Page 34 of Insatiable Park Avenue Prince

Yes. God yes.There was that gorgeous face I’d been dreaming about, and it was like Donovan was right there in the room with me as he whispered the name of whatever cologne he was selling like it was a secret.

I missed it, of course, because I was too busy trying to relocate my brain. The hunger in my stomach now played second fiddle to the hunger that had just moved south, between my legs. Then the commercial ended.

Fuck.It was moments like this I wished I could afford a damn receiver, because what I wouldn’t do to rewind and replay that. Hell, who was I kidding? As soon as I was done eating, I was going to go and YouTube the shit out of that ad. It was sexy as fuck—my stiff dick was a testament to that.

I shifted on the couch and grabbed my fork, trying to get comfortable now that I was doing my best to perfect the art of plate spinning with my cock and tray.

Jesus. I’d known he was going to be a distraction, but he’d gotten me hotter and harder in fifteen seconds than anyone I could remember, which was exactly why I’d asked him back for round two.

Our debut video had been sent out to the masses just yesterday, and while I’d spent an inordinate amount of time watching it, just looking at Donovan’s face in the last five seconds of that commercial had almost made me come in my shorts.

No need for a fluffer when Donovan was around. One glimpse of those hazel eyes and that sea-swept hair made me want to fuck him for hours on that beach.

The beach… Oh my God, the fucking Maldives.

My lips twitched as I thought back to our conversation at lunch the other day, and I would’ve bet money that this was what he’d been doing there. Okay, maybe not money, since I was kind of low on that, but I had a feeling that was where he’d shot it.

Actually, that was the perfect excuse to reach out to him. I’d been waiting for Donovan to give me a call, not wanting to come off pushy if he decided not to come back for round two. But this way it would be casual. I wouldn’t seem as desperate to see him again as I felt…right?

I took another bite of food and then picked up my phone, pulling his number up.

God, how many times had I started to text him in the last seventy-two hours? Too fucking many, and something I’d deny if anyone ever found out.

Staring at the screen, I typed out a genericHey, how you doing?but then quickly deleted it. I wanted something that would grab Donovan’s attention no matter what he was doing, not some lame-ass greeting. I wanted something he couldn’t ignore.

I thought about it for a couple minutes then typed.

You look good in the Maldives, and I look good in you. Maybe one day we should combine the two.

I stared at the text for a couple seconds then hit send before I could change my mind. If that didn’t get his attention, I didn’t know what would. I was about to put my phone down and go back to my meal when I saw three dots appear, and suddenly the last thing on my mind was food.

DONOVAN:

Is that an invitation? Because I have to agree. I’d look fantastic with you in me in the Maldives.

Okay, fuck my food. That answer had me hungry for something else. I put the tray aside, distracted by the only thing that could possibly tear me away from my meal right then.

Definitely an invitation, but you might have to give me a couple of months to save.

I’d spend all my damn money for the opportunity to roll around naked on sun-warmed sands with him, to swim in those blue waters naked and uninhibited. That was one of the things that I’d really loved about spending time with Donovan, learning what kind of person he was—and luckily, he seemed as free and open as me. Something that came in handy, considering I wanted to get him naked every time I saw him.

DONOVAN:

What if I said we could hop on a plane tonight and be there in a little less than a day?

My hands stilled as I read over his message, and something about the casual way he’d tossed it out there made me think he was serious. That if he wanted to hop on a plane tonight and fly off to some exotic location, he could—and more than likely would.

I’d already suspected he came from money. It was there if you looked closely. All the little nuances, like the fact he’d traveled all over Europe and, well, the Maldives, and where he went to school.

Astor University was one of the most prestigious schools in the country; everyone knew that. You either got in because you were a genius or because you were richer than Midas—not saying that Donovan couldn’t be both, but given the night of the Xes party at Lure, where Donovan had been in the VIP area with a group of guys who screamed privilege and money, I guessed he was cut from a very similar cloth.

Not that he’d ever mentioned it. But it was there. In his clothes, the way he held himself, the jewelry he wore. It was easy to spot when you didn’t have much of it yourself.

That wouldn’t run me off, though. I didn’t care if he was rich or poor. I wanted him in a way I’d never wanted anyone in my life, and if he was willing to come for me again, then I was more than willing to make him.

As enticing as that offer is, I have a shoot on Thursday, remember?

I never claimed to be subtle.

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