Page 11 of Broken King

“Shit,” he grunts.

Why are men such babies about condoms? I just don’t get it. “Something wrong?”

His dark-green eyes grow concerned as they search mine. “The condom broke.”

Yup. Babies. “Don’t worry. I’ve got us covered, and I’m clean.”

His shoulders visibly relax. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Then you better get back over here.” I turn to face him with the bottle in my hand. “The Kings’ jet leaves early tomorrow. So I’ve only got a few hours before I turn into a pumpkin.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His accompanying grin is so sinfully sexy, I wish we had more time.

Or maybe more condoms.