Page 31

TEAGUE

The way she’s staring at my lips is fast becoming a problem.

I’m damn proud of my control, the restraint I’ve managed with Truie should be celebrated in the streets. Honestly, I should be fucking commended. Win a prize.

My eyes are heavy lidded as I stare down where she’s splayed across my chest, at the only prize I’m interested in.

This sweet fragile thing has clung to me since we arrived at the estate. Found comfort in me like she knows me. Like she somehow recognizes who it was that carried her limp and broken body out of that dungeon of hell.

There’s no way she can actually know it was me, that we met well before I escorted her out of that cemetery, and I knew her well before she was taken. Tru’s been in my life way longer than she knows.

“Truie, darlin’, you tryin’ to kill me?”

I don’t get a response, at least not a verbal one. No, the little hummingbird perched on my chest rolls her plump pink lips between her teeth, her perfect little tongue peeking out to swipe along them until they’re glossy and wet.

She shifts off of me, and I immediately feel the loss of her. Her warmth, her fragile weight. Her breath skating along my neck.

I reach up and drag my thumb down the corner of her mouth, not to clear away any remaining drool—no, I just want to touch her lips, but I know I still need to proceed with caution.

“You’re hot. You don’t have a fever, do you?” I reach for the lamp at the side of the bed filling our little corner of the room in a soft glow. I run the backs of my fingers along her cheeks, her forehead. While she’s warm, she’s not actually feverish. Though the gorgeous pink flush painting the apples of those cheeks is telling some kind of a story.

“Just warm.” Two simple words, but when she pushes back, her ass to her heels, and pulls the hoodie she’s stolen from me over her head leaving her in a snug tank top, I want to believe she’s saying so much more.

She picks at the bottom of my sweater, running her finger beneath the cashmere, and stops just shy of where the hem is rucked up, untucked from my trousers.

Timid and terrified, yet bold and brave. This woman is an utter contradiction and absolute shit at the subtle art of seduction. She’s clumsy with it, not that there’s a need to be anything different. She’s the perfect mix of sin and seduction without even trying.

“You should, um…” She forgoes words and slides my sweater up my torso looking a little lost when it’s gone as far as it can with me flat on my back.

So, I sit up and reach behind my head and grab the soft material between my shoulder blades and pull it off.

My dress shirt is a wrinkled mess and feels too fucking tight, like a straitjacket. I want to whip it off too, but I don’t want to be the one pushing. I hold my breath and count to calm myself.

When I hit ten, her hands are sliding toward me once again. Twenty has her reaching for the third button, the top two already undone. Thirty has her working her way down the placket, releasing each button until she hits my navel.

I want to grip the sides and rip it the rest of the way open, scatter the buttons to fuck knows where.

But I wait. I wait until her eyes meet mine again, pupils wide, questioning. I wait until she slides her palms up my sides, skating over my ribs and fisting the linen. She tugs it off of my shoulders and discards it to the side of the bed.

“Hummingbird, what are you doin’?” I search her eyes for an answer, but she just shakes her head.

“I… I…” she pauses, takes a deep breath and slowly blows it out through pursed lips.

I don’t push. I don’t prod or try to hurry her words. Despite the huge strides Truie has made opening up to me, none of that will do us any good. When the pressure is on, she shuts down.

So, I wait. Because I never thought I’d actually be here, with her taking initiative. That this would be happening again and not a one-time thing. Not in a million years. I’ve hoped for it. Imagined it. Stroked myself to the thought of her touching me, sucking me, bouncing on my cock. But those were just abstracts.

My body is perfectly still, almost rigid… Well, part of me is very rigid. Stiff. Turgid. Engorged. That should go without a doubt, but the rest of me is hanging by a thread.

I’m afraid to close my eyes in case this is just a dream. Terrified to move a muscle or to reach out and drag her to me. I don’t want my barely contained lust interpreted as aggression. If I scare her? Throw her into a memory of…then?

Nope. I couldn’t live with that. So, I lay perfectly still and let Truie touch me.

First, it’s a single finger drawing a straight line down my chest. Then a second finger joins in the exploration with a third hovering, dipping to skim my pec, my nipple—that sets my skin on fire.

“Talk to me, hummingbird. Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful mind.”

The trail of her touch slows and pauses, as she lifts her gaze to meet mine, as if her exploration can’t continue without both senses working together.