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I raise a hand to caress her hair. "Ask away."
She rolls her gaze up to meet mine. "What about the no-personal-questions mandate?"
"Considering everything I've just done to you…" When I flash back to a few minutes ago, my slight smile broadens into something approaching a grin. "I think we can temporarily suspend the rules."
She drags her index finger round and round on my chest. "How many women have you slept with?"
"In my life? Six, including you."
Her finger stops moving. She arches her brows. "Only six? You're so ancient, I figured you must've had fifty or sixty, at least."
Cheeky lass. But I love it when she teases me.
I tap my fingertip on her nose. "Very funny. I was married for twelve years, and before that, I was selective. I had to care for a woman before I'd take her to bed."
"And now you're slumming it with me."
My jaw snaps shut like someone has pulled a lever inside me. I squint at her, hissing a breath out through my nostrils, and try to figure out why she believes I think of her as less than every other woman I've shagged. "Never refer to what we do together as slumming. You're not a prostitute."
"But you don't care about me. You don't even know me."
"I—" Do I want to know her? Maybe I do, but the last thing I need right now is to get emotionally entangled with anyone. I'm too damaged to be any good for Erica. I scrub a hand over my face, then press the heel of my hand to my forehead, closing my eyes. When I manage to look at her again, I force myself to maintain a neutral expression. "I like you, Erica. And I want you. Can that be enough?"
"Well, that was our agreement. Sex only." She lays her cheek on my chest. "It's your turn. Ask an impertinent question."
I skim my fingers down her spine, skimming them across each vertebra until my hand comes to rest over the dimple of her erse. "How many men have you been with?"
"Three, counting you."
"One of them would be the bawbag who bullied you."
"Presley? Yes. Unfortunately."
My hand stiffens on her backside. "I've no right to feel this way, but I hate thinking of you with him."
"So do I." She gives a fake shiver as if she honestly does dislike thinking about thebod ceann.
Well, at least she isn't still enamored of him. But her feelings toward Presley mean nothing to me.
Then why did I tell her I hate thinking of her sleeping with him?
"Enough personal questions," I say, sliding my hand down to squeeze her erse. "Shall we get back to the fun?"
"Absolutely." She slings her leg over mine, and her nipples scrape across my chest. A sexy smile warms her expression, probably because myslatis getting stiffer. "Next are you going to tie me up?"
"What?" I seize her chin, rotating her face toward me. "I would never do anything that might possibly hurt you."
"I just wondered, because you held my wrists earlier. More than once."
My lips tighten, and I close my eyes for a moment. Aisley had craved pain with her pleasure, but more than that, she'd craved depravity. I hadn't known that until after we were married, and I hadn't wanted to disappoint my new wife. So I tried some of the things she wanted. Ever since I left her more than a year ago, I haven't wanted to think about Aisley's proclivities. Some were rather tame, though nothing I wanted to try—like group sex or domination games. I might not have minded letting her be the dominant one during sex, but she also had wanted me to do things to her that I…could not stomach.
Erica isn't Aisley, or so I'd thought. But she just asked me if I want to tie her up.
She was teasing, though. I'm ninety percent certain of that.
I look at Erica and aim for a playful tone when I say, "I was trying to keep you from clawing my head."
"Did I hurt you?"
