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“Has Paolo ever touched you?” The question is sharp, possessive even.
Her jaw tightens.
“I want specifics,” I demand as I circle her nipple. “Did my son ever touch your cunt with his fingers, his mouth, anything?”
She shakes her head, the movement jerky, her eyes glistening now with tears she hasn’t let fall. “No, he wasn’t interested in… that,” she whispers.
She stops, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. There’s more. I can feel it in the tension of her body, in the way she’s curling in on herself even as she kneels there exposed.
“Tell me,” I demand. “Everything. What he did, what he didn’t do. What he made you do.”
The tears spill over; I watch them silently track down her cheeks, watch her wipe them away with the back of her hand like she’s angry at herself for crying.
“He never kissed me like you did,” she says, and the words come out halting. “He, um, only gave me small pecks. He said kissing was for people who actually wanted each other, and he didn’t want to pretend.”
My hand stills on her breast. I force myself to keep touching her, to maintain the contact, because stopping would acknowledge how much this is affecting me.
“There was one time,” she continues, and her voice drops lower, ashamed. “He called me to his apartment and said I needed to see what he expected of me after we got married.”
“And what did he show you?” I ask, my voice filled with gravel.
“He told me to sit on the couch, and then he brought another woman into the living room. She was only wearing a robe that he tore from her body.”
My fingers flex against her breast before I deliberately loosen them. “And then what happened?” I ask, prompting her to continue.
Her eyes become hooded as she explains how Paolo made the woman suck him off while Kira watched, refusing to let her look away. All while telling her to study the woman’s techniques so Kira could learn to please him.
“He kissed her afterward,” she whispers. “And not just a peck, it was a real kiss. The kind he’d told me was only for people who wanted each other.”
It takes me a moment, but then I realize Kira isn’t as disgusted as her tone would lead me to believe. Her breathing has turned ragged, and her pupils are fully dilated. The black almost swallowing the hazel completely.
A slow breath leaves me through my nose at the revelation. Fuck. I slowly slide my hand between her spread thighs, pressing my thumb against the heat I can feel building there.
“And what did you learn?”
She shudders delicately. “I learned he liked gripping her hair so he could control the pace.”
“Mmm, what else?”
“The woman begged him to fuck her face, which made him groan and do just that.”
I press my hand against the wet fabric of her thong. “Did that turn you on when you saw it?”
Kira shakes her head. “No.”
“But you’re turned on now.”
Even though it’s not a question, she whispers, “Yes.”
“Did he ever make you come?” I rasp curiously.
She shakes her head, a small and quick movement.
“Has any man ever given you an orgasm?”
Another head shake.
“Use your words,” I snap, reminding her I expect her to answer me with her words.
