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Silas slides his fingers over my temple and behind my ear, then over the nape of my neck. Without really knowing how, I find myself leaning toward him, resting my hand over his heart and tilting my lips toward his. We move toward each other like there’s no other option. It’s the only direction we could move. In any room, any country, any continent, we’re drawn to each other.
When he kisses me, his lips taste like sweet honey. His arms are warm, safe, comforting. They tighten around me as his lips part and our kiss deepens, and I let go of that final piece inside me that clung onto my hatred of the monarchy. It drifts away quietly as his tongue slides over mine, dissolving into a wisp of nothing.
He’s not a prince. I’m not a journalist. We’re just two people who understand each other, who have hurt and ached and suffered through the various stages of life. Two people who have felt like we don’t fit in, who have wanted to change our situations in life but haven’t known how.
And we’ve found each other. In Silas’s arms, I finally feel whole. As his hand slides down over my side and dips down under my top, sparks skip across my skin. There’s no bitterness inside me. No burning desire to end the monarchy. No need to speak out for abolition and publish scathing articles about overspending.
None of that matters.
The holes in my heart are being plugged with every kiss, every touch, every soft groan that rumbles through his chest. And when Silas pulls me across the sofa to straddle him, I know our bodies have understood something that took me weeks to realize.
We were made for each other.
19
Jazz
Letting go has never been easy for me. I couldn’t let go of my feelings for Liam. I couldn’t let go of my bitterness toward the elite. I couldn’t let go when my father died, and I struggle to accept my mother’s condition.
And yet here, in the solitude of my own home with a man tangling his fingers through my hair, it feels easy to do just that.
Bitterness disappears. Anger evaporates. The desire for revolution and abolition vanishes into nothing. In their place, a delicious kind of warmth starts to bud. It begins in the pit of my stomach, spreading through my thighs and down to my toes. For the first time in years, I feel good just…existing. Being in this moment, safe inside these four walls, while the world rages around me.
I roll my hips toward Silas’s, wrapping my arms around his neck. He tilts his head up and I crush my lips against his, knowing this is the moment when everything changes. There’s a shift happening inside me, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to come back from it. I’m not sure I want to.
Isn’t it better to feel whole? To let go of all the negativity that spurred me on for the past decade of my life? Wouldn’t it be good to welcome this heat and emotion inside me with open arms?
Maybe I could be different. With Silas, it feels possible. It feels like I can be more than someone who thrives on negativity. I’m being broken down, brick by brick, and I get to choose how to put myself back together.
What if I chose goodness? Happiness? Love? A simple life where all that matters is my own contentment?
His hands skate over my skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. My hips grind against his, and I sigh when I feel the hardness beneath his pants. In one motion, Silas pulls my shirt off and tosses it aside, his hands already tugging the cups of my bra down. When his mouth connects with my breast, I hook my arms around his neck and let out a soft sigh.
My veins are full of molten lava, and every cell in my body is tuned into Silas. Nothing matters except the soft movement of his mouth, his hands.
Lashing his tongue over my peaked nipple, the Prince claws at the clasp of my bra. It unlatches and I tear it off, tossing it aside. He moves his mouth to the other breast, cool air washing over every inch of skin he’s touched. Everything feels more sensitive than it did a moment ago. His fingers palm my exposed flesh, thumb and forefinger gently pinching one pebbled nipple while his mouth pays special attention to the other. A jolt of heat spirals down the center of my body as I gasp, arching my back toward him.
“You have glorious breasts, Jazz,” the Prince says, moving his lips over my skin. He kisses my chest, my sensitive flesh, every inch of me that comes near his mouth. It’s almost reverent the way he touches me.
I smile, tilting my head back as I melt like springtime snow in his hands. A touch that makes me feel like I’m floating, and the only thing keeping me down are his hands on my body, his lips on my skin, his legs beneath mine.
When I move to kiss Silas’s neck, my fingers working to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, he slides his hands down my sides and over my jeans. Through denim and panties, I feel the heat of his palm as it slides over my ass, his fingers running along the middle seam all the way down.
I shiver, causing Silas to chuckle.
“You’re not used to being touched like this, are you?” Gravel rattles in his voice, sending another wave of heat crashing against my thighs. How can his voice do that to me? The mere hint of pleasure coursing through him makes me feel like everything inside me turns to jelly.
Mercifully, my voice still works. “Don’t be an overconfident ass.” I work the last button open, pulling his shirt out from his pants and spreading my palms over the warm, hard planes of his chest. Touching him feels like magic. Like there are sparks exploding between my palms and his skin, like his body is a playground built just for me.
“Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of this?” His eyes meet mine, then drop down to my lips, my chest. One hand stays on my ass, fingers sliding over and back on the denim covering my hole. Naughty. Delicious. Forbidden. How does he know how to tease me toward the edge with barely more than a touch?
Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I grind my hips against his. My fingers curl into the back of the sofa behind him, with nothing but the feel of his chest against mine and the slight pressure he puts on my ass to drive me toward bliss.
“How many?” I ask softly, eyes closed.
“Every day, Jazz. Every day I’ve imagined what you’d taste like to kiss. I’ve wondered what it sounds like when you moan. What you look like when you come. I’ve made myself come dozens of times to the thought of your body, imagining what it would sound like if you cried out my name.”
“Are you so confident you’ll make me come?” I slide my lips into a grin, eyes slitting open. My heart flips when I see pure heat and desire staring back at me.
