Page 39 of The Mourning Throne
Just the meeting of tongues, slow and soft. Morgan’s teeth grazing his lower lip, hand pulling Lex lower and closer.
It was a habit.
A morning ritual.
The kind of kiss that saidwe still have time.
The kind that saidthe real world can wait.
Lex was the one to break it, breathless and grinning. “I’ve got to make myself halfway normal.”
Morgan blinked. Once. “You need to wash your hair.”
“Wash it for me.”
“You’re hopeless. Get out before I make sure we’re late,” Morgan murmured, but there was that distinctive smile in his voice.
Laughing, Lex moved out Morgan’s reach and slipped out ofthe shower.
If this life wasn’t the definition of perfect, he didn’t want to know what was.
The building looked near identical to the one at home—towering, cold, and desperate to seem more important than it actually was. Lex could almost shut his eyes and picturetheirstaff at DVC.
Claire, the receptionist, greeting him with the same enthusiasm every morning. Morgan never spared her a second look. Finn talking too fast, gesturing at everything like it mattered and breathing coffee through every word. Steve coming out to steal the donuts from the break room, and then scuttling back into his office like some fat corporate gremlin. Karen telling one of the junior associates her coffee wasn’t hot enough.Is this skim milk? I asked for almond.
Same vibe. Different place.
God, even the elevator was the same. Both buildings had probably used the same company, with the same bland blueprint. Glossy. Black chrome.
Lex had kinda been hoping for something a little… special.
“Should we have fed him?” Lex asked, tapping his foot. “Before we left.”
Morgan glanced up from his phone. “We’re only in the office for a meet and greet today. I’m sure he’ll be fine for an hour or so.”
“You think he likes cereal?”
“Lex. Stop talking.”
Whatever.
Everyone liked cereal. Especially the one cinnamon kind, with the swirls.
Watching Ollie try to eat it, no hands, out of a bowl?
Cat.Totalcat.
By the time the elevator doors parted on the top floor, Lex was practically vibrating.
The receptionist wasn’t Claire, just some guy that looked like he was barely out of high school. He didn’t look up when they passed, which—honestly?—Lex kind of respected.
They were shown straight through to the corner office—floor-to-ceiling windows letting in blinding morning light, sleek furniture that probably cost more than most cars, one dying plant in the corner like a hostage.
Mr. Huntington was already on his feet.
“You must be Alexander,” he said, extending his hand. “And you must be Morgan.”
Lex took it, gave him a firm, friendly shake and flicked on his company wide smile. “Lex is fine. It’s nice to meet in person, Mr. Huntington. We’ve heard great things about this location.”
