“Is it bad?” she whispers.

“Terrible.”

She doesn’t pull away from our closeness and her eyes flit to my lips. “I can handle it.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Her lips twitch as she recognizes the tone of my voice. Oh, how I do love teasing her.

I nudge my nose with hers before my lips find her ear. I nip it softly before I say, “I confess, that I’d very much like to make love to you.” My heart does a dance at the last words. We never say make love. We fuck. We screw. We bang. Making love is for the soft-hearted without tar-coated pasts. Lily claims she doesn’t deserve to make love, but I’m determined to change her attitude.

“Is it different than fucking?” she asks me with wide eyes.

“Very much so.”

Frown lines crease her forehead. “How?”

“I’ll show you.”

Her eyes brighten with possibilities, but she doesn’t insist, doesn’t ask or compel me for more. She waits for me.

Just as I asked.