“Yeah? Is that why you wore Cinderella blue?”
I chuckle. “Maybe.”
I move back around to face him, my hand resting on his belt before undoing it.
“Do I look at you like this?” His voice drops lower, rougher.
“With desire? Want? Need? Obsession?” I pop the button on his slacks and drag the zipper down. “Yes.”
He grabs my wrist before I can go further. “We’re not rushing.”
“I promise.”
His jaw is tight, his eyes dark. “I plan on enjoying you until the sun rises, babe. I hope you understand what I have in store for you.”
The admission sends heat pooling between my thighs.
I lean up and press my lips to his ear. “What are you waiting for?”
Carefully, he pulls away so that he can meet my eyes. “I’ve never gotten to take my time with you. That ends tonight.”
He walks me backward toward the couch, and I sink into worn velvet that smells like a museum and something faintly sweet, like dried flowers pressed between pages. Louis follows me down, and his weight settles over me.
The fire crackles beside us, and the room feels like it exists outside of time. Like we’ve slipped through a secret passage into a world where nothing matters except for us.
“Hi,” he whispers when our mouths are close.
“Hi.” I reach up and brush the hair from his forehead.
His eyes close at the touch, just for a second, and he leans into my palm like he’s been starved for me.
He looks different tonight. The prince character has melted away, and right now, he’s just Louis. The man who enjoys chess, witty banter, and art. The one who’s looking at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“How I’d burn it all down again if it meant ending up with you right here.”
“Addison.”
“I mean it.” I trace the stubble on his jaw with my fingers, then move down his neck to his collarbone.
He turns his head and presses his lips to my palm, and the tenderness of it makes my eyes sting.
“What did I do to deserve you?”
I smile up at him. “I’ve asked myself that every day since meeting you.”
His voice drops lower. “We’re so fucked.”
“I know,” I say.
He nibbles on my lip, and I taste champagne and strawberries. His hand traces down my body, over my breast, and when his thumb brushes my nipple, I gasp.
“Love touching you,” he says against my lips.
“Keep doing it.”
He circles slowly, and the sensation shoots straight between mythighs. I’m already aching for him, and he’s barely started. That’s what he does to me, what he’s always done.
