Page 155 of My Dark Prince
“Not with the woman who painted two dicks on my face with a super-strength Sharpie just last night while I was asleep.” He gestured toward his face, which looked like he still boasted the tiniest phallus-shaped shadows on either cheek.
Okay, maybe Ididretaliate for that engagement announcement. But how impressive was it that I managed to draw those in the pitch darkness. I hadn’t even used my phone light.
“You’re a heavy sleeper. I remember it from our time together.” I shrugged. “It was low hanging fruit. I took a bite.”
He gestured to the ice cream. “Well, I’m not taking one until you promise me I’m not going to leave here in a gurney.”
“I swear.” I put a hand on my ribcage. “The ice cream is fine. Here, I’ll take the first bite.”
I snatched the cone from his fingertips and swirled my tongue across the ice cream, holding eye contact with Oliver the entire time. His throat bobbed with a swallow, and he readjusted his pants. I almost laughed at the visceral reaction he had to it.
“See?” I passed the cone back to him. “Can you think of a better cream?”
“Yeah, the one in my pants after seeing this,” he grumbled, putting his lips to the ice cream. His tongue traced the same route mine did as he, too, held eye contact. “Oh, shit.” He frowned at the cone and went in for a bigger lick. “This is actually super good.”
I took a seat and rested my chin on my fist, my elbows planted on the island countertop as I watched him. “I went to a gelato-making course two years ago.”
He got a few more licks in before he found it. The plastic card I’d hidden inside.
He stopped, yanked it out between sticky fingers, and frowned at it. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s our singing class appointment.” I clapped my hands together and twirled on the stool, pasting on my best oh-my-god-I-can’t-wait-to-marry-you smile. “Remember? For our wedding duet.”
I could practically hear the wheels in his head turning before he processed this as my retaliation for hisNew York Timesannouncement.
His deer-in-the-headlights expression smoothed into a smirk. “Oh, yeah. I was wondering when we would start those.”
I opened my arms wide. “This afternoon.”
“This afternoon?”
I winked. “No better time than the present, right?”
“I could think of a better time. Namely, never,” he mumbled, before plastering a fake grin on his face, too. “Sorry, what I meant to say is – yes, I am free, and no, I cannot wait. As you probably gathered, I am dead serious about our fake wedding.”
“So am I.”
One of us would have to fold, but it wouldn’t be me.
I wasn’t sure what we were doing, but I was fairly certain it would lead to more grinding and possibly sex, which I would really love to have with Oliver. So, what? I owed him one time, anyway.
Just one time, Briar.
“Actually.” Oliver advanced toward me, giving the ice cream another lick. “I have an even better idea.”
He angled the cone toward me. I licked it. He dipped his head, his tongue chasing mine over the ice cream. It was hot against the cold and tasted sweet. So sweet. Our eyes closed, and for a second, we French kissed through whatever remained of the ice cream.
A few white drops fell from the cone, snaking between my breasts. Before I knew it, I was panting, ready for him to rip my clothes off and take me.
Ididagree to have sex with him at a time of his choosing.
Now could be that time.
“Hmm. So fucking sweet.Anyway.” Oliver pulled from me suddenly, completely composed and unaffected by the kiss, it seemed. “As I said, I have an idea.”
“W – what’s your idea?”
“I want to do the dance, too.”
