Twist the Knife - Page 130

“Being such an excellent teacher and letting me ask weird questions. Even if I annoy you.”

He sighs and pulls me closer. “You don’t annoy me.” He glances over. “Now will you tell me what your asshole ex said that made you think you’re not good at sex?”

“No. It’s too embarrassing.” I lift my chin. “Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve proved him wrong.” When he doesn’t answer right away, panic claws at me. “Right? You think I’m good?”

“I think you’re perfect.” His gaze shifts to the ceiling again. “And I hope to fuck you won’t try to waste your time winning him back.”

“What?” I push up. “Why would you think…that’s not what this is about.”

His jaw clenches tight. “Isn’t it?”

“No. Look, just say it if you want to. We’re done with lessons. You’re done.” I choke on a sob. “With me now.”

“What? No.” He sits up and pulls me against him. “Why would you even say that?”

“Because we had sex. It was amazing. You don’t have anything else to teach me.”

He rumbles with laughter, but there’s a hard edge to it that leaves me uneasy. “How wrong you are, little one.”

Tingles of desire push my concern and exhaustion away. “Oh.”

“I told you I was happy you bought that big box of condoms.” His fingers trace a lazy path between my breasts to my stomach. “There are still many, many things left to teach you.”

Jigsaw

“I’m looking forward to learning them.” Margot seems less hesitant.

Fuck, for a minute there, I was going to agree with her and say, yeah, let’s call this good.

But I can’t fucking do it.

“Did you say something about food before?” I pat my stomach. “I’m starving now.”

“Yes.” She sits up quickly, like she’s worried she hasn’t been a good hostess. “I made a baked sausage and cheese rigatoni earlier. I was planning to freeze it and have it throughout the week.”

“That sounds good.”

She blows out a relieved breath. What’d she think I was going to do, reject a home-cooked meal?

Being with her is so comfortable, I sit up without thinking and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, tapping the lamp by her bed on.

Behind me, she gasps and moves closer, her knees rubbing against my hip.

“Who did this to you?” Her feathery touch against the ancient scars crisscrossing my back sends a shiver down my spine. Why does this one tiny woman have the power to make me tremble?

Who did this to you? Not what did you do? Most people assume it was an accident or even that the scars were self-inflicted. The ink I tried to cover it with didn’t quite get the job done.

“My father.” None of the shame I usually feel from admitting my own flesh and blood enjoyed whipping me to shreds comes with the admission. The twisted glee I sometimes get from shocking people with the truth is absent too. Understanding. That’s all I want from her.

“Your father?” Her voice soft and pained.

Unable to speak, I nod.

Light, feathery sensation slides over my skin. “Does this hurt?”

“No. It feels…weird, like, less sensation in spots. But it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Heat from her soft naked body. Something wet splashes against my skin.