TWO DOZEN STUDENTS FILTER out of the classroom as I pack up my bag. One girl, Bianca, who always sits in the front row, approaches tentatively.
 
“Professor Crawley?” She tilts her head. “I was wondering if you had a couple of minutes to answer some questions about the next assignment.”
 
I smile, nodding. “Of course.”
 
The young woman smiles wide, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear as she unhooks her bag from her shoulders and shuffles some papers in her hand. We both lean over the desk as we discuss the details of the assignment and required reading, and I’m once again struck by how lucky I am to be here.
 
This isn’t hard-hitting journalism. It’s not ruthless, cutthroat, scathing—but I get more out of it than I ever did from working at the Stirling Times. Bianca is bright, enthusiastic, and she tells me she would love to follow in my footsteps to encourage Nord to become a republic.
 
“My political opinions have mellowed somewhat over the past few years,” I answer with a grin. “I’m sure you can guess why.”
 
“Yes, but you took one of the members of the royal family with you.” She laughs, stuffing her assignment into her book bag. “That in itself sent a strong message about the position of the monarchy in Nord.”
 
“Let me know if you have any more questions. You know my office hours.” My lips quirk as I watch her march out of the classroom. I shake my head. She’ll be a force to be reckoned with when she graduates.
 
Making my way through the hallways of the university to my office, I take a deep breath and let a smile tug on my lips. This isn’t what I imagined for myself, but it suits me more than I could have predicted. Academia is slower than the world of journalism. It operates in its own time zone, with its own quirks and controversies. I like it. I like being able to bury myself in old texts, doing research and teaching students.
 
I’ve been working at the university for two years. I started when Oscar turned one, and I do three days a week here. It’s enough to stop me feeling cooped up at home, but it gives me the opportunity to spend time with my mother, Rhea, my husband, and my son.
 
Plus, as I feel a bit of excitement deep inside me, it’ll give me more flexibility over the next nine months—not that I’ve told anyone about that particular surprise. I will, though. Soon. Maybe even tonight, when Silas and I are alone.
 
As I open the door to my office, I let out a yelp when I see Silas sitting in my chair, his feet propped up on my desk. I close the door and lean against it, arching a brow. “I see you’ve made yourself at home, Your Highness.”
 
“You call me ‘Your Highness’ more now that it’s not my title than you did when you were supposed to.”
 
“It’s my contrarian nature.” My smile widens. “Are you sick of me yet?”
 
“Not even close.” Silas drops his feet to the floor, getting up in one fluid motion. I’ll never get over how easily the man moves. Every room seems to shrink with him in it. He prowls through life like he owns the world. I used to resent that in him, associating it with his royal upbringing, but now it makes my core clench. He has power and grace imbued into every pore, and I can’t quite get enough of being in his presence.
 
Okay, maybe I like pushing his buttons, too.
 
Silas stalks toward me, reaching his hand around my back to flick the lock on the door. I pop a brow. “What are you planning, Prince?”
 
“I’m not a prince,” he growls, erasing the distance between us. “Am I not allowed to visit my wife at work?” His lips drop down to my neck as a shiver races down my spine.
 
I arch my back toward him, hands finding the nape of his neck as I pull him closer. “What’s the occasion?” I whisper, not caring about the answer.
 
“You look good in that pencil skirt,” Silas responds, dodging the question. His hands sweep down the curve of my ass—yes, a curve; I’ve been eating a lot more now that I’m not consumed by negativity at work—and pulls me closer to him.
 
When I feel the hardness of his desire pressing up against my stomach, I let out a chuckle. “I don’t think your intentions were very pure when you came here.”
 
“My intentions are rarely pure when you’re around, Jazz.” It’s unfair what his voice does to me. The gravel in his words makes my core tighten, tension and anticipation knotting in the depths of my stomach. His hands sweep lower, finding the hem of my skirt and slowly, torturously sliding it up.
 
“You’re naughty,” I say, tangling my fingers through Silas’s rich brown hair.
 
“And you love it.” His voice is breathy, lips near my ear. He kisses my earlobe, moving his lips to my jaw, kissing every inch of skin along the way.
 
Quicker than I expect, he moves his hand to my shoulder and slides it up to my neck as he presses his body against mine, pinning me against the door. I gasp, letting my lips fall open. Silas’s thumb brushes my lip as his fingers splay over my neck, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
 
His other hand still teases the hem of my skirt higher, and higher, and higher.
 
“Silas,” I gasp, not sure what I’m trying to say. I don’t want him to stop, but we’re in my office. Anyone could knock or walk by and hear us.
 
“What?” He kisses my lips, pressing me harder against the door. He tastes like peppermint, and I melt into his embrace.
 
I wrap my arms around his neck and arch my back toward him, rolling my hips to feel his hardness. Then, faster than I can react, Silas grabs me by the waist and turns us both around. He spins me, pushing me against my desk as I catch myself on my hands, gasping.
 
Heat gushes into my veins. My panties are ruined. Typical. I close my eyes and enjoy his touch as he caresses my back, sliding his hand down my spine. His other hand stays on my shoulder, holding me down as he groans. “Every time you come home wearing one of these outfits, it drives me wild. I couldn’t wait for you to get home today.”
 
“Someone could walk in.”
 
“The door is locked.”
 
“Still,” I whimper, feeling his hand slide up the inside of my thigh. I step my feet out wider, my body wanting to melt at his touch.
 
When Silas’s hand reaches the apex of my thighs, touching the dampness of my panties, he lets out a low chuckle. “The lady doth protest too much,” he growls.
 
I glance over my shoulder. “Are you really quoting Shakespeare at me right now?”
 
A curl of hair falls on Silas’s brow as his smile widens, his eyes hooded with desire. Without answering, he shoves my panties to the side and slides his fingers through my arousal. I shiver, closing my eyes as my lips fall open. I’ll never get sick of his touch. Never tire of the way he makes my body burn with nothing more than a few words, stray kisses, and well-placed touches.
 
He groans when he slides his fingers inside me, and I can only answer with a whisper. I can’t pretend I don’t like this now—not when I’m backing into his touch and leaning my elbows on my desk, my body begging for more.
 
“I can’t believe you’ve been working here two years and we’ve never done this,” Silas says, working his fingers inside me until he finds that spot he knows I love.
 
I moan in response.
 
Silas chuckles, his other hand sliding over my back and tangling into my hair. He tugs gently, forcing me to arch my back, as his fingers work magic between my legs. In the reflection of the window in front of me, I see myself, face covered in bliss, bent over my desk with my husband’s fingers buried inside me.
 
“Cock,” I gasp, unable to make a full sentence. I push my ass back against him, hoping he understands. I need more. I need him.
 
He pulls his fingers out and lays a slap across my ass. “Don’t be impatient,” he growls. A shiver rushes through my veins, sending heat spilling in my core. His fingers move to my center again, but this time he slides them over my bud. I buck, moaning, and Silas tightens his grip on my hair.
 
Dirty, naughty, scandalous. If anyone walked by, they’d hear me panting. They’d hear the desk scuffing on the floor. They might even see our shadows through the narrow frosted window on the door.
 
My eyes meet Silas’s in the window’s reflection, and I see his lips curl into a grin. He knows it, too, and he knows how much it turns me on to have him here. His fingers move faster over my bud as my whole body trembles. Pressure mounts in the pit of my stomach as he tugs my hair back just a little bit harder, forcing my lips to drop open as I gasp.
 
My husband, my prince, my man. He’s here, doing things we shouldn’t be doing, and I love every moment of it.
 
“Come for me,” he rasps, moving his fingers just so.
 
How could I resist? How could I hold back from doing exactly what he wants? My body contracts, clenching on the emptiness between my legs, and pleasure spills into my veins. I gasp, whimpering, using every last scrap of energy to stop myself from crying out his name.
 
My orgasm crashes into me as Silas works his hands between my legs. Then, within seconds, he’s got his pants unzipped and his cock at my entrance.
 
I sigh, closing my eyes, knowing I’m about to get everything I asked for and more.
 
It only takes one strong thrust for him to enter me. Another, and I’m nearly over the edge again.
 
A book falls to the floor with a loud thud, followed by a stack of papers. I don’t care about any of it.
 
I lift myself from my elbows to my hands, backing into every thrust Silas gives me. He lets go of my hair to grip my waist, hands curling into my bunched-up skirt as he drives himself into me harder. I grunt and gasp and moan, no longer caring who might hear. The only thing that matters is the lust washing over me, the pleasure unfurling in my core.
 
When I come again, Silas whispers dirty things in my ear, urging me further over the edge. He wraps his hand around my torso and teases my breasts, knowing everything I like and giving it to me right here, bent over my desk.
 
My orgasm is so intense I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay standing. My head lolls as I try to grip my desk, panting, and then I feel Silas throb inside me. His hands tighten around me, his body locking up as pleasure overtakes him, too.
 
I chuckle weakly, collapsing onto my desk, eternally grateful my door has a lock.
 
Silas sits down on one of the chairs beside my desk, tucking himself into his pants but leaving them undone.
 
I take the chair next to him, shimmying my skirt back down as I slouch, sighing.
 
Silas leans his elbow on the armrest, head in his hand, watching me. “Did you enjoy that?”
 
“Don’t look at me like that,” I answer, lifting my legs to rest them across his knees.
 
His brows jump up. “Like what?”
 
“Like you’re all proud of yourself.”
 
“Did I or did I not just make you come at least twice just now? Maybe even three, if I read you correctly.”
 
“Were you counting?”
 
“Always.” His grin widens.
 
I can’t help but laugh, standing up to come sit on his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck, leaning my forehead against his. “You did well, Silas. I’ll give you that. Not sure we should make this a regular thing, though. I like my job too much.”
 
He grins. “We’ll see.”
 
“You’re naughty.”
 
“Isn’t that why you love me?”
 
“Among other reasons,” I answer with a smile, kissing the edge of his lips. Taking his hand, I slide it over my stomach. “Like the fact that you’re a wonderful father.” I lift my eyes to Silas’s, staring into his eyes, hoping he understands the meaning behind my words.
 
Deep blue eyes widen, then his face splits into a smile. He cups my face and kisses me hard, only pulling away to look from one eye to the other. “Really?”
 
Tears cloud my vision, but I manage to nod. “Took a test this morning. Are you ready for a second?”
 
He laughs, pure happiness ringing in the sound. Silas kisses me again, then holds me tight, and I let myself melt into his arms. I lean my head on his shoulder, enjoying the way his fingers make small circles over my hip, close my eyes, and let joy overwhelm me.
 
A job I love, a house in the country, a husband, and a second child. I don’t think life could get any better than this.