Page 74 of The Beekeeper

“Thank God for that,” Blaze muttered under his breath, but if I thought he was going to leave it at that, I was sorely mistaken. “What have you never done, Harper?”

It took several tries before I could swallow and then finally answer. “I’ve never…” I gulped. “I’ve never orgasmed before,” I blurted out and then quickly clarified. “With a guy. Obviously, with the lemon…” I trailed off lamely.

Blaze set the box on the counter, his bowl empty and the expression on his face unreadable. Was he angry? At me? At someone else?

“What else?” he bit out.

Great, Harper, look what you’ve done. Why did I have to say anything? Why couldn’t I leave it at just sex? What did he need to know—or care—about my abysmal past sexual experiences? It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. Not to just sex.

I held his stare in silence for as long as I could before it all came spilling out. “I’ve never had someone go down on me before. Never orgasmed with a guy. Never multiple orgasms. Never been with someone who is pierced…down there, but that’s not saying—” I caught myself again, always just a hair too late.

“How many guys?”

I grimaced and went to the fridge for the milk.

“How. Many?”

“One,” I confessed, mixing some milk into my oatmeal. “Four years ago.”

He grabbed the cereal box again almost like it was someone’s throat, choking the cardboard as he filled his bowl.

“Who?” he asked, taking the carton of milk from my hand and dumping some in his bowl.

“No one you know,” I said, but his silence demanded more. I let out a deep breath. At this point—after last night—why did I care about hiding this. “This guy, Dan. We dated for almost a year. I thought it was going to be forever, but then he got a job in Boston. He promised we’d do the whole distance thing, but sure enough, we had sex right before he moved, and not even two weeks later, he texted me to break up with me.” I shrugged, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “I was really young then, so I just kind of gave up on guys, and I guess sex. So that’s why this arrangement is good—why it’s always good when expectations are clear.”

Blaze said nothing for what felt like interminable seconds as he carried his bowl to the table and took a seat. Crap.

My heart hammered hard against my chest. “You never asked how much experience I have, so if it’s a problem, you can—we can stop.”

“We’re not ending anything, Harper,” he rumbled, jamming his spoon into his bowl, and I chided my heart for the little flip it did. He meant the contract, that’s all. “If I cared how experienced you were…if your inexperience could’ve stopped me, I would’ve asked.”

If it could’ve… My throat felt like there was a blimp stuck inside it. What he said, the way he looked at me…I was so sore from last night and yet I felt my core tighten and grow wet.

“Right,” I managed weakly, and then joined him at the table.

We said nothing for a few minutes while we ate—until I couldn’t take the silence any more.

“When are you going to get Paisley?”

“Soon,” he rumbled, clearing the last of his cereal, his spoon clanging into the empty bowl. “You never orgasmed with a guy before?”

I stared at the oatmeal on my spoon, wanting to put it in my mouth and avoid this conversation, but I couldn’t. I stared until I finally set it back down.

“No, but we didn’t—he didn’t⁠—”

“He only cared about himself.”

“No.” The word rushed out, and I couldn’t believe I’d just defended Dan. What was wrong with me? Blaze was right; Dan hadn’t cared about me. “He said he didn’t…like to use his mouth.” My face flushed as his hand flexing and releasing next to the bowl. “It was fine—” I started to mumble but he cut me off.

“Fine?” Blaze stood, angrily grabbing his bowl and mine from the table.

I wanted to tell him I wasn’t done, but my words got clogged seeing the tent of his erection in the front of his sweats. Oh god. Two thoughts hit me simultaneously:

1. This was going to hurt.

2. I’d never wanted anything more.

“Stand up,” Blaze ordered, and before I could ask, his hand was on my elbow drawing me up from the chair. “Fine?” he demanded, his body crowding mine against the table, his head lowering until our breaths collided in an angry crash.