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“Yeah, so? You can’t please everyone. And if you tried to, you’d be miserable.”
“You’re very wise.” He moves his hands down my thighs. “I think you would make a great queen.”
“Definitely not right now.” I squirm as his fingers tickle my kneecap. “I need to learn a lot more about werewolves, this kingdom, and the realm.”
“There’s plenty of time for you to learn. My parents are still young.”
“Do they …? Do they have to pass away before you become king and another wolf becomes queen?” When he doesn’t answer right away, I add, “I’m sorry. That was probably a really rude question.”
“No, not at all.” He shifts me so I’m sitting closer. “I was just thinking about how the answer is yes and about how my father probably has many years ahead of him to reign. Only one of them has to pass away for the new king and queen to take over. It’s sort of a package deal kind of job.”
“It doesn’t seem too awful, unless you get stuck with someone like your dad. Luckily, from what I’ve seen, you are far from the cruel wolf your father sounds like, so the next queen should be very lucky.”
“I’m not sure I agree with you.”
“Why?”
“Because, if for some reason the next queen isn’t you, they’re going to be severely disappointed when I show absolutely no interest in getting involved with them on a romantic level.” He quickly kisses my earlobe then moves his hands to my waist, tracing a path back and forth.
My eyes roll open to meet his, finding his lips a mere sliver of an inch away from mine. “That feels good.”
“Good.” His fingers are splayed above my shirt, right along my elevated scars. “I can fade them if you want—the scars.”
“Really?”
He nods. “If you’re okay with me touching you there?”
Am I?
I don’t know.
How much can I take?
I don’t know.
Can I handle him touching me in a place so ugly and broken?
As he stares into my eyes with nothing but compassion, I find myself hesitantly nodding. “Okay.”
He fiddles with the hem of my shirt. “If you start to panic, just say so and I’ll stop.” He waits for me to nod before he inches his fingers underneath my shirt and grazes the scars covering my abdomen.
When my muscles tense, he starts to withdraw his hand.
“No, it’s okay,” I sputter through an uneven breath. “I’m just not used to anyone touching me there, but you’re fine. I promise.”
He waits a beat then tracks his fingers back and forth along the raised skin. Back and forth. Back and …
Forth …
Warmth spirals through my stomach and my toes curl, my back arching. As a groan hums from my lips, I press my lips to his. I’m not even sure why I kiss him, other than I want to.
He kisses me back, our tongues moving in sync as he continues touching my skin, sending fireworks through my body. Somewhere through the hazy passion, I momentarily lose touch with reality. By the time I return to the now, Jules is staring down at me with his palm resting on my abdomen, his gaze blazing with heat.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, barely able to breathe.
He tries for a casual smile, yet looks utterly riled up. So, when he kisses me again, the gentleness surprises me.
