Page 56 of The Blood Queen

I don’t realize until I make my plea how much I want it. How much I need it. Not for me—to show her, in whatever way she’ll let me, how much she’s come to mean to me. To get her out of her own head and let her feel something good for once.

If we’re going to certain doom tomorrow regardless of what the fae princes decide, then let tonight be a further fortification I can build around her. Something sweet and delicate yet immovable. Something that’s ours.

Her exhale is warm on my neck. She doesn’t respond with words, just takes my hand off her face, threads our fingers together, and leads me down the hall.

In silence, we wind back up to our room. A fire’s lit within, a spread of food on the table again, the bed turned down and ready. More brownies? Probably. Are they still in here? Probably, ready to help if we need it. And Alyth’s father can still barge in any time he wishes—

I shut it down. Shut it all down. I’m not letting anything else intrude on this, not now.

I close the door and throw the lock, though I doubt it’ll do much good. So I slide a chair from the table and wedge it under the knob.

Alyth laughs.

“Just…lie to me,” I say, surveying the door. “Tell me it’ll keep anyone else out.”

“It’ll keep anyone else out.”

Something shimmers over the door. She’s put up magic of some kind, and I blow out a relieved breath.

“All these damn fae lacking basic privacy and—”

I turn.

And Alyth’s got her hair swept over her shoulder, her back to me, showing the sharp planes of her bare shoulder blades over the bodice of her gown.

“Help me with the strings?” she asks, her voice low and soft.

I nod, though she’s not looking at me. Nod and swallow. And cross the room to her, an obedient servant at her command.

My hands shake as I pull at the ribbon holding her bodice together. It loosens, firelight pulsating orange and yellow off her smooth skin, and she holds the front of the gown in place as she shifts to face me.

All last lingering thoughts of anyone else on this plane of existence evaporate straight into mist.

Her dark eyes fix on mine, moving back and forth, her hair caught in a mess of curls over one shoulder still, goose bumps unfurling down her one bare arm, though it’s warm as summer in here.

And I should do—I dunno. I should do something. Fall to my knees at the very least.

I pull at the buttons on my jacket, peel it off, and drop it to the floor. My own offering. My shirt comes next; I lift it up, off, standing bare chested in front of her.

She exhales hard, her eyes fluttering down, up, down again, and it makes me want to preen a bit, but I’m all strung up in immobility and no small amount of shock. That she wants me, somehow, someway. This woman wants me.

She releases her hold on the gown, and the whole mess of it falls in a heap to the floor.

There’s some kind of gauzy undergown wrapped around her still, sleeveless and white. Lit by the fire, it’s damn near see-through, and my throat closes right up, no breath in, no words out.

She’s stunning. All curves and dips, swells and valleys. I want to memorize each one. I want to know my way over her body by heart, by feel, by taste.

I sweep her into my arms, pressing my nose alongside hers, not kissing, not yet. Just basking in the feel of so much of her skin on so much of mine, warm and supple and alive.

“I—Alyth—” I clear my throat and swallow, the scratch of it painful. My eyes slam shut, a tremor moving up through me, dragging with it nerves and a sudden, careening sense of inferiority. “I grew up around brothels and the like, but I—I’ve never—”

Never had anyone I wanted enough to risk the possible blackout.

’Course I know now, blacking out’s only a danger if I’m angry or upset. But back then, I didn’t know what triggered it, and I didn’t want to risk hurting someone I cared about. Like everything else, it was easier to just avoid it. To be alone.

Alyth hums, hands rubbing across my back, like she’s mapping me herself. “It’s all right, Samson,” she whispers into a space that feels like ours. Between us, warm from our body heat, ours. “I’ll show you.”

I lean my forehead to hers, pushing us back a step, out of that dress and toward the bed. “You’ll show me how to touch you?”