I pull the broken skin together and apply adhesive strips. “Happy is a stretch, but it’ll help to put me at ease.”

Something flickers in his expression—something softer. “Do what you need to do.”

And I do. Because it’s the only thing I can control right now.

My hands rest on my thighs as I kneel before him, searching his face, hoping for something—anything—that tells me we can get through this.

“Please don’t hate me.”

His head snaps up, his bloodshot eyes locking onto mine. “I could never hate you.” His jaw tightens, the muscle in it starting to tic. “But what that fucker said––”

Ty said a lot. But tasting me—that’s the one that sent Alex into a blind rage, the one tearing him apart.

That part wasn’t untrue, but it was misleading. I’m sure Alex must be thinking the worst.

My insides are unraveling. “I will tell you everything, and I won’t lie to sugarcoat it. I don’t want you to ever have to wonder.”

“Never thought you would.” He exhales, his nostrils flaring. “This is something I have to hear. I just don’t want to.”

Understandable. It would gut me to hear details about his sexual encounter with another woman.

“Whenever you’re ready––”

He interrupts. “I need this to be over with. Tell me what happened, but with as few details as possible.”

“All right.”

I clear my throat, summoning the courage to say the words before I lose my nerve. “The first incident… there was some touching––his hands on my legs. He kissed my thigh, just the one kiss though, and offered to go down on me. That was it.”

He blows a deep breath between pursed lips. “Okay.”

This next one is going to sound a lot worse.

“The second—and final—incident involved kissing and touching.” I swallow hard, the shame burning my throat. “How much do you want to hear?”

“The fucker said he tasted you. I need that explained in as few words as possible.”

“He didn’t go down on me. He tasted me on his fingers… after touching me.”

“The thought of his hands on you––” His fists press into his eyes like he’s trying to scrub the images from his mind. “Did he make you come?”

I swallow hard, my pulse pounding. “Yes, one time.”

“Fuck.”

His head drops back. “You can’t imagine how much I hate hearing that.”

“I’m so sorry, Alex.”

His fingers flex against his thighs. “Did you make him come?”

No hesitation. “No.”

His shoulders rise and fall with his breathing. “You didn’t fuck him or suck his cock or give him a hand job? He kissed you and got you off once with his hand and that’s it?”

“Correct.”

Something in his face eases—just a fraction—but the torment is still there.