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My hand stops moving on her stomach. “One?” I repeat. “Only one, ever?”
She presses her lips together and nods.
“Were you…in love with him? High school sweetheart?” If there was someone Abigail had given her heart to, I still wanted to kill him, but that seems more in character. She definitely doesn’t seem the type to have a string of flings.
“No. I didn’t date in high school. It was just some guy in college. One night. I met him at a party I didn’t want to be at, had a couple of shots I didn’t want to drink, told him I was a freshman with an undeclared major, and I was so happy to get out from under my controlling parents' thumbs and have some fun.”
I just watch her gorgeous face. “You weren’t a freshman?”
“I was a freshman in college when I was fifteen. Sex with a nineteen-year-old college guy would have been gross. And illegal,” she says. “The guy was a freshman, and I’d just started grad school. We were both nineteen though.”
I take a breath. She is so not normal, in so many ways, and I love every single one of them. “Was this another night out with the girls like the tattoo?”
She nods. “Trying to be a regular college girl.”
“And you were a virgin.”
“Yep.”
“And it was just that one time with that one guy?”
She lifts a shoulder. “People don’t really try to get close to me,” she says simply. “Especially this close.”
I stare at her. I imagine the look on my face is the same expression scientists wear when they first look at a previously undiscovered galaxy through one of those incredible new high-powered telescopes—the beauty has always been there, but no one has ever really seen it before. And they get to be the first. And they truly understand how amazing and special it is.
“Idiots,” I say simply, because there’s no real way to express how stupid I find every other man who’s ever met Abigail. And how fucking glad I am that they’re all imbeciles.
She smiles. Then it grows into a grin that even lights her eyes. Then she says, “You know what? Sometimes words are good.”
And…fuck. I’m done.
“Words are really good, princess,” I say. That word, in particular, is very, very good. And then I move my hand up and down her body again, this time brushing over one breast, the hard nipple imprinting into my palm. “And I’ll agree that actions can be really fucking good too.”
“Torin?” she asks, my name husky.
“Yeah?”
“Can you say something completely filthy to me?” she asks. Then adds, “Please?”
My entire body hardens. “I absolutely fucking can.” I lean in and kiss her belly again. “And then I can do some completely filthy things to you.”
“Oh, yes,” she says.
And yeah, words are really damned good.
I stand and hook my fingers in the top of her panties. “Bra off,” I tell her.
She reaches back and unhooks her bra, tossing it to the floor as I pull her panties down her long, smooth legs, loving that I have to work them over the boots.
I look up and I freeze for a second.
Her breasts are perfect. I like breasts in general, to be honest, but these are the ones I’ve been waiting my whole life for. “Fuck, Abigail.”
Her panties are wet, and I lift them to my nose, my eyes on hers as I take a deep breath. Fuck, even her pussy smells like lavender. And Abigail. It’s intoxicating.
Her legs are bent, and she squeezes her thighs together.
“Spread your legs,” I tell her. I want to hear her words, but I also want to see how she responds to my words.
