Page 37 of King’s Kismet

I walked her backward, pinning her between the shelf and my body. I wanted to fuck her here, now. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to cheapen the moment with a quickie on the closet floor.

The idea had its merits, though.

We’d have to revisit that another day, when the conversation wasn’t so… meaningful.

“Say it, Sloane. Tell me how you feel. Out loud. Stop trying to dodge me, and just. Say. It.”

I needed to hear her say it, to know that it wasn’t just me, that these emotions weren’t simply thriving in her chaos and playing tricks on me.

Her chest heaved as she trembled against me, lust turning into anger. And for a split second, I thought I might have pushed her too hard, too fast, too soon.

Doubt the size of boulders weighed me down.

“Godsdamnit,” she growled, her words hitting me with physical force before she put me out of my misery. “I think I fucking love you.”

I nodded, my anxiety falling away as I admitted, “I know you do. Pretty fucking sure I love you, too.”

The honesty behind that phrase made me freak out internally, because I did love her. In a way I had never loved anyone else. There was more power behind that feeling than I’d ever realized.

It was both freeing and frightening.

I had to turn away from her and busy my hands so I wouldn’t do something stupid. If I kissed her right now, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from taking her to bed and just… devouring her until I could breathe properly again.

How could she steal all the breath from my lungs and make my useless heart feel like it was beating for the first time?

Gods. When did I start thinking like the druid?

I knew she had lingerie in here somewhere. I needed something to help me get my wits about me again.

Opening the second drawer was my equivalent of winning the fucking lottery. I picked up piece after piece of sex in the form of clothing. It was all in color-coded rows before I started, but fuck that. I’d fix it after she tried it all on for me.

The image of me with a roll of stickers in my hand flashed across her mind before she scrubbed at her face.

“What the fuck was happening? Was the conversation over? No sex?” She rolled the questions around, letting them brew on the edge of her tongue.

I changed the subject.

Quick.

For both of us…

Glancing over my shoulder, I smirked again to get a rise out of her.

“How did your night with Briggs go?” I questioned as I sorted through a row of panties I’d yet to see her wear.

That grin.

That’s why I called her Trouble.

And then lust hit me like a kick to the balls, immediately making me change my mind.

This was why she was Trouble. This whole moment we’d had in the closet summed up everything I’d thought I knew about her.

She was, without a doubt, the best kind of trouble to be in, to fall for, to call mine.

I leaned against the dresser, feeling lightheaded as still images of her night with Briggs assaulted me. They came one after another until all I could do was groan at her and adjust my now-hard dick so that I didn’t have a tent in my sweatpants.

“Trouble. That’s not what I was asking, but gods, that was hot.”