Page 59 of Blood Queen

Forget about everything but the way his touch makes me feel.

I shift forward until our noses brush. His hand lingers on my face for a second longer before he finally kisses me. A hand dips low, to my thigh. Truman gives it a gentle squeeze, then his fingers move higher.

“Are we… doing this?” My voice is shaky but eager.

Truman smirks, his lips close enough to graze mine with each word.

“Doing what?” he asks, sliding his hand just under the hem of my pajama shorts.

A shiver races through me. I want—more than I’ve ever wanted anything—for him to keep touching me like this.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to find words that don’t trip over each other. His fingers move higher, teasing the edge of my underwear where my hip meets my thigh. He pushes me gently onto my back on the bed. Kisses the sliver of exposed skin between my tank and bottoms. His fingers, under my pajama shorts, flutter between my legs over my underwear.

Truman’s mouth travels lower, drawing more heat from me. He pauses, looks up, and it’s like he’s seeing every part of me at once.

“Well?” His voice is low, the question hanging between us and pulling tight.

My breath catches. “Doing exactly this,” I whisper, half-laughing with a nervous gasp at how much I want him.

He takes my words like permission. Or maybe he doesn’t need them—maybe he knows already—but either way his hands are quick, confident. He peels back my shorts just enough to bring a rush of air against bare skin, then his lips follow.

I arch into him, every inch of me alive and reaching for where he’ll go next.

He slides my underwear down and kisses methere, between my legs.

His tongue teases out the most desperate part of me, and I’m filling up with heat, sweet and unbearable. My thighs tremble as he holds me open, his mouth impossibly soft and relentless. He has me gasping, fingers locked tight in the blankets, pulling me nearer and nearer to some perfect, shattering edge.

“Truman…”

The tension builds until it’s all I can feel; more pressure than I know how to hold, everywhere and all at once. His movements slow for an instant and then grow firm again, sending me plunging over and through it.

I’m shaking—still soaring—when he lets go of my hips and crawls up beside me. His grin is wicked. Satisfied.

He settles his hand on my stomach, tugs my tank top higher with one finger to plant a kiss on my breast. When my heartbeat calms enough for words, I look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Wow.”

“First time?” he asks.

I pull his face to mine. “You know it was.”

His grin is so big his dimples appear. “I like that.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What else can we do?” I ask.

Truman laughs, deep and rumbly.

“Lots, but let’s go slow. One thing at a time.”

33

Present

Leo’s office reeks of cigar smoke and whiskey, thick and cloying, a scent that lingers like bad memories. He’s pacing when I walk in, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists.

“It was fucking you, wasn’t it?” he demands, turning on me with the kind of rage that shakes the walls.

I don’t flinch. I tilt my head, feigning mild amusement, letting his fury roll right off of me. “Good afternoon to you too, Uncle.”

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