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Everything tingled inside me, and I felt like I was about to burst. On the tip of something monumental.

His mouth moved against mine more angrily, but I knew it wasn’t the same anger as the day he threw me out of his room.

“So wet,” he growled, pushing his thumb halfway into my opening through my panties.

I arched my back and closed my eyes, my body bursting with a thousand different sensations. My fingers fluttered against his groin through his pants. Huge and hard and even warmer than the rest of him.

A terrible thought crossed my mind.

I wanted him in my mouth.

What was I thinking?

Why would I want it there?

This was definitely not something I was going to share with Clara or Mama. Not even Ms. Sterling.

Jesus, Francesca. The mouth. You pervert.

He grabbed me by the back of my thighs and wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing me as he made his way to the stairs, my arms still draped across his neck.

I realized he was taking me to a bedroom—his or mine—and that I couldn’t go there. I had to tell him I was a virgin. That in my world, we had rules. And one of mine was no sex until marriage.

But that was entirely too awkward in this particular situation. I needed to choose the time and the place to come clean.

“Put me down,” I slurred between drunken kisses.

“I don’t give oral on principle, but you’re wet enough to fit a fucking shovel in.”

What?

Fright gripped my throat, tightening its claws on my neck from the inside. He was half-ready to maul me right there on the floor.

We were already upstairs when I began to push him off me, untangling my legs from his waist. He let go of me immediately, watching as I stumbled out of his embrace, my back hitting the wall.

“Nemesis?” He frowned, tilting his chin down.

He looked more confused than angry. For all his shortcomings, Wolfe had never forced me to do anything physical with him.

“I said I’m not ready!”

“You also said it as though I personally escorted you to Hell’s gates. What’s the matter?”

I was embarrassed by my behavior. Embarrassed by both my lie of being experienced and my virginity. Last but not least, I was ashamed of wanting it so badly.

Was that all it took for me to forget Angelo? The hard length of Wolfe against my softness?

“Are you a virgin?” His mouth nearly blossomed into a smile. So rare was laughter on my fiancé’s face, I was beginning to think he was incapable of true joy.

“Of course, I’m not a virgin.” I slapped my thigh, turning away toward my room. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back to his embrace. I melted against his body like butter on a fry pan. “I just need a little time. You’re still more experienced than I am.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“I’ve seen the papers.” I narrowed my eyes accusingly. “You’re a Casanova.”

“Casanova.” His chest danced against mine as he rumbled with a chuckle at my choice of words. “Shall I escort you to the nearest portal to take you back to the sixteenth century?” He faked a theatrical English accent.

I knew I sounded like a prude. Worse—I knew I was raised to be one, and shaking off the chains of my dated scruples would be difficult.

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