Chapter 21
Royal
The door clicks behind me, and the sound is too loud in this small concrete room.
Becki is sitting at the bed's border, chain coiled around her wrist like she’s already planning her next escape. Her legs are bare. Her hair is a wild halo. Her mouth is swollen from biting it.
She looks like sin waiting to happen. And I’m so fucking tired of pretending I’m stronger than I am. Her eyes drag down the front of me, slowly, deliberately.
“You’re breathing hard,” she murmurs. “You run here?”
“No.” My voice is low, wrong, frayed. “I came straight back.”
“You always do.” She says it like a fact. Like an accusation. Like she knows exactly what I’m about to do.
I take one step closer. She takes none. Smart girl. Or stupid.
Hard to tell with Becki.
“You keep pushing,” I tell her.
“You keep letting me.”
She tilts her head, studying me with those mismatched eyes that see way too fucking much.
My pulse hits hard. My cock hits harder. And she sees it. Her gaze flicks lower, slow enough to light gasoline inside me.
“You like knowing what you do to me.”
She doesn’t flinch.
“Maybe I do.”
The chain between us rattles softly as she shifts, thighs parting a little too wide for innocence.
I shouldn’t look. I fucking look. Something breaks loose inside me.
I drag my chair from the corner, harsh scrape, sharp reminder of everything I shouldn’t want, and plant it in front of her, knees almost touching her knees.
“Spread your legs,” I order.
Her breath catches.
Not fear.
Heat.
She obeys, thighs trembling just enough to kill me.
“Royal…”
A whisper.
A warning.
A plea.
I sit.
I unzip my jeans.
Slow.
Her mouth parts.
No sound comes out.
“You want to see what you do to me?” I ask, voice rough enough to scrape bone.
She nods.
“Use your words.”
“I… yes.”
That’s all it takes.
Heaving it out, I wrap my hand around my cock, already hard, aching, the kind of ache that turns a man wild. Becki’s eyes drop instantly, pupils blown wide. I stroke once, slow, deliberate, and her whole body jerks like she felt it.
“You see this?” I hiss.
She nods again.
Too breathless to speak.
“This is from you walking around in my shirt. From you smelling like fucking peach shampoo. From you lying in my bed, in my cum, like you’re waiting for me.”
“Royal…” My name is a tremble on her lips.
“You know what knife play is?” I ask.
Her breath stutters. “I think I do.”
“No. You don’t.”
I lean forward, stroking harder now, breath heavier.
“Ain’t just about pain. It’s about control. It’s about trust. It’s about putting the sharpest thing you got against the softest place on someone’s body and knowing they won’t move.”
Her thighs squeeze together at that.
I kick them apart with my boot.
“Don’t hide from me.”
She whimpers. God help me. And it’s the dirtiest, sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
When I get close, too close, I stop suddenly, breath ragged, the urge to finish clashing with the urge to break her slower.
Cock still out, I stand.
She watches me like she’s starving.
I pull the knife from my pocket.
Her breath trips.
“You said you want to know what I’d do to you,” I murmur, stepping behind her. “If I didn’t stop.”
“I do.”
“Then get on your knees.”
Her chain rattles as she slides off the mattress, kneeling on the cold concrete.
“Take off my shirt,” I demand.
Underneath, she has no bra. I swallow as she bares her perfect breasts, remembering the soft fullness under my fingers. Her nipples are tipped in silver rings. Flicking my tongue ring, I know just how that feels. I crave the sensation.
Her hair’s short now, and I find I like it better. Exposes the perfect curve of her long neck and spine.
I crouch behind her, the head of my pierced cock brushing against her shorts. Touching her shoulder, I slide the knife’s blade down her back, not cutting. Not yet. She shivers so hard I feel it in my teeth.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “Stay still.”
“I’m not scared.”
“I know.”
The pride in my voice is dangerous. Addictive. I press the flat of the blade to her skin, dragging slow, deliberate lines over her shoulder, her ribs, the small of her back. She trembles with every inch.
“Power is about showing someone what you could do,” I tell her, breath hot against her ear. “And choosing whether to do it.”
“Royal…” she whispers, voice cracking.
“You feel that?”
“Yes.”
“You trust me not to hurt you?”
She nods.
“Say it.”
“I trust you.”
Those three words hit harder than anything in my life. I shift the knife, press the blunt tip along her lower back, then draw an invisible line.
Another.
A third.
Forming a shape.
An R.
She gasps, sharp, broken, perfect.
“You’re marking me,” she breathes.
“Not the skin,” I murmur, leaning in. “Not yet.”
“Then what?”
“The part of you no one else touches.”
I bend, mouth brushing the trail I drew, tongue tracing the blade’s cold memory into her flesh.
She collapses forward onto her hands, shaking.
“Royal… please…”
I slide one hand down her stomach, stopping just before going into her shorts. Where she wants me most.
“You keep pushing me,” I growl into her ear. “And one day I’m not gonna stop.”
“Then don’t.”
Christ.
I drag the knife up her spine again, slow enough to make her whimper. But I pull away last second, standing abruptly, breath ragged, heart pounding hard enough to hurt.
“No,” I rasp. “Not here. Not yet.” If I take her, claim her, I’m betraying the club.
She turns, breasts bouncing, pupils big, hair wild, lips swollen.
“You almost came,” she whispers.
“So did you.”
We stare at each other like sinners at confession.
Then I shove the knife back in my pocket and step away before I break every rule I ever made.
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Why?”
“Because if I stay in this room with you one more minute…” I swallow hard. “I’m gonna fuck my initials into your skin.”
She shivers.
And smiles.
Like she knows I will.