Chapter 23
Royal
The second I step out of Becki’s room, the air changes.
The shift is immediate and physical, like stepping out of heat into cold water.
My lungs seize for a second, adjusting. The hall feels wrong.
Too still. Too quiet. Like the walls know what almost happened in there and they are holding their breath, waiting for the next explosion.
Even the flickering overhead bulb seems dimmer, as if it is afraid to shine too brightly on the shit I would like to do to her.
My body is hollow, buzzing, overstrung as I walk. My hands shake. My pulse hammers. I can still smell her on me. Her hair. Her sweat. Her fear. Her dare. It clings to me like smoke after a house fire, impossible to shake off. Every step feels like a mistake I’m walking deeper into.
You run again, and I will chain you to my bed in the basement.
Christ.
I meant it.
I meant every fucking word.
The truth sits heavy, acidic, burning a path down my throat until I swallow hard.
I make it halfway to the bar before the truth crashes down.
She got out.
She got past me.
She ran straight into the night like she would rather die out there than stay near me.
And I can’t tell which part cuts deeper.
Her running… or her coming back.
I stop in the shadows, pressing my palms to the wall. My breath breaks out sharp. My forehead nearly hits the block wall as I lean into it, trying to get my sanity back, but all I smell is her scent still lingering on my skin.
I shouldn’t have touched her.
I shouldn’t have brushed that curl behind her ear.
I shouldn’t have ever let my mouth get close enough to learn the shape of her breathing.
But she ran.
And she came back.
And I don’t know which part is worse for me.
Both scorch. Both dig under old scars and rip them open like they were never healed to begin with.
I head back.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just controlled enough to pretend I’m not unraveling. My boots crunch on old grit, echoing down the corridor like a countdown.
When I open the door, she is sitting on the bed, knees drawn up, hair wild, dirt streaked down her legs. She looks like she was dragged out of the graveyard by the throat. She looks like she crawled through the dark and dared it to swallow her before coming home to me, anyway.
Becki looks like a sin that crawled home.
To me.
Her eyes flick up. Cautious. Defiant. Beautiful.
Something inside me snaps.
I slam the door shut, and the echo hits the walls like a warning shot.
“Thought you could outrun me?” I say.
She doesn’t flinch. “Thought I already did.”
Her voice is too steady.
Too brave.
Too goddamn seductive in the way only a terrified girl can be. Her chin is lifted just a fraction, but it is enough to set my teeth on edge. Enough to make my control go thin. Transparent like glass about to shatter.
I take two steps toward her.
She stands.
We meet in the middle like a crash. The air between us burns.
“You don’t get nights alone,” I say. “Not anymore. I’m chaining you to my bed in the basement.”
“You don’t own me.”
“I should.”
The confession spills out of me, hot and unhinged, like it has been trapped behind my teeth for years. “I should’ve claimed you the first time you looked at me like you wanted to burn.”
Her chin lifts. “Then why didn’t you?”
Because I was afraid.
Because I wanted to deserve her.
Because she is the only thing on this earth that might break me.
But I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I move.
Fast. Instinctive. Dangerous.
I grab her waist, pinning her back against the wall so hard her breath kicks out. My body cages hers. She breathes in sharply, terror or yearning or both, yet she doesn’t turn her eyes. Her fingers curl into my shirt like she is deciding whether to claw me or cling.
“You’re shaking,” she whispers.
“You make me shake.”
The truth burns all the way down. My voice comes out rough, strained, shaking not with fear but with the force of what I’m holding back.
Her lips part.
My forehead drops to hers.
I can feel her heartbeat through my ribs.
I can feel mine slamming against hers like it wants out.
“Royal,” she breathes.
And I lose the last thread of restraint I had left.
I kiss her.
It is not gentle.
It is a collision.
A threat wrapped in heat.
Our mouths meet with enough force to bruise, to punish, to confess. Her hands fist in my shirt. Her mouth opens to mine like she forgot how to fight, like she has been waiting for this, like she would bleed for another second of it.
My hands slide up her ribs, not soft, not cruel, just claiming. Her breath stutters. She arches. Her nails dig through my clothes. Missing is the chain rattling with every movement, as her wrist jerks lightly as she pulls me closer.
I break the kiss first, dragging air into my lungs like I have been drowning for years.
“This is wrong,” she whispers, talking to herself like she’s conflicted.
“This is dangerous,” I say, confessing my own fears.
“I know that too. So why?”
“Because I can’t stop.”
I say it into the hollow of her throat as I bury my face there. Her pulse flutters under my lips, wild, frantic, alive. She shivers like she wants to push me away, but her body melts against mine, boneless and needy.
She is a contradiction.
A weapon.
A poem written in bruises.
I press my forehead to her collarbone. She puts a shaking hand in my hair. Her touch is like absolution and damnation at the same moment.
And something in me breaks open.
“I saw the basement,” I say, voice raw. “I saw the blood. I saw what your daddy let happen.”
She stiffens. Pain flickers through her eyes. Guilt or grief, I can’t tell which. Her throat works as she tries to swallow it down.
“Royal… He made me help him hurt Sophie.”
“I believe you.”
Truth. Pure and sharp.
Her eyes fill, just barely, and she looks away like she is ashamed to be seen with her armor cracked.
I lift her chin back up. My thumb brushes her jaw.
“Do not hide from me.”
Her mouth trembles. “You will hate me. When you learn everything.”
“Then tell me,” I say. “Tell me now.”
She swallows hard. “I… I can’t yet.”
Not will not.
Cannot.
I breathe her in.
She breathes me in.
Two disasters leaning against each other in the dark.
I kiss her again.
Slower this time.
Deeper.
Surer.
She lets out a sound, soft, broken, wanting, and her fingers dig into my shoulders like she is scared I will let go.
I don’t.
I lift her, press her back against the wall. Her legs wrap around my waist without hesitation. The heat of her, the desperation, the need, it all crashes together like a storm too big to survive.
My mouth trails her jaw. Her throat. The hollow beneath her ear.
She arches.
Gasps.
Pulls me closer.
“Royal,” she whispers, voice shaking. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t.
I let my hand slide between us. Slowly. Purposefully. My fingers slip under the edge of her shorts and I feel her heat flood against my skin.
Christ, she is soaked. Her hips jerk like she can’t stop them, thighs trembling around my waist.
I press my palm harder, cupping her pussy, grinding my hand against her until her breath breaks. Her nails scratch down my neck. The back of her head hits the wall as she moans.
“Feel that?” I growl into her throat. “Feel what I do to you?”
Her answer is a strangled gasp as my finger slides between her folds. I drag it slow, up and down, collecting every drop of her. Her whole body shakes. She clings to my shoulders like the world is tilting.
I circle her clit with my thumb. Light at first. Teasing. Her mouth falls open. Her hips buck. She is wet enough that every stroke glides easy, filthy, obscene.
“Royal… please…”
I push two fingers inside her.
Deep.
Hard.
She cries out, head snapping back, chest arching into mine. Her breath breaks in jagged little bursts as I fuck her with my hand, slow at first, then deeper, curling my fingers until her whole body bends like a drawn bow.
Her walls squeeze around my fingers, tight and desperate. Her legs tremble around my waist. Her voice cracks.
“Royal… I’m gonna… I’m…”
I grind my thumb against her clit hard enough to make her scream.
“Shhh,” I warn her.
She comes undone.
Violently.
Silently.
Shaking against me with her face buried in my neck. Her pussy clenches around my fingers until I swear she will break me in half from the inside out.
I hold her through it.
I take every tremor.
Every gasp.
Every pulse of heat against my hand.
When she finally slumps against me, wrecked and wet and shaking, I slowly pull my fingers free. She whimpers at the loss, forehead falling to my shoulder.
I won’t lose control.
Not until I feel myself slipping into a place that will ruin us both. Not until the line between claiming and consuming gets too thin. Not until she trembles with want and fear in equal measure.
Then, slowly, I set her down.
Her breath is shattered.
Her hair is a mess.
Her lips are swollen from my mouth.
“We can’t do this,” I rasp.
“But we already did.”
Christ.
She’s right.
I run a hand over my face, trying to gather myself, but the scent of her on my fingers wrecks me all over again.
When I open my eyes, she looks exhausted and radiant and furious at the same time.
“We ain’t done,” she whispers.
“We will be,” I lie.
I back up to the door.
She watches me like she is memorizing the shape of my retreat. And just before I shut her in again, she says something that kills me.
“You come back tonight,” she whispers.
I close the door.
Hard.
Because if I go back in there now, I will not stop at kissing her, just finger fucking her.
I will claim her in a way neither of us can ever take back.