Page 64 of Heavy Crown

He kicks the door shut with his foot, and he walks us toward the couch, his lips leaving mine only long enough to change the angle. He sheds his suit jacket, and it hits the floor with a thud. One of his hands slides underneath my thin tank top and along my spine. A shiver runs through me at the skin-to-skin contact I’ve been craving for weeks.

My body is singing yes, yes, yes, and I run my fingers through Alex’s dark strands, deepening the kiss.

Alex groans into my mouth, and his other hand grips my ass, drawing me tight against him. The depth of his desire is clear through our clothing, and when his lips leave my mouth to trail a line down my neck, a surge of lust like nothing I’ve experienced before shoots to my core.

How is it possible to have this much instant chemistry with someone? We’re only kissing, and I never want it to end.

“You were made for me. No one else, just me,” Alex murmurs when he nuzzles under my ear, and then he’s kissing me again with so much raw emotion my knees go weak, and I drag him down onto the couch with me.

His body rests between my thighs, and I wrap my legs around him to keep him close.

“Please.” I don’t know what I’m asking for, but there’s an escalating need inside me only he can satisfy. “Please, Alex.”

He rocks against me, and I gasp, arching my back to meet the contact. The strangest sense of déjà vu hits me, and I cling to his biceps, trying to catch the almost-memory. We’ve never done this before, but something recognizable has clicked in my brain. The brush of our bodies, the closeness of his breath in my ear, his lips skimming along my neck, are achingly familiar.

His hand slides under my ass, and each time he shifts forward to change the angle of our kiss, his erection rubs against my sensitive core. I’ve got my hands under his shirt, and with each flex, his muscles ripple.

Is it possible to die from lust?

From the floor, his phone rings. The piercing sound seems to hit Alex like a bucket of ice-cold water. Who would call him at this hour of the night? He freezes over top of me, but he doesn’t look me in the eyes. Then he backs off and sits on the edge of the couch, his face in his hands.

An intense silence settles between us, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do or say. I want him to come back and finish what he started. He’s not going to leave me like this, is he? He came here. He broke our unspoken agreement not to cross this threshold.

He groans. “I’m an idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. Teach me to get drunk and listen to my brothers.” He glances at me before looking away. “Shit, Rory. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be doing this. I really should not be doing this.”

I stare at the wooden beam in the ceiling and wonder what it would take to convince him we should be doing this. My body is on fire, and I want him to put out the flames. What’s the female equivalent of blue balls?

His stupid phone ruined everything.

“Who would be calling you at this hour?” Perhaps none of my business. Despite what just happened, we’re supposed to be just friends. But the only phone calls I’ve ever made or received this late are for exactly what Alex and I were almost doing. Do women call him for booty calls? Does he have women who keep him satisfied? I’ve never asked, and now I wonder if I should have.

“Could be anyone,” he says with a deep sigh. “I usually have my phone off at night. I run a country which is attached to other countries with different time zones. Sometimes people forget to check the clock before they call.” He places his hands on his knees and stands. “I should go.”

“Alex.” I swing my legs off the couch and follow him to the door. He snatches his suit jacket off the floor. “Are we talking about this?”

He lets out a harsh chuckle. “Clearly my judgement is not good. We should discuss what’s happened when I’m sober.”

“You’re being very dismissive of me, and I don’t like it.” The words tumble out, and I shock myself. While I can be direct, I hate confrontations. This could turn into a fight, and I tend to avoid them.

Alex has the door open, and he’s framed in it for a beat with his back to me. I’m not convinced he’s going to turn around, that he’ll even acknowledge what I just said.

“I shouldn’t have come,” he says over his shoulder. “I apologize. I’ll exercise better judgement next time.”

He draws the door closed behind him, and I release my agony in a wail of frustration. His insistence on us not being able to be together because he can never marry me is infuriating. I’m twenty-three. I don’t need to marry him. Just because every other woman he’s dated has been salivating to join the royal family doesn’t mean I am.

But I really, really want us to join other things together. My fingers tingle with the memory of running along the hard planes of his body, and my core aches at the reminder of him pushing his stiff length against me. Who tells a woman she was made just for them and doesn’t grab that sensation with both hands?

Yes, Alex. Yes, I was made for you. Give me all of you in return.

I climb into bed and beat my pillow before finally throwing it on the floor. How do we back away from what we’ve done? Before he kissed me, the attraction between us went largely unspoken. Neither of us can deny what almost happened tonight. Poor judgement or not, we were going for it.

How do I ever look at him again and not think of the way his body fit with mine? How his kiss was exactly what I imagined it would be? How every moment between us is a half-forgotten memory, as though we’ve mapped each other’s souls in another life?

How do I go back to pretending we’re friends when one look from him sets me on fire? How do I convince myself friendship is enough?

All these questions have no answers in sight because Alex chose to leave me instead of staying to talk this out. Anger rises in me at how dismissive he was.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe going down this path with him—wherever it does or doesn’t lead—is a fool’s errand. Do I want to have sex with him so badly I’d risk heartbreak? Who would choose that?