Princes of Chaos (Royals of Forsyth University, #7)

by Angel Lawson

A total boss babe! And a legit boss babe too, not the kind of boss babe that’s a capitalistic farce engineered from a faceless corporation that’s hoping a single mother will shell out twenty bucks for a coffee mug to feel the thin veneer of independence it gives her. Here, take these.”

In stark opposition to Lex’s tidy meal, Pace doesn’t even use a napkin, licking out to catch any wayward crumbs. I hesitate to make any fast movements, almost certain he’d give a possessive snarl. It makes a wave of homesickness spark in my chest. He eats like a Duke.

A sign of a skilled musician is that we operate not just on sound, but how the music feels. The vibration of the strings, the reverberation in the hollow core of the cello under my fingertips, is as familiar as the sound of a woman seizing beneath me, spine arching, breath shallow. Their bodies are as much of an instrument as this carved piece of wood between my legs.

After years of being used, there’s a certain thrill in being able to do it to someone else.

He’ll look at me with those gentle eyes and see something less than Verity Sinclaire. He’ll see a traitor. He’ll see a victim. I’m not sure which is worse.