Page 32 of Hawthorne

As the last words come out of my mouth, my heart sinks.

It doesn’t feel right.

It’s probably because I am sure she deserves more. This stunning woman is intelligent and hard-working, she deserves a man who can put a ring on her finger and make her the happiest woman in the world.

That man won’t be me, though.

Whichever of the possible scenarios for my life…I am expected to marry into nobility. Times are modern but not that modern.

My best-case scenario is that the king becomes a father—the kingdom is waiting for some news soon—and I would only have to keep my title as Duke of Hawthorne. While it would be better than being king, I’d still have to choose between the four women who are fit to be duchesses.

Worst-case scenario, I become king, and those four choices are reduced to two.

My life is literally a joke.

“I feel the attraction, too,” she confesses, biting her lower lip.

A moment. Seconds. Just a few words.

It’s enough to spike my blood pressure and shake me to the core.

I’m not dumb. From all our previous encounters, it was clear she was also affected by my presence. Just like she affects mine. I just never expected her to admit it so bluntly.

“What?” I ask, surprised.

Fucking hell, this woman will be the death of me.

“I feel it, too,” she repeats.

I’ll take every crumb she has to give me and bask in it like I’m having a feast.

Her hands twist on top of her lap, a clear indicator of her apprehension. The need to get rid of that, to show her she doesn’t need to feel that way with me, lead to me grabbing both her hands in mine, a weak attempt to comfort her.

The eyes I’ve recently enjoyed looking at focus on me, bright and wide. Her curiosity wins over the uneasiness, and I can’t help but tug at her hands, bringing her closer to me and kissing her again.This is it.

My lips move a little rougher this time around, matching my need for her.

Just like the first time, she softens against me, letting her body mould onto mine. Our mouths work in tune, and she moans when my hand reaches the back of her head and tangles into her short black locks.

The sound spurs me on, and my hands descend to the back of her thighs to lift her from the opposite end of the couch onto my lap.

Self-control seems to be non-existent every time I am around this woman.

Her core is warm against my groin, and as our kiss deepens, she grinds onto me, prompting me to raise my hips in response.

My hands, which seemed to have gained a life of their own, travel down her neck, grazing her chest towards her tiny waist and stopping only on her lower back, pulling her against me roughly.

“Ahh,” she moans into my mouth. “Y-your Gra—”

I shut her up by kissing her again. Having her still calling me by my title while kissing the hell out of her is just wrong.

“Vincent,” I mumble into her mouth. “Call me Vincent.”

The only answer I get in return is a moan. The short melodic sound ignites a fire deep inside me, burning through my veins and magnifying this desire.

As our hips grind against each other, once again, this time, I can’t help but squeeze her ass. Her soft curves, all in the right places, mould into my hands as I knead her skin.

Her full, round rear is squashed against my hands while her front is plastered to my chest, with her mouth fully locked in mine. Everything in this woman turns me on, even if it is just an innocent look.

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