Page 97 of The Thing About My Prince

Our waves of pleasure are in perfect unison.

Even though the timing of our lives is all wrong, the timing of our bodies is perfect.

“So good,” she breathes as her pace slows. “So good.”

And I ride the wave down with her, coming back to reality, the valley between her breasts glowing with sweat.

When I catch my breath, I push her hair off her damp forehead, and she looks up at me.

“So…fucking…good,” she says.

“You have no idea.” And I rest my mouth on hers in a deep, drawn-out kiss that says we both know that was something different, something special, something bigger than both of us.

When we pull apart, she giggles. “Did you hear the dishes rattling?”

I look over at the tray of food I’d brought up for her. It’s moved a little way along the desk, the cup now on its side in the saucer. I hadn’t heard a thing. “Did we break anything?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” she says. “But I’m even hungrier now.”

She reaches for a chocolate chip cookie and puts it between her sex-swollen lips. I duck down to catch the other edge of it in mine.

Our lips meet in the middle,Lady and the Tramp-style.

And, with me still inside her, we snicker as if we were a pair of young romantics who have their entire futures ahead of them.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

LEXI

After the incident on the desk, Oliver snuck down to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine like a teenager stealing from his parents’ liquor cabinet.

It took only one glass and a lot of laughing and talking about everything—from how many miles it is to the moon that we can see outside the window to him trying to make me pick a soccer team to support—before we couldn’t keep our hands off each other any longer.

That time, we ended up in bed for a protracted session of exploring and discovering and figuring out each other’s bodies before he brought me to yet another brain-splitting climax on his dick.

Even with the bugged vase now farther away and behind the closed bathroom door, I’m sure whoever’s listening got a great show.

After we’d finished the wine in bed, we fell into each other’s arms, and I was asleep within seconds.

And now I’ve woken from the happiest, most satisfying, solid rest of my life. Before I’ve even opened my eyes, mysenses fill with the fresh aroma of Oliver’s skin mixed with mine to form a heady cocktail and the comforting warmth emanating from his naked body under the covers.

I snuggle closer to his side. But my cheek has been settled on his firm pec for barely ten seconds when my phone vibrates on the nightstand.

Whatever that is can wait till later, when it won’t disrupt my delicious contentment.

But after only two breaths I can’t stand not knowing what it is and slowly ease myself off Oliver.

He shifts a little and emits a soft, sultry groan, his face the picture of serenity.

I can’t help but smile. It might not be the wisest idea to agree to a temporary relationship with the person whose memoir I’m writing, but he’s right. Life’s too short. We’re adults. We know what we’re doing. We’ll enjoy the time we have. Be grateful for it. And then move on to our detached, polar opposite, and completely incompatible lives.

I’m sure walking away from this won’t be easy. But my life will be so overwhelmingly new and busy and stressful that I’ll have plenty to occupy me and take my mind off the upset while I power through it.

I blink the phone screen into focus. Shit. I must have slept through a whole bunch of other buzzes. There are a ton of texts all stacked on one another.

The top one is from Becca.

Her message makes my blood run cold and my heart race. But maybe I’ve misunderstood. I try to go back and read it again, but my eyes can’t stay still. They jump to each word randomly, forcing my brain to reorganize them into an actual sentence.