The Rebel King (All the King's Men, #2)

by Kennedy Ryan

She pulls my hand to her lips and kisses my fingers one by one, and with that simple act of affection, a rare, fathomless contentment saturates the air. A meridian of seconds where I’m completely satisfied, and at least for this handful of moments, there’s nowhere to be, nothing to gain, and this is enough. This, she is the first time I’ve tasted enough, and I savor it on my tongue, hoard it. Fold it into my hands to memorize the feel of complete satisfaction. An entire kingdom fits in this boat. My whole world rests against my heart.

🥹🥹

“She says she knows we’re in mourning and having lots of grief sex.” “Wow. That’s appropriate.” “But she asks when I’ll be emerging from what she calls the ‘cry hump’ stage of grief.”

"Cry hump" 🤣🤣🤣

Dead. I’m mortified, and anything I say next will be communicated from the afterlife. This whole conversation just became a séance.

🤣🤣🤣

“We weren’t unlikely, Nix,” I say, no levity in the words. “We were inevitable.”

🥰🥰

I want to be the risk she takes. I want us to jump off this cliff overlooking the water together, certain that as long as we have each other, we won’t drown.

He kisses me before I can finish the phrase that has helped me make peace with however our journey ends, but my heart recites the rest. Whatever that means. Wherever that takes us.

Gah, this was such a great duet. 🤌🤌🤌