I consider lying. Men like Sasha are built one way: jealous. And wouldn’t getting him riled up over the thought of this T.A. making me see stars be worth it? Wouldn’t that get me where I want to go? Handled merchandise—surely he’d despise that kind of thing. He’d want a virginal bride who’s never so much as locked eyes with a man before.
He’d know I’m full of s**t.
He’d know that Danny Moreno kissed nice but didn’t know what he was doing with his fingers, and that I ended up walking out of those library stacks with a cramp and a headache and nothing even remotely close to a climax.
“No,” I say shortly. “It wasn’t.”
“Mm.” He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “Did you hate yourself afterward?”
“Nope. I save all my hate for you,” I retort. “Your turn. First time you killed a man.”
His answer
