“Give me some.”
She jumped at his words. “What?”
She grinned. “Mocking me?”. She dipped a spoon into the bottle.
“Nope. The way you ate.”
He took her little finger on the right, and sucked what was left on it. She flinched. Her smile vanished. She reached to turn off the stove. The omelette was almost cooked. She was hungry. And … very sore. He held her close and felt her whole body with his.
“Stop wriggling. Tell me, how many times?”
She tried to push him away. “No. I don’t know. I can’t tell.” She went red with embarrassment.
“Good Lord, woman! Is there anything that doesn’t make you shy?”
She smirked, and spotted a tiny tear drop.
“…or cry? You ARE answering my question. How many times?”
“Stop it. Why do you want to know? You’re … um … you do know it, don’t you?”
He couldn’t help but enjoy her misery. She struggled to find words.