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

by Angel Lawson

If kissing is an art, then Wicker Ashby is Picasso. He’s so good at this, these soft, delicious kisses.

“I thought Princes were… you know. Sweet.” Propping a hand on my hip, I reply, “Yeah, well, arsenic can be sweet if you put it into a milkshake.”

I go with it, because if I’m going to be ruthlessly assaulted by feeling, then it might as goddamn well be a good one.