“One,” he says.
“One?”
“You. You’re my one. That’s the only number that matters.”
I stare at this man. This impossible, insufferable, devastating man who just made me come three times in a hot spring and then said something so achingly tender that it makes the orgasms feel like the appetiser.
“That was corny,” I say, because if I don’t deflect, I will cry, and I have cried enough to last several lifetimes.
“That was sincere.”
“It was both. Corny and sincere aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“I’m a king. Kings aren’t corny. Kings are profound.”
“You just had s*x with me in a public hot spring at two in the morning. Nothing about this is profound.”
“Everything about this is profound.” He kisses my forehead. My nose. The corner of my mouth. “You. In this water. Under these stars. Wearing n
