Page 141 of What We Burn

THIRTY-SEVEN

SAGE

He leans over me, the mattress giving under his weight, blue eyes level and serious. “Let me see.” The words are nothing like his usual commands—they’re soft, a request more than anything, and for once, I’m grateful. My body is heat and ache and a kind of messy horror only people with uteruses can truly understand, but before I can protest, he’s already moving the covers, sliding down until his head is level with my hips.

Pushing the hot water bottle to the side, Holden hooks his fingers inside the waist of my sleep shorts and underwear, then peels them down my legs. He folds the blood-soaked pad into my underwear and sets the bundle aside.

“We’re going to make a mess of this bed,” I tell him as he returns to his position between my legs and his eyes darken at the mess of me.

“Fucking gorgeous, wildcat.”

I’ve seen his reaction to the sight of blood before, saw that exact change in my kitchen when I cut my finger. The sudden focus. The rougher breathing.

A pulse beats low between my legs.

“You like that,” I whisper.

His eyes lift to mine.

“You already know I do.”

“A cut finger is different from this.”

“Blood is blood.”

“Period blood has . . . ” I wave vaguely toward my lower half. “Other things in it.”

“Are you trying to ruin this for me?”

“I’m trying to make sure you understand what you’re volunteering for.”

Holden looks almost offended.

“Wildcat, there is nothing your body can do that’s going to scare me.”

“That’s deeply unromantic.”

“You’re bleeding, sore from another man and still trying to climb into my lap.” His hand closes around my hip. “Romance was never our lane.”

Fair point.

I glance toward the bedroom door. Jamie, Amy, Eli, and Milo are all somewhere on the other side of it.

“Do you want an audience?”

Holden reaches back and turns the lock. “This is just for me.”

His head drops, mouth at the inside of my thigh. Kiss soft, nibbling. But then his tongue is on me, tracing upward, and my whole body wakes up, skin torched in a line that follows his mouth. I brace for some hesitation, some flinch, but he doesn’t give me a second of it. Just parts my legs, hands sure and steady, puts his mouth on me . . . and groans.

I’ve never felt sexy during my period. It’s heavy, and I spend most of my time trying not to leak or cry. But Holden licks through it, tongue slow and thorough, and I make a noise I’ve never made before—less moan, more surprise. He eats me like it’s the first time, like he’s been starving, and every so often he glances up. Eyes locked on mine. Daring me to look away.

“Holden!”

He pushes two fingers inside me. When he pulls them out, crimson slicks his fingers to the second knuckle. He brings them straight to his mouth. Licks clean and slow, and he’s not performing for me. He’s just . . . enjoying it.

“A fucking feast for my benefit,” he groans, diving right back in.

I’m about to shatter.