KENNEDY

I didn’t what to expect when Thayer—or should I call him Prince Thayer, the Duke of Assland when he told me that I was the only one that matters to him, that he was still the same person I met days ago. I just trusted him. I felt something stronger than how he made me feel in bed. Or maybe I was too delirious with the surge of my own libido that I wouldn’t care so much if, in the end, if this thing, or whatever we shared would come to an end.

 

I was hurt—mostly my ego. I sighed in defeat. Fine. My feelings. I trusted him. We...