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"Why do you think I'm here, pet?"
"I told you not to call me that anymore."
"Why? You liked it before. Youlovedit."
She shook her head.
"Youwanted me to love it. I never did."
He frowned.
Seeing his expression, she snorted.
"I should have seen it from the beginning, but I was too dumb, wasn't I? I can count on one hand the times you called me by my name."
"That's not true," he interrupted.
"Of course it's true," she rolled her eyes. "From the beginning you called me pet to dissociate. Because I was never human to you, was I? I was never anything but an object you could use and abuse," she threw the words at him. Yet her tone remained even. She didn't scream, she didn't raise her voice. She handed him every word like an observation.
Anerroneousobservation.
He pursed his lips. His pet was young. She didn't know better. But he would enlighten her and show her that what had happened between them was just a momentary slip.
"Of course you were human to me," he smiled. "Would you prefer it if I called you by your name? I could do that. But I thought you loved having a term of endearment. Something I used only with you," he added in a smooth voice.
"Only with me?" she faltered for a moment, blinking.
"Only with you," he confirmed, taking advantage of the opening to move closer. "Do you think I would ever use such an intimate term with anyone else?"
She continued to blink, and he realized he'd confused her. Good. That was the first step.
"Venezia," he said her name,felther name on his tongue for the first time. "Zia," he then amended, calling her by her nickname—another way to show intimacy. If that was what she wanted, he would give it to her.
But for him she would always be pet—only ever pet.
Her eyes flickered with a foreign emotion as she raised her gaze to meet his.
In one second he was at the edge of the bed, his palm cupping her cheek as his thumb brushed over her lower lip in a tender gesture.
Yes, this was it. He was doing everything as he'd planned. He was being nice, gentle—soft.He was taking his time instead of taking what he truly wanted.
His words seemed to render her speechless, so he took advantage of her silence to continue, beguile her some more with his rehearsed words.
"You're the only woman for me, my sweeting. I thought you realized that. I've never laid a finger on another. Never," he told her emphatically, the words ringing truebecausethey were true—regardless of Michele's aim in using them.
"You… haven't?" she wet her lips, regarding him with apprehension.
More emotion seemed to enter her features by the moment and he relished the sight of it—the sight of her.
"You're the only one," he confirmed, bringing her closer to him.
To his surprise, she didn't put up a fight as she shuffled on her knees to the edge of the bed. He held her tenderly, his palms fitted to her cheeks as he brought his face to hers, closing his eyes and breathing her in.
He recognized the precariousness of the moment so he did everything slowly—almost as if he was a hunter in a meadow, lying in wait for his much awaited deer prize.
He brought his nose to her nose, bumping them close together as he tested the waters. When she didn't object to that type of touch, he got a little more daring as he skimmed his lips on top of hers.
It was pure torture for him to go so slow. It was a first for him to be so careful with her. Not even with their first kiss had he put in so much effort—so much restraint.
