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Well, if I’m going to die anyway, I’m going out with a good book in hand and drunk halfway to a stupor.
“A prince is never late. Everyone else is early.” Now I know he’s moving with deliberate slowness. “Is that another thing you tell your partners?” I jape. “That you’re the last to come?” “Don’t you hope it is?” A satisfied smirk slips as slowly across his lips as the crisp black jacket that slides over his shoulders.
“How many wounds do you have?” Turning the question back to him is a weak retort and I know it. As weak as my knees feel. “Enough that I’ll remake the whole world to fix them.”
“You are insufferable. You are too talented for your own good. You are so—fuck—so arrogant at times and more stubborn than I have ever imagined a person capable of being. You are angry, fiery, passionate, often impulsive, and more determined than any creature I have ever met. And what’s worse is that—for as annoying as you are—you’re so gorgeous any sane man wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
“For me. You are somehow better and worse than I could’ve ever imagined—everything I needed and the last fucking thing I wanted.”
“Do I look all right?” I ask. But what I really mean is, Do I look like I was ready to have you push me against the wall and fuck me senseless? The prince, to my surprise, answers sincerely. “Frustratingly immaculate, as always.”
Even though I fancy myself a logical, capable woman…sometimes I just want to be fucked by someone who’s very, very good at it.
“There is no world in which you do not consume my very being.”
