And my hand services it well.” He leaned forward. She was the one vibrating now; his hands could feel it. “I always imagine you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the ear he’d exposed earlier when he’d brushed her hair back.
The way she shuddered nearly wrecked him.
