Page 64 of Blood Queen

“That it?”

I shake my head. I point to the swell of my breast.

“Here.”

His head drops lower, lips ghosting the skin from my collarbone down, down, down until they reach my breast. His hands hook the halter strap and pull it over my head and down until my breasts are exposed. Taking a nipple in his mouth, I arch toward him, wrapped up in the sensation. He switches to the other one and I whimper like the lust-drunk fool I am.

“Where?” he grunts.

I trail a finger between my breasts, down my belly, and between my legs. Truman groans, his hands sliding down my sides, still pinning me to the door as he drops to his knees. His lips, his tongue scorching a path to the waist of my skirt. I’m squirming, all in. I don’t want him to hold anything back. He tugs once—hard—and the skirt is pooled at my feet. He spreads my legs.

The kiss between my legs isfierce, all heat and hunger, like he’s been holding this back for too long. My legs begin to shake as I watch him devour me.

He groans, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to the bed, laying me down beneath him.

I’ve never done this before—never been this close to anyone. But with Truman, I’m not nervous. Iwantthis.

I pull his shirt over his head, dragging my fingers down his chest. His muscles tense under my touch, and he groans, dropping his forehead to mine. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

I shake my head.

His control snaps.

He kisses me—deeper, more urgent. I’m lost in sensation; the world narrows to Truman’s hands and mouth and the way his every touch sets me on fire.

My heart races, I’m nervous. Truman’s not a virgin but I am. What if I’m not good at this? What if it hurts?

He pins my arms above my head but he must sense my hesitation because he pauses, his breath warm against my skin.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, and the tenderness in his voice melts away some of my doubt. He kisses the tip of my nose, a small, sweet gesture that makes me smile. “We don’t have to do everything.”

But I want it all.

Instead of replying, I lift my mouth to his—kiss him hard. His resolve breaks again, body pressing into mine, and we’re drowning in each other’s heat.

It’s not perfect, at first we collide with nervous giggles, breaking the tension. But once we slow down, once we start paying attention to what feels right, everything clicks into place. And Truman is really good at paying attention to every cue my body gives. The way he guides my hand over his cock—the lookon his face as I take over. I’m fascinated by all of him, every square inch.

Truman’s hands and mouth seem to be everywhere—working magic up my spine, skimming across my stomach—and I shiver, arching into him. The awkwardness gives way to something electric. My nerves fade; all that’s left is want. He fumbles the condom at first. Then he pushes inside me slowly. I brace for the pain I’ve read about, but I don’t feel more than a slight pinch, and then it’s gone.

“Still okay?” His voice is rough with emotion, eyes searching mine for any trace of uncertainty.

I nod frantically, breathless with how much I mean it. “Yeah.”

Time blurs; sensation peaks and crashes like waves until I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. We find a rhythm together—slow then desperate—that builds higher and higher until finally, the world shatters around me in a violent flood of light.

We lie tangled up afterward, still catching our breath in the quiet dark. Truman traces idle circles on my shoulder, and I cuddle into him, as close as I can get.

35

Present

The city throbs with a life of its own beneath me as I plunge into the shadow of the towering skyscrapers, the air thick with the oppressive weight of humidity and raw anticipation. New York feels like a jungle tonight, its pulse quickening as I slip through the crowded streets unnoticed, blending in with the chaos. The shadows are my allies, the night my cover.

I’m not a ghost—I’m a predator. Every step I take reverberates with purpose, each move meticulously calculated. The empires of the Families have loomed for too long, but their downfall is imminent. He perceives me as his niece, unaware of the force I’ve become. Memories of Papa flood my mind. The life he envisioned for me. The relentless training. The grueling drills—all to forge my unyielding resolve.

I pull the hood of my black jacket lower over my face, my dark hair tucked beneath. My grip tightens like a vise on thesmall, lethal crossbow concealed beneath my jacket, its cold metal, a comforting promise of retribution. I have memorized every inch of this building—a penthouse office perched atop an exclusive, high-rise tower. The families will meet in the private, soundproofed boardroom, away from prying eyes. And I’ve already scoped out the guards. I think of Tasha, her quiet companionship, her genuine concern, and her playful spirit. The friend I might have had if Papa hadn’t been ruthlessly gunned down before my eyes. If I’d been allowed to graduate and go off to college on normal terms.

The lobby is empty, the marble floors reflect my every move in the dim light. I slip past the front desk with ease as my high heels click on the polished surface. I’ve already disabled the security cameras. The guards outside are busy chatting about football, their attention distracted for just long enough. Two of them fall before they can even draw their guns. The throwing stars sink into their throats with surgical precision. No noise, no mess.

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