American Prince (New Camelot Trilogy, #2)

by Sierra Simone

She submits because she feels safe that way, because she was born to submit, but I submit because I was born to suffer. Because I like suffering.

Once or twice there had been the insinuation that I wasn’t able to “make up my mind” about who I liked to fuck, but that was ridiculous. I knew exactly who I liked to fuck, and it was everybody.

You are a little prince, Embry Moore, in every way I can imagine. Rich and spoiled, like Sebastian…and yet dreamy and sad, like the little prince from Saint-Exupery’s book.”

“You’re spoiled and self-destructive and relentlessly careless. The only thing I hate about you is that you’re not one of mine, so I can’t discipline you.”

How could I make him understand? That it had to be like this? That I had to be conquered, not wooed?

Embry holds my husband’s heart in his hands and he doesn’t even know it. He’s too busy looking at the details of Ash’s face to see Ash’s expression, too busy being in love to see how loved he is.

It was the world we lived in, a world that didn’t think twice about sending boys off to kill other boys but then cringed at the idea of boys falling in love with each other.

I wanted to tell Ash that loving him was like a scar, like a disease, it would always be there, I’d never be cured of it, and I didn’t want to be.