“Fuck,” I mutter, brushing Noah’s hair back, my gaze running over his lips and eyes and his patient, hopeful expression. “King… You couldn’t have sprung for the extra ad words? I mean, Christ, that would have looked real nice in print.” His mouth curves into a smile, even as he shakes his head. “You shit.” “You love me for it,” I say, snatching up the ring. I slip it on my finger, the design a near-perfect match for the rope Noah wears on his skin. “You have me, King. This is just a formality.” “Oh my God,” Remi groans. “That was the worst yes in history.” “Is it a yes?” Noah checks, even
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