“And she’s gonna leave. She’s gonna go and she’ll never come back—and I want that for her, I do. But I’ll still be here…all alone.” I gesture to the door. “I think that’s why I haven’t gotten the lock fixed. Sometimes, I dream that I can’t get out. I pull and pull on the door but I’m stuck. Trapped.”

“Sometimes I dream I’m walking through the palace and there are no doors or windows,” Nicholas says, roughly. “I keep walking and walking, but I don’t go anywhere.”

I move closer, resting my hands on his chest, feeling hard, solid muscle and the strong, steady thrum of his heart beneath my palm.

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” he asks. “Something no one else knows about you.”

It takes only two heartbeats for me to answer.

“I hate pies.”

Nicholas starts to laugh—but when I go on, it dies on his lips. “I used to love helping, watching my mom make them, but now I hate it. The way they feel in my hands, the way they smell—it makes me sick to my stomach.” I look up into his face. “Now you. Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”

“I hate the bowing. Last month I met a World War II veteran who saved three of his mates in battle—he was wounded, lost his eye. And he bowed to me. What the fuck have I ever done that a man like that should bow to me?”

He shakes his head, lost in the thought.

The soft touch of my fingers along his jaw finds him again. And in that moment, something shifts…changes. My chest rises faster, my breaths come quicker, and the heart beneath my hand pounds just a little more fiercely.

Nicholas stares at my mouth. “If you could go anywhere, do anything, what would it be?”

This answer takes longer, because there isn’t one.

“I don’t know. It’s been so long since doing anything else was even an option…I stopped imagining.”

I lean in closer, inhaling his scent—spice and ocean and something decadently, uniquely him—a scent I would happily drown in.

“What about you?” I ask, the words rushing. “If you could do anything, right now, what would you do?”

His thumb slides across my bottom lip, stroking it slowly, gently…intently.

“I would kiss you.”

The air leaves the room. All of it. Or maybe I just forget to breathe. I might pass out and I don’t care, as long as Nicholas kisses me before the world goes black.

“Please,” I manage, breathlessly.

He doesn’t rush it. He takes his time. Savoring.

One arm wraps around my waist, pulling me sharply up against him. I feel him everywhere—the hard touch of his thighs, the flat planes of his stomach, the hot press of his thick, firm cock. My inner muscles clench around emptiness, needy. Seeking.

Nicholas’s other hand slides up my spine, burying itself in my hair, and he cradles my head in his palm. And his eyes—the whole time, those simmering green eyes drag over my skin, consuming every inch they touch.

Slowly, he leans down. I taste his breath—cinnamon and clove—before I taste him.

And then Nicholas presses his mouth against mine.

Possessively. Boldly. Like he owns me. And in this moment he does. I follow his lead, moving my lips in time with his, relishing the feel, the sensation. He tilts my head, positioning me right where he wants me. And then I feel the warm, wet stroke of his tongue.

Holy fuck, does he know how to kiss.

I think I have an orgasm of the mouth.

A mouth-gasm. And it’s amazing.

I moan deep and totally loud—not even a little ashamed. My arms curl around Nicholas’s neck and his hands skim down to my ass, clamping and kneading. Then he’s the one moaning—and it, too, is amazing.

“I knew it,” he murmurs against my lips. “So fucking sweet.”

Then our mouths fuse again, our tongues sliding and tasting. Nicholas pushes his knee between my legs, squeezes my ass and drags me up his leg. And the friction—the glorious fucking friction—would have me gasping yes if my mouth weren’t wonderfully otherwise occupied.

But then a sound comes from above us—a thump that rattles the ceiling. We both hear it, looking up, lips retreating.

“I have to go—my dad might’ve fallen out of bed.”

His hands tighten on my ass, almost reflexively—the way a child would grasp a favorite toy if it was threatened to be taken away. “Let me come up with you.”

I look into his eyes, not embarrassed anymore. “No, it’s better if you don’t.” My fingers comb his thick, soft hair before settling against his jaw. “I’ll be fine, I swear.”

Nicholas is still breathing hard and looks like he wants to argue, but after a moment of searching my face, he gives the smallest nod and slides me off his thigh.

“When can I see you again?” he asks. “Say tomorrow.”

I laugh. “God, you’re bossy. Okay, tomorrow.”

“Earlier this time. We’ll stay in at my hotel—I’ll make you dinner.”

“You can cook?”

He shrugs, and the adorable dimples make an appearance.

“I know how to make sushi, so technically, I can cut. But my cutting is top-notch.”

I giggle again—feeling silly and light-headed. Possibly delusional.

“All right. Your place, tomorrow.”

Then he’s kissing me again. Sucking at my lips in a way that I’ll feel in my dreams tonight.

“This is crazy,” I whisper against him. “It’s crazy, right? It’s not just me?”