Page 60 of Tru Blue
She could hardly breathe as she took in her image painted through Truman’s eyes. She wore a bright green and yellow bodysuit. Two transparent, and beautifully depicted, wings sprouted from her back. Bright golds and whites glittered against the dark backdrop. One hand was outstretched toward the kids, the other reached higher, as did her gaze, toward Truman. As Gemma tried to bring air into her lungs, she looked more closely, following a sliver of sunlight that wound its way around Truman, beneath the kids, and bloomed into two open hands, cradling them. The light looped around Gemma’s middle like a whip, making her one with the light and drawing them all together.
Truman lifted his phone higher, illuminating the car windows. Shadows hovered over an image of the man she’d seen at the shop the night she’d picked up her car. Quincy. Another sliver of sunlight stopped short of him. As if Truman would never stop reaching for his brother, but he knew only Quincy could take that final step. And in those dark clouds was the face of a woman. A woman she now recognized in the faces of her children. Your mother.
Gemma turned to face Truman and clutched his shirt, shaking from the impact of what he’d revealed. His face was a mask of sadness and hope, strength and determination. This man. This incredible man should be too damaged to know how to love. Too broken to want to embrace life. And yet here he stood, her pillar of strength, revealing all his weaknesses and fears, baring his tormented soul. He was the strongest man she’d ever known, and she wanted all of him.
Her arms circled his neck, splaying across his taut muscles as she drew his face toward hers. Conflicting emotions warred in his eyes, but she pulled harder, wanting to experience that battle with him. He’d known tragedy, desperation, and destitution. He was a survivor, a savior to his siblings and mother. He should be crumbling, but his painful past had etched composure and dignity into his handsome face. He set the monitor on the ground and gripped her arms with strong hands. She knew he could see how what he’d revealed had sparked so many emotions she felt like she’d gone up in flames. He had to see the raging inferno that made her skin burn and her sex throb. Had to feel her need to be closer. Emotions that powerful couldn’t remain hidden.
“I wanted you to see how you’ve affected me,” he said in a voice full of restraint and laced with unmistakable lust. “You make a normal, happy life seem possible, and I want that.” He turned and gazed at the incredibly beautiful pictures he’d painted of Lincoln and Kennedy. “For them.” He turned to face her again. “For us. I’m not afraid of sharing my past with you because you accept it. You accept me, and you help me deal with it and get it out of my system.”
He pressed his body to hers and heat consumed her, searing between them like lightning. He clutched her hips, and their bodies took over, grinding together. The need to be closer grew inside her like a volcano ready to erupt. Skin. She needed to feel his skin. She tore at his shirt, lifting it up and bending to kiss his chest. She slicked her tongue over his nipple and he groaned, his fingers digging into her flesh. She did it again, spurred on by the heady noise, and he grabbed her face—hard—lifting it so she had no choice but to look into his serious, dark eyes.
“I came down here after telling you why I was in prison,” he said strongly, almost angrily, though it was raw, primal passion blazing a path between them. “I thought rage would pour from my hands, but…” He clenched his jaw, holding her impossibly closer, and his breathing quickened. “There was only you, Gemma. Your face, your tears. Your touch on my skin. I could fucking taste your mouth on mine, and you wouldn’t let that darkness in. You’re my light, Gemma. You’re everything I always thought life should be, and I know you can get any man you want, but I’m so damn happy you want me—”
She smothered his lips in an act of desperation. Her emotions whirled as he took control, and she succumbed to his forceful domination. The kiss was rough and urgent, messy and wet, and so damn hot the rest of the world disappeared. He tore at her pants, and she tore at his, each struggling for speed, unwilling to break their kiss as they fought their way free from their clothes.
