I raise my eyebrows, quirking my lips upward. "Really? What might those be?"
"Have you ever had a serious relationship before? Been in love?"
I hold my smile but it dims a bit. "No. Never."
"Not even in high school? Or whatever you call it in Canada?"
Chuckling, I reach down and pull her legs so they wrap around my waist, and she settles down onto my erection with nothing but the material of my shorts separating us. She squirms a little but waits for my answer.
Giving her a slight tilt of my hips so I rub against the heat between her legs, and just so she knows that I find that more interesting than this conversation, I tell her, "It's called high school there too, and no-not even in high school."
"You didn't have a girlfriend in high school? A stud like you?" she teases, and in other circumstances, I would enjoy the joking nature of this conversation. But she's hitting close to a subject that doesn't produce warm memories for me.
"I was too busy training. My dad wasn't big on me dating."
Sutton's mouth hangs open and her smile fades some, but I can tell she's not certain exactly what I mean by that. "You weren't allowed to date? Ever?"
"Never," I confirm.
She pulls her lower lip in between her teeth and chews on it thoughtfully, which is always a sexy-as-fuck move. I contemplate leaning forward and grabbing it with my own teeth when she sidetracks me. "I remember reading online that you left home when you were sixteen to play in the Quebec Juniors. Surely then-"
Shaking my head, I cut her off. "I left home then, but my dad still controlled me. He forbade me from dating or having a relationship with someone. Hell, he forbade me to have any friends. Training was my number one priority. He wanted me to be the best and to do that, I had no room in my life for anything else."
Sutton stares at me, her eyes doleful. It borders on the look of pity that I thought she had shown me before, which gets my hackles up a bit. "That's terrible," she says softly. "You didn't have a childhood, did you?"
The sympathy in her voice completely kills my hard-on, and I find myself suddenly needing a bit of space. I easily lift her from my lap and set her down gently on the carpet beside me. Rolling to my feet, I busy myself with picking up the pizza box and paper plates from the table. Sutton follows suit and helps me clean up.
As I turn toward the kitchen, I attempt to alleviate the darkness of the moment by saying, "It was a long time ago. I've more than made up for the fun I missed out on back then."
Following me into the kitchen, Sutton asks, "How? How do you make up for missing out on good times … having those memories?"
"Who says I don't have good memories?" I ask, hoping to throw her off the scent of tragic circumstances.
Throwing the paper plates in the garbage, I turn to take the trash from Sutton's hand and deposit it in the bin as well. She walks over to the sink and washes her hands.
"Well … you said you didn't date … didn't have any friends. Always had to train. It sounds lonely."
I don't confirm or deny that because it was lonely. She continues on. "I mean, you didn't have a first love, or a first kiss with someone special?"
I like Sutton. I mean, a lot. More than any other woman I've ever known. But I see the starry look in her eyes, the utter romanticism seeping out of her pores as she laments the fact that I didn't have what she deems to be a pretty important rite of passage. I think that means she finds me broken in some way, and while that may very well be true, I don't like being the victim.
So I decide to give her a reminder that I am who I am, and that I've done just fine with the way things are. I also want to give her a reminder that there's still a dark side to me that she can never take for granted.
"I had a first kiss, Sutton."
Her eyes light up, just as I knew they would, and she looks at me expectantly so that I can give her some softly painted picture of my life that will make her feel better about my lack of a normal upbringing.
"My dad bought a whore for me when I turned sixteen," I tell her in a low voice. "I wanted to ask one of my classmates to a school dance, something my dad translated into meaning I wanted to get laid. And who knows, maybe I did want that too. So it wasn't too much of a downer after my dad refused to let me go to the dance but instead brought me to a hotel room … shoved me inside after handing me a condom. Clapped me on the back and said, 'Have fun.' I mean … what's a kid to do when he walks in and sees a naked woman on the bed. So, you see … I had my first kiss, Sutton. It just wasn't very conventional."