Page 145 of Famine

Without giving me any sort of indication, Famine leans forward and presses a kiss to my lower abdomen. From there, his lips skim up my belly. His mouth pauses at the scars on my stomach, the ones his men gave me.

“Forgive me,” he says, so softly I almost miss it.

I swallow. I hadn’t thought the horseman would regret any action of his.

My eyes find his. “It’s in the past.”

He sits up a little, placing a hand on my scars even as he searches my face. “I think you are remarkably brave,” he says, “and your compassion is uncommon and admirable. I owe you my life twice over, and that is no little thing.

“And, for what it’s worth,” he adds, “you’re also pretty. Excessively so.”

I feel my face heat from all the praise. “Why are you telling me this?”

His eyes are steady on mine. “Because you are human and I imagine you like compliments far more than I do. And for whatever insufferable reason I want to give you many.”

My heart begins to pound loudly.

“Now,” he says, a sly smile curving along his lips as he drapes himself over me, “enough of this.”

He punctuates the thought by recapturing my lips. His mouth is demanding and everything about the kiss feels intimate.

I wrap my legs around him. He’s hard and ready, but rather than jumping right to sex, he begins to move down my body, placing kisses as he goes.

His hands move to my breasts, his thumbs running over my nipples.

I gasp out a sound as Famine moves lower and lower—past my belly button, past my pelvis …

He stops kissing me long enough to spread my legs wide open. I think he’s just looking and admiring me the same way that I was admiring him earlier, but then he leans in to my pussy—

Fuck,wait.

I catch him by the hair. “You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t do that,” I say, my voice breathless.

Oh God, I need to tell him about the grittier parts of having sex with a former prostitute. This could be a deal breaker.

“Why not.” It’s not even a question. My words have clearly not even begun to persuade him. He begins to dip down again.

“Wait!” I rush out, stopping him once more.

“Don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy?” He looks vastly amused at that thought.

Amused and impatient.

For a man who has zero respect for sex, he’s sure eager to have some.

I swallow.

Oh God, how am I supposed to address this? Most of my clients justknow.

“I’ve been with a lot of people,” I say.

He just raises his eyebrows, like he doesn’t see the relevancy. “And?”

I lick my lips, my heart thundering.

“I don’t know … what sort of … diseases I might have.”

I’ve had bouts of various ailments. Nothing that has stuck around, but sometimes with these things,vanisheddoesn’t necessarily meangone.

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