One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince by Kate Stewart

Author:Kate Stewart [Stewart , Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: novel
Publisher: KLS PRESS LLC
Published: 2023-07-24T22:00:00+00:00

I’ve been domesticated.

Somewhat.

To a small degree.

Minuscule, really.

What’s worse is that I actually don’t mind it that much.

Reason being is that it brings a modest level of routine to my otherwise chaotic existence.

Cecelia flips a page next to me as music filters from my speakers. Exhausted by the recent short bout of sleepless nights—when the sky fucking refused to break, and rain refused to come—I close my eyes as relaxation sets in. Hand splayed on my chest, I tap along to the song with my pointer. Maman loved Chicago. A few bars in, I feel the unescapable weight of a deep blue stare on my profile.

Cracking one eye open, I see Cecelia’s book sliding from her chest onto her lap. She sits in nothing but stark white panties, her jaw slack as she gapes at me. In the next second, she tosses the sheet up before it hangs briefly midair and lands, blanketing her as she starts rooting around, searching the mattress.

“The fuck you doing?” I ask as she pokes my side with the pads of her explorative fingers.

“It seems I’ve misplaced the motherfucker I came home with,” she says, her tone jovial before she lowers the sheet, a blinding smile in place. “Because there’s no damned way I just busted him lip-syncing Peter Cetera . . . O.M.G. is that a blush? Are you blushing?”

Unable to hide my smile, I slowly extend my palm to her chest and flatten it before pushing her off the bed. She lands with a thud, her hysterical laughter filling my bedroom. Not at all something I’m used to—my chest tightens a little at the idea it could be.

Laughter subsiding slightly, Cecelia’s head pops up into view. Lifting to her knees, she folds her forearms on the bed, brows raised. “Note to Cecelia, a little wine and a few puffs, and your closeted romantic comes out.”

“Haven’t had a drop, and you know it,” I assert.

“Which only further proves my point,” she quips with a shrug. “Your secret is safe with me, my menacing motherfucker, but I feel it’s my duty—as I’ve been told numerous times recently—to tell you to ‘own it.’”

“You’re delusional,” I dismiss.

“Can’t blame you. As they say, ‘they don’t make love songs like this anymore.’”

“They are idiots.”

“Ah, Jean Dominic,” she coos, “but you have to admit, it puts you in the mood, right?” She snaps to her feet and turns sideways, thrusting her pert ass out and positioning her hands on her hips before she starts to gyrate. “It’s all bump and grind these days,” she bellows in a terrifying impression of a man’s timbre before booming, “and ‘get on your knees and suck it biatch!’”

She pops her ass out with each word for good measure which has me barking a loud laugh as she continues to gyrate, adding her arms in the mix. “Stop,” I chuckle, “for your own sake—and mine—and don’t ever do that again.”

She turns and tosses a flirty grin over her shoulder while batting her lashes. “You really shouldn’t

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