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“To celebrate?”She asked tea\singly.
“Do we havesomething to celebrate?” She asked him archly.
“Don’twe?”
Lifting her head,she stared at him, her heart jolting at how beautiful he was. Hishair was tousled, green eyes sleepy and sated.
“We do.”Lifting a hand, she brushed the lock of hair from his forehead. “Thatwas…”
“Intense?Wonderful? Mind-blowing?” He supplied, quirking a brow at her.
“All those andmore.” Dropping her eyes to his chest, she trailed a fingerover his smooth chest.
“I sense aquestion.” He lifted her chin and met her eyes. “Shoot.”
“You are veryexperienced.”
“I am,yes.”
“It doesn'tmatter.”
“It does.”His hand was firm on her chin, so she could not move. “What doyou want to know?”
“When didyou start?” She could not believe she was asking him this, butshe had to know.
“I think weshould have that drink now.” Easing her off him, he swung hislegs off the bed and went to the table where he had brought in thebucket of champagne and slices of their wedding cake.
“Would you likea slice of cake as well?”
“No, just thechampagne. Look, if this is something you would not like to talkabout-”
“I don’t,”He told her abruptly, handing her a glass. “But I promised thatwe should get to know each other.” He sat on the edge of thebed and wished to God he had something stronger than the expensivebubbly.
Taking a sip, he putthe glass down and turned towards her. She looked sexily rumpled, thethick dark brown curls tumbling over her shoulders. She had drapedthe sheets over her, and that was a shame.
“Promise methat you will still want to stay married to me after I am throughtelling you of my ugly past.”
“You are aserial rapist.”
He grinned at her,the fist loosening from around his heart.
“Bart Connellywas a piece of work. Ever since I was a child, I looked up to him. Hewas so full of life. He had the biggest laugh and was always clowningaround. In direct contrast, my mother was rigid, or so I thought; shewas a stickler for right and wrong, always talking about the rulesand what happens when they get broken.
Dad was the life ofevery party. He would let me ride on his broad shoulders and throw meup so high, I thought I was flying.”
Taking up the glass,he swallowed to wash the bitter taste of his past from his mouth.“Parties would be thrown for me every year since I turned one.At first, they were tasteful parties a young boy relished andenjoyed.
There were themeparks and clowns, and one year, there were zoo animals and horses.When I turned thirteen, Bart took over, telling my mother I needed tostart my journey as a man. “
He took anotherswallow and closed his eyes briefly. “This time, it wasdifferent; mother had no say in it. There were no balloons, no cake,and no zoo animals. It was in a private room, and there were threebeautiful girls - more like women-” he took another sip of hischampagne and almost choked on it.
“He said it waspart of my education, to toughen me up - no more lame parties forchildren. From now on, he wanted me to know what it was like to be aman.” Shoving up from the bed, he went to pour some morechampagne.
Madison watchedhim, her heart twisting inside her chest as she stared at him. He wasnaked, and she was thinking he did not need to put anything on. Notwith that kind of body.
“Brennan-”She wanted him to stop because she could see how worked up he wasgetting.
“No.” heshook his head and managed a smile. “I need to talk about it.He watched as they initiated me, and afterward, we shared-”Downing the champagne, he dragged his fingers through his hair. “OhChrist!” He whispered shakily.
