Page 34

Past

T he music pulses through the packed house, heavy bass rattling my ribs.

I’ve never been to a party before, never stood in a room filled with this many people—laughing, dancing, drinking.

It’s overwhelming but also… intoxicating.

A frat party, or so I’m told. I’m still not exactly sure what a Frat is.

Tasha loaned me some clothes after declaring that what I had on wasn’t good enough.

I’m mildly self-conscious in her too-short skirt and barely there tank top. A halter top she called it.

Truman’s hand is wrapped around mine, keeping me tethered to him as we push through the crowd. He’s solid and sure, the only familiar thing in this chaos of flashing lights and bodies moving in time with the music.

“C’mere,” Truman murmurs, tugging me toward the kitchen, where Eli and Tasha are standing near the counter lined with bottles and red cups.

Tasha’s already sipping something pink and fruity, leaning against the fridge like she owns the place. She grins when she sees me.

I arch a brow. “Should I be nervous? I um, I don’t drink.”

She laughs, handing me a cup. “Nah. Just don’t let these assholes talk you into taking shots.”

I glance at Truman. He’s watching me like a hawk, like he’s already regretting bringing me here. “You don’t have to drink,” he says, low and close.

I tilt my head at him. “You think I can handle it?”

His jaw tics. “I think you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

Warmth unfurls in my chest. I nudge him with my elbow. “Relax, I’ll be okay.”

I take a sip. It’s sweet and deceptively smooth, but heat spreads through me almost instantly.

Tasha cheers. “And so it begins.”

One drink turns into two. And damn, I like the way it makes me feel.

Lighter. Freer. Less like the girl who grew up secluded in the woods and more like someone who belongs here.

Eli makes a batch of something with vodka, pineapple juice, and Sprite, and when he hands me a cup, I take it without thinking. Truman watches every sip I take, his hand firm on my lower back, but he doesn’t stop me.

Maybe because I’m laughing more than I have in forever.

Tasha and I play a drinking game with a group of people crowded around the kitchen island, some variation of ‘Never Have I Ever.’ I don’t know half of the things they talk about, but I drink when they do, giggling when Tasha nudges me with her elbow.

“Never have I ever milked a goat,” some guy says, and I take a sip automatically, grinning into my cup.

Tasha gapes at me. “Shut up . You? You milk goats?”

I shrug, a little buzzed and a lot amused. “I mean, yeah.”

Eli laughs. “Shit, I keep forgetting you were raised like some feral mountain girl.”

Truman stiffens beside me, but I just shake my head. “Not feral. Just… off the grid.”

Eli smirks. “Same difference.”

I flick my straw at him, and he ducks, laughing.

Truman leans down, murmuring against my ear. “You good?”

I turn to face him, looking up into his dark, steady eyes. He’s been watching me all night, making sure I don’t go too far, don’t get too drunk.

I smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

I’m buzzed. Warm. Loose-limbed and light-headed.

He studies me for a long second before nodding. “Let’s dance.”

I don’t know how to dance.

At least, not like this—pressed up against Truman in the middle of a crowded living room, his hands low on my hips, our bodies moving in slow, lazy circles.

I don’t even care that I don’t know what I’m doing.

Because God, this feels good.

Truman smells like soap and alcohol, his skin warm where it brushes mine. He’s solid and steady, the only thing keeping me from floating away completely.

Tasha dances by and deposits a bottle of water into my hands. Truman laughs as I stare at it.

“Drink,” he says.

Suddenly thirsty, I chug the bottle.

Truman hasn’t left my side all night, a steady presence at my back, his fingers resting on my hip whenever someone gets too close. But he’s distracted now, talking to Eli near the couch, so when a guy sidles up next to me, I don’t think much of it.

“You new around here?” he asks, his grin lazy and a little too familiar.

I smirk. “I guess.”

He leans in. “Never seen you at one of these parties before.”

I grin at him, feeling light and happy. My buzz has faded just a little from the various bottles of water that Eli, Tasha and Truman have been giving to me. “I’ve never been.”

His eyes sweep over me. “Damn shame.”

I don’t get a chance to respond before Truman’s there, stepping in front of me, chest-to-chest with the guy in a heartbeat.

“Walk away.” Truman’s voice is low, deadly.

The guy scoffs. “Relax, man. Just talking.”

Truman shoves him back. “ Walk. Away. ”

The guy stumbles, holding his hands up. “Alright, alright.” He backs off, disappearing into the crowd.

I stare up at Truman. His hands are clenched, his chest rising and falling like he’s barely keeping himself in check. A side of him I haven’t seen before—possessive, territorial .

I should probably tell him to cool it. But the truth?

I like it.

Laughing, I step into him, sliding my hands up his chest. “You jealous, Truman?”

His gaze snaps to mine, dark and heated. “You think this is funny?”

I bite my lip. “I think it’s hot.”

His breath hitches. Then, he’s gripping my wrist and tugging me toward the door.

“We’re leaving,” he growls.

The second we’re inside his dorm room, the door slams shut and Truman has me pressed against it, his hands framing my face.

“You drive me crazy ,” he rasps against my lips.

Panting, I tug him closer. “Good.”

“What do you want?” he breathes, inches from my face. Green eyes stormy.

I can’t find my voice. “You have to say it, Kid.”

“I want your mouth,” I whisper.

He arches an eyebrow at me, a devilish smirk on his lips. “Where?” he asks.

I move my hair over one shoulder and point to my neck. His head dips down, lips caressing from my earlobe to my collarbone. A moan slips out of me.

“That it?”

I shake my head. I point to the swell of my breast.

“Here.”

His head drops lower, lips ghosting the skin from my collarbone down, down, down until they reach my breast. His hands hook the halter strap and pull it over my head and down until my breasts are exposed.

Taking a nipple in his mouth, I arch toward him, wrapped up in the sensation.

He switches to the other one and I whimper like the lust-drunk fool I am.

“Where?” he grunts.

I trail a finger between my breasts, down my belly, and between my legs.

Truman groans, his hands sliding down my sides, still pinning me to the door as he drops to his knees.

His lips, his tongue scorching a path to the waist of my skirt.

I’m squirming, all in. I don’t want him to hold anything back.

He tugs once—hard—and the skirt is pooled at my feet. He spreads my legs.

The kiss between my legs is fierce , all heat and hunger, like he’s been holding this back for too long. My legs begin to shake as I watch him devour me.

He groans, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to the bed, laying me down beneath him.

I’ve never done this before—never been this close to anyone. But with Truman, I’m not nervous. I want this.

I pull his shirt over his head, dragging my fingers down his chest. His muscles tense under my touch, and he groans, dropping his forehead to mine. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

I shake my head.

His control snaps.

He kisses me—deeper, more urgent. I’m lost in sensation; the world narrows to Truman’s hands and mouth and the way his every touch sets me on fire.

My heart races, I’m nervous. Truman’s not a virgin but I am. What if I’m not good at this? What if it hurts?

He pins my arms above my head but he must sense my hesitation because he pauses, his breath warm against my skin.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, and the tenderness in his voice melts away some of my doubt. He kisses the tip of my nose, a small, sweet gesture that makes me smile. “We don’t have to do everything.”

But I want it all.

Instead of replying, I lift my mouth to his—kiss him hard. His resolve breaks again, body pressing into mine, and we’re drowning in each other’s heat.

It’s not perfect, at first we collide with nervous giggles, breaking the tension.

But once we slow down, once we start paying attention to what feels right, everything clicks into place.

And Truman is really good at paying attention to every cue my body gives.

The way he guides my hand over his cock—the look on his face as I take over.

I’m fascinated by all of him, every square inch.

Truman’s hands and mouth seem to be everywhere—working magic up my spine, skimming across my stomach—and I shiver, arching into him.

The awkwardness gives way to something electric.

My nerves fade; all that’s left is want.

He fumbles the condom at first. Then he pushes inside me slowly.

I brace for the pain I’ve read about, but I don’t feel more than a slight pinch, and then it’s gone.

“Still okay?” His voice is rough with emotion, eyes searching mine for any trace of uncertainty.

I nod frantically, breathless with how much I mean it. “Yeah.”

Time blurs; sensation peaks and crashes like waves until I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. We find a rhythm together—slow then desperate—that builds higher and higher until finally, the world shatters around me in a violent flood of light.

We lie tangled up afterward, still catching our breath in the quiet dark. Truman traces idle circles on my shoulder, and I cuddle into him, as close as I can get.