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I speak with more conviction and certainty than I have ever spoken in my entire life.
My love for Percy is as real as it fucking gets.
“Tell me that you fucking love me, Percy.”
She shakes her head.
“I don’t.”
I lean toward her.
She bites her bottom lip as I draw near.
“Yes, you do.”
My voice is barely above whisper.
Her eyes turn away from mine. She looks at my lips.
“You love me, and you want me.” my lips gently brush against hers, “Say you want it all, Percy.”
She swallows hard again, and I can hear it this time.
Her lips graze against mine. That temptation to give in clings to her lips.
She wants to succumb, but her stubbornness keeps her from giving in.
A flash of light from the street breaks the moment.
We both turn to see a couple of photographers snapping pictures feverishly at us.
“Your Highness. Over here!”
“Are you and Miss Owens back together?”
“And what about the woman with the black hair? Is the Prince of Menage entering a ménage of his own?”
Christ, I fucking hate the paparazzi.
