A flicker of a smile, sad. "I don't think I would have appealed to you, this way," he says. "Too young for your taste." He hesitates, not sure if he wants to say. Strange, he can confess to a filibuster, to military pretensions that he once took such pains to keep quiet -- he can confess to using his mouth on Laurens, the two of them euphoric on the thrill of one another's presence. But this is still difficult.

He takes a breath. "I first took coin for use of my hand, and a man finishing on my face. I was nearly fifteen, but not quite." A pause. He feels the need to defend himself, his choice. To show that he was not abused. "I wasn't pimped. I kept control -- no one forced me. In my first heat, someone tried, and he was shocked to find an omega, a slight little thing, could beat him silly." Beat him unconscious, more like, with a broken arm and a broken nose. Hamilton had a few bruises, nothing more.

He props himself up, because he needs to see Burr's face, Burr's reaction.

"Does it appall you?" Do I appall you, he means.