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“Of course not. But that doesn’t change anything.”

I gently push his hands away.

He doesn’t like it. But I don’t care.

“So you prefer secrecy and lies to honesty and trust,” I say.

“It’s not what I prefer. It’s the way I need it to be.” He squeezes out the cloth in the bathwater and uses the warm, clean cloth to wash between my legs, his eyes darkening as he does it.

“To protecther,” I say, my voice breaking. “You’re still protecting her.”

And now I’ve revealed the bruising truth. The source of my hurt. Now he knows that I’m still jealous of her. Geneviève Blaise.

The real Darla.

“It’s not about her,” he says tightly.

“Of course it’s about her. It’s always been about her.”

“Come here.” He takes my hands, and guides me as I step out of the bathtub.

I watch him warily as he dries me off with a big, plush towel, but I’m losing this battle with myself. I can’t resist the pleasure of his touch.

So I just let him touch me.

My hormones have been doing crazy shit to me, and I’ve been horny as hell.

Horny, and wanting him.

And the way he’s looking at me right now, I know he’s been missing me, too.

He’s down on his knees in front of me, and the way he caresses my body with the soft towel, so slowly, while he carefully studies my nakedness, is maddening. He’s setting me all aflame, making me burn for him. It’s like my whole body hasforgotten I’m already carrying his child, and is urging me to let him plant himself inside me again.

He strokes my swollen nipples with the nubbly fabric, and asks me, “Do you like that?” His voice is low and dark with need.

“Yes,” I breathe.

He moves the towel between my legs, nudging my already-swollen clit. “How about this? Does this feel good?” He caresses my pussy with the towel. If I’m wet there, it’s no longer from the bathwater.

I moan wordlessly as my eyes roll closed, and I dig my fingers into his shoulders.

“Have you been playing with this pretty pussy,” he whispers, “while you think about my cock?”

“You’re a monster.”

“So you tell me,” he says, not the least bit offended. “And I’ll take that as a yes.”

And just when my rubbery knees are about to give out, he drops the towel, scoops me up in his strong arms, and carries me into the bedroom. He lays me down gently on his bed, on my back.

But instead of stripping off his clothes before he joins me, he just gazes down at me, like I’m some beautiful prize he can’t believe he’s won.

When he finally lies down beside me, he’s still dressed. He’s on his side, facing me. My body is still humming from his caresses with the towel. My breasts are swollen and plump, and he stares hungrily.

Then he starts placing soft, worshipful kisses on my breasts. His slight stubble is rough on my skin, making me shiver, and he takes his time… leaving sweet, sucking kisses all over. While completely ignoring my nipples, which are swollen and dark, and extra sensitive.

“Beautiful Quinn,” he says softly. “Tell me how you feel. Right now.”

“I’m aching,” I whisper as my nipples tighten, begging for the attention of his hot, luscious mouth. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he keeps ignoring them.