Page 92 of The King Contract
“And humble. And not at all arrogant.”
Noah kisses the top of my head again and untangles himself from me, hopping out of bed and striding across the room stark-naked and not at all abashed. And why would he be? He’s over six feet of pure golden muscle, contorting in the shadows. I admire the broadness of his sculpted shoulders, the way his veins mark his arms like tattoos as he digs something out of his bag.
“I got you another present.” He walks back towards me, a large box wrapped in pink and white paper in his hands. He hops back into bed and moves me like I’m a rag doll, and I’m sitting between his legs, my back to his chest.
“Noah, I didn’t get you anything else,” I whisper, staring at the gift as he places it into my lap. He squeezes me around the waist and kisses my shoulder, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes back and climb him again.
“It’s not about you getting me another gift,” he murmurs. “Open it.”
I peel back the tape and paper, giddy from my sex-high. When I see the packaging, tears spring to my eyes. Maybe I’m more tired than I realised. “Noah.”
His chin rests on my shoulder. “I know it can’t replace the one your aunt gave you.”
It’s a brand-new, vintage-style, khaki green digital camera and I know for a fact it retails for about four thousand dollars.
“I can’t accept this.” My voice is hoarse, and tears spill down my cheeks.
“Hey, hey,” Noah coos, squeezing me tightly. “Why are you crying?”
“It’s been such a good day,” I croak, shrugging. EvenI’mnot entirely sure where the tears came from.
Noah kisses my cheek and down my neck and I close my eyes, willing this moment to permanent memory.
“I should mention, the camera comes with stipulations,” he murmurs against the side of my throat.
“Is that right?” I wipe under my nose with my forearm, not caring if it’s gross.
“Mmhmm. You’ve got to come to an ostentatious, unbearable event with me in January.”
I laugh. “There’s always a catch with you.”
“It’s the King effect,” he says proudly. “Worked on you like a bloody charm.” He plants a chaste kiss on my lips. “I banged photographer extraordinaire, Millie Maelstrom, from high school, in my parent’s pool house.”
“Two things,” I say, leaning up to look at him. “Firstly, who the hell has a pool house in Australia? This isn’tThe O.C.”
“I loved that show,” he replies, grinning lazily.
“Secondly, whilst I appreciate the photographer extraordinaire comment, you’ve never seen my work,” I continue. “And if you did, I don’t think those would be your words of choice.”
Noah raises his eyebrows. “I’ve seen your social media page and the yearbook, and they’re both stellar. Iknowyou’ve got some killer work to share with the world.”
I roll my eyes. “I dabble for fun.”
“Bullshit.” Noah drags me so we’re both facing each other. “I’ve seen the way you dive for your camera at every spare opportunity.The photos you took of us at camping were amazing. Don’t downplay it.”
“You mean how you downplay your desire to open a surf camp?” I ask innocently.
Noah frowns. “Don’t deflect.”
“Don’tyoudeflect.”
Noah grunts. “How about we make a deal?”
“Another one? Is this one going to require my signature as well?”
“Youneed to start showing the world your work,” he says, ignoring my jab. “Or at the very least, stop underselling your skills. I’ve seen what you can do. You should put on an art show.”
I laugh and shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”
