“Am I as fine a lover as your Moor?” he asked, as he looked over me, his face glimmering from the wetness of my climax.
“Finer,” I murmured.
He didn’t look like he believed me.
“You think I’d lie? If the Moor were better, I would be with him now, not you.” I caressed his face with my hand.
“Then why keep him at all?” Antonio asked.
“Because he is a mirror of you, and he brings out the other side of me,” I said.
“You’re talking in riddles.”
“Then it’s not necessary for you to understand. Just don’t be jealous. I won’t be of your whores.”
Antonio’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in a perplexed pout, as if I’d confounded him completely, “I should wonder that any woman can be so free with herself, and still maintain her dignity. You do it so well.”
“I don’t wonder at all, Antonio.
