32. Willow
Sex with Royce was explosive. Beautiful, thrilling, and each time better than the last.
My whole body was pressed against the glass while my muscles quivered, and I suspected my husband wasn’t done with me. He peppered soft kisses against my nape, his hands roaming my body, smoothing over each plane and crevice until coming to land on my stomach.
“Too rough?”
“Perfect,” I murmured, meeting his eyes. I was glad he was still supporting most of my weight with how sluggish and shaky my limbs were.
“I love you so fucking much,” he murmured against my ear, and heat shot straight to my core, desire fluttering through me. He just fucked the living daylights out of me, and I was already ready for round two.
Royce straightened up and slid out of me, then pushed my dress down so I was decent again.
He circled his arms around me, bringing us chest to chest, and I sighed into him. The sex was wonderful, and I wasn’t lying when I told him how rough I liked it, but his aftercare was like a soothing balm.
He used a hand to turn my head, sealing his mouth over mine. His tongue pushed inside, and I swallowed his moan.
“Let’s go back to the boat first thing in the morning,” he murmured. “I want you all to myself again.”
I slipped my hand into his, our fingers interlocking. “Okay.”
“Ready for bed?”
I nodded, and we made our way out of the room. His arm draped over my shoulder, and I focused on him as we walked across the polished floors, trying not to trip over my heels. I felt Royce’s body tense next to me, and I flicked a curious look to his face to find him staring straight ahead.
I followed his eyes and gasped with disbelief. Stuart’s parents were here, standing barely five feet in front of us. Mrs. Harris held her hands on his hips while Mr. Harris leered at me. Goose bumps skated across my arms as I watched his eyes darken and his tongue dart over his lips.
“Willow.” Stuart’s mother was quick to greet me with a sour expression while my mind reeled with the possibility that these two might have watched Royce and me. The mere idea had bile rising in my throat.
“Mrs. Ashford to you,” Royce corrected her, my good mood quickly fading at the sight of Stuart’s parents.
“That’s impossible,” Mr. Harris protested with an even mixture of disbelief and offense.
“I assure you that it isn’t.” Royce got into his face. “What the fuck are you doing here? This is an exclusive party.”
Maybe they were following us and would drag us back to answer for Royce’s violence.
“I have connections.” A snake-like smile spread across Mr. Harris’s face. “And you two have reached your dead end.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my fingernails digging into my husband’s forearm as I clutched at him.
“If I knew you two would be here, I would have brought the police.” Mr. Harris attempted to grab my arm and Royce shoved him away, causing the old man to stumble. He glared at Royce with a murderous look. “You two are criminals.”
“And your son’s a woman beater,” Royce said easily while the vein in his temple throbbed. He was a ticking bomb. “Push me and I’ll ensure every single newspaper has a trending story on the Harris family tomorrow with a special section covering Stuart as a woman beater.” Their faces tightened, and Royce continued, “You’re bottom feeders, and corrupt as fuck, but you should be smart enough to recognize a bigger threat. Me.”
That shut them up, but only temporarily, the vicious strenuous current stealing all the oxygen in the room. Mrs. Harris broke the silence.
“Willow is pregnant with Stuart’s—” Her voice faltered as temperatures plummeted and tension spiked.
“And?” Royce’s expression hardened. “Did you think that meant she was willing to take your son’s abuse? He showed his true colors, and Willow made her choice. Now what the fuck are you doing here?”
Mrs. Harris jerked back as if he’d slapped her across the face. “Stuart isn’t abusive.”
Royce scoffed. “Tell that to the women he’s hurt.” His eyes flicked to Mr. Harris. “Or your husband. Certain tendencies run in the family, don’t they? Where do you think all those big checks you keep signing are going? Charity?”
I was certain there wasn’t a single intelligent thought rattling in this woman’s head. Either that, or she was willfully blind not to see that her son had serious issues and that her husband was a scumbag.
I watched an oily smile spread across Mr. Harris’s face, his bald head shining even under the dim lights.
“I swear to God if he gets anywhere near me, I’m going to lose my shit,” I muttered under my breath, stepping closer to Royce.
Stuart’s father was in his late sixties, but the work he’d had done made him look twenty years younger, albeit shiny and plastic. And his wife was no different. It would seem they were both desperate to hold on to their youth, which might explain why they were the oldest people at this party.
“I’ll be making a citizen’s arrest,” Mr. Harris purred, and winked at me. A shudder of disgust snaked down my spine. The man had some balls, especially knowing what Royce was capable of.
My brow furrowed as his words sunk in. What the fuck did he mean by that?
“Eyes off my wife, Congressman, or I’ll skin you alive,” Royce hissed as fury emanated off him. “And you haven’t answered my question—what the fuck are you two doing here?”
“Will you do to him what you did to my son?” Mrs. Harris screeched, drawing more attention our way. “Thankfully, he had enough sense to follow our advice and impregnate this one. At least not all is wasted.”
“Wh-what?” I asked, confusion swirling inside me as her words sunk in.
Royce stilled next to me.
“Say that again.” His tone was calm, but an arctic chill breathed from him.
I flicked my eyes to him, but he was laser-focused. The building could go up in flames and he still wouldn’t pull his eyes away from the threat before him. This was the Royce who beat up the boy who tried to assault me in college. The very same who evoked a campus-wide “no touching” rule during my college years.
He took a step forward, towering over Mrs. Harris.
“You better start explaining.” He wrapped his hand around her neck, fury coming off him in waves. “Before I castrate your husband and gut you alive.”
I grabbed his forearm, my fingers digging into his inked flesh.
“Royce,” I murmured anxiously, my eyes darting around the room. I spotted Asher storming our way, uncaring of people stumbling to the side as he parted the crowd like the Red Sea.
“What is going on here?” Asher demanded, his expression furious.
“Royce, let her go,” I hissed. “She’s just a messed-up old woman.”
Asher’s eyes darted to me and I threw a hand up in the air. He exhaled and turned to Royce.
“Release her, Royce,” Asher said calmly. “I’ll have them thrown out and ensure my secretary gets them removed from the invite list.” His eyes met mine. “Who the fuck are they?”
“My ex-fiancé’s parents.” Surprise flickered in his gunmetal eyes. It was clear that Asher didn’t concern himself with details of his parties.
“These fuckers were just about to tell me what they did to Willow,” Royce hissed. He took a step closer and wrapped his hand around Mr. Harris’s throat. “Start explaining, or I swear to God, someone’s dying tonight.”
“He got her pregnant,” he croaked, coughing and clawing at his hand. “He made holes in the condoms.”
“He?” I repeated, finally finding my voice.
“Stuart got you pregnant on purpose,” Royce gritted, and I blinked in shock.
Mrs. Harris attempted to step in, but Asher held his arm out and kept her back. I fought to breathe as I struggled to comprehend it.
“Why?” I whispered.
Mrs. Harris’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It was a clause in the inheritance.”
“What inheritance?”
“My father’s,” she admitted. “The legacy had to continue.”
Apparently, I overlooked how fucking crazy my ex-fiancé’s family was.