Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
KENNETH
The moment I wake up, I know things are wrong. There's a stillness to the room. It leaves me feeling empty.
With my eyes closed, I reach out a hand to see if Royce is beside me. Worst case scenario, I bump them and wake them up. Best case, they're there and sleep through it and I get a cuddle session.
When my hand meets cold sheets, I bite my lip to stifle the whimper that wants to come.
It's not fair.
Where are they?
I know last night was a spur-the-moment thing. I know we didn't plan on anything more. They think we’re enemies.
And yet I have never hated him. Not in the way he probably thinks.
I accepted the terms of last night, the promises that we wouldn't change anything drastically. Inside, though, I was longing for it to all be a lie. I want to believe that there is a chance for more between us. That last night was only the start of things.
Royce's absence tells me those hopes and dreams don't matter.
Because without them here, I can't even plead my case. There is no case, in fact.
I'll have to pretend as if this connection between us doesn't exist. I'll have to stop myself from wanting them, from craving them.
There's a soreness that reminds me exactly how well they fucked me, how thorough they were in bringing me pleasure and chasing their own.
How am I supposed to move on from this? How do I act normal?
The truth of the matter is I can't. I'll have to put on a face for the sake of getting through our final weeks together. After that, I'll make myself sparse. If I know Royce is going to be around, I'll avoid going.
And if they try to reach out, I'll… Well, I don't know what I'll do.
Lying in bed isn't going to help, though.
With a groan, I sit up and look around the space.
It's the same as it was the night before, minus the person I was with and their clothes.
I shuffle into the bathroom and turn the water on as hot as I can.
As I scrub my skin, I force down the arousing memories that pop up of their hands on my body.
I suppress the visions of how it felt for them to push inside of me.
My cock rallies, wanting me to stroke it. But I don't. I can't. Not when sadness is the overwhelming emotion running through me. Not when I feel completely lost.
After drying off, I throw on some sweats. There's nothing for me to eat here, which means I'll have to go out to get food. Plus, the need for caffeine is strong.
Actually, scratch that. I don't need caffeine. I need comfort. I'll get some hot chocolate. With extra whip cream. Definitely a few pastries. Anything and everything to help me wallow in my despair over losing the best thing I had, though I don't really think I ever had them.
One night does not constitute a relationship. I know that logically.
My heart, however, does not.
After grabbing my keys to lock up, I open the door and freeze. Because there, with their fists raised to knock, is Royce, with a brown paper bag and a tray of drinks.
"You," I say, voice broken at seeing them in my space again.
Royce smirks, "Yes, it's me. You going to let me in?"
It's then they notice the keys in my hand.
"Unless you were leaving, I can go."
"No," I shout, reaching out to grab their hand. I pull, and they allow me to tug them in. I shut the door and lean back against it as if I could blockade them.
I throw my keys to the side, and they clamor against the floor. Royce looks at them with a scowl, then turns back to me.
"That's not where your keys go," they say.
I shrug one shoulder, not moving from my position. I need to know that they're going to stick around long enough for me to, well, not plead my case, but to figure this out.
Royce huffs, setting the food and drinks down on the table. They lean against the chair, almost in a direct mirror to my pose.
"I said that's not where your keys go, Kenny."
I clear my throat, the dominance in their tone doing things to me that I don't need right now.
Fuck, I'm in sweats, they're going to see it the minute I get hard.
"I know where my keys go," I say petulantly.
They nod, looking at me with scrutiny. "I'm sure you do, but considering you didn't put them there, I have to say that you are misbehaving."
I visibly shiver at their word choice.
"Oh yeah," I taunt, "what are you going to do about it?"
Fire lights up their eyes. I can tell that I might have pushed a bit too far with this one. Only I don't know what buttons I actually managed to press. Being bratty isn't my M.O.
I live to please.
But Royce being gone when I woke up has me in a foul mood.
"I can put my keys wherever I want," I say.
I might as well have stomped my foot and waved a red flag in front of the bull with the way Royce charges at me. Their hands land at my sides, and with the heels on their shoes, they're almost even with my height.
“Now listen here, you little menace. You are going to pick up those keys and put them where they belong. Then you are going to come sit down with me and eat. After breakfast, I might go easy on your punishment.”
I swallow thickly as my mouth pools with saliva. I'd be drooling if I didn't have better control.
“Punishment,” I whisper.
Royce licks their lips. “Yes, I think a punishment is in order. You're being a little brat, and you need to learn your place.”
My eyes widen. “Is that right? Are you trying to say you're my Dom? Or should I call you my Daddy?”
Since I know Royce's siblings practice in those dynamics, I've learned there is some nuance to what people prefer to be called. Most of them are good with Daddy, but I don’t know if that’s their preference.
Royce hums, leaning closer. Their mouth hovers near my ear, warm breath heating my skin as they say, “I'm not your Daddy, but you can call me by another name.”
They lean back, looking at me like they're trying to figure out a puzzle.
“What do you want me to call you?” I ask.
“Daddy is a universal term, but considering my siblings, I don't want there to be any confusion. I want you to call me a name no one else will. One no one would even think to say.”
It comes to me lightning quick.
“Your Majesty,” I whisper.
Royce's gaze locks with mine, and a wicked grin covers their features. “That is perfect.”
I open my mouth to respond, but I'm cut off by their lips pressing against mine. The kiss is every bit as passionate as the night before.
My mind goes into overdrive wondering what this means, and if I'll get to have more of them. Will they pull away and tell me that it's just one more time, just one more chance to be together?
Or will we both avoid the situation completely?
Sometimes it's better not to ask questions. The answers would be more upsetting than the unknown. This feels like one of those times.
When Royce pulls away, I chase after them, wanting more. My hands land on their hips as I tug them forward. They grunt, landing against me, and my mouth moves to their neck.
I feel their skin vibrate as they chuckle.
“Little Menace, you need to calm down. Your breakfast is getting cold.”
“Fuck breakfast,” I groan as I trail my tongue against their skin.
The craving I have for them will never be sated. I know that without even needing to think it through. No one has ever created this much desire and passion inside of me. It's only ever been Royce Bellport.
They pull away quickly, their hand pressing to my chest. I'm breathing heavily, my body worked up.
“I said that's enough. Now we're going to eat breakfast, and then we can discuss what happens next. If you behave, I might even waive your punishment this time.”
“Discuss it?” I question.
They nod, letting go of my chest and grabbing my hand to pull me to the table. I follow with ease because I can't imagine going against them, not when they're wanting to talk with me.
From their tone, it sounds like it won't be a horrible discussion.
Maybe the truth is that they are interested in more too. Is it too much to hope for? A pipe dream that I'm imagining because I don't want to consider the alternative?
When I ease down into my chair, I look over to Royce who remains standing.
“What did you get me?” I ask as casually as I can, even though deep inside, I'm ecstatic that they're feeding me once again.
As if they can tell I'm holding back, they smile and point to the bag. “Why don't you look in there and see?”
I do as they suggest, pulling out a variety of pastries along with some sweeteners for whatever drinks they brought. I go with the apple Danish because I know from experience that Royce's favorite is the muffin. Blueberry, of course.
They eye me as if they know I'm choosing based on their desires. Rather than give them any hint of the truth of that, I hum and nibble at my food.
With a mouthful, I point to the drinks. “Which one is mine?”
Royce scowls. “Don't talk with your mouth full. And you can have whichever one you want. I grabbed multiple options. There is a latte, an Americano, plain black coffee, and hot chocolate."
I make a grabbing motion towards the drinks as I swallow the last of my food. “Chocolate, chocolate, hot chocolate.”
They laugh, this time more openly than before. My heart swells knowing that I did that to them. That I made them feel joyful, even if for just a moment.
“I should have known chocolate would be the choice.” They lift the cup and hand it to me.
I wrap my lips around the edge and tilt it back, only to release it right away.
"Shit!" I say, opening my mouth and blowing air in and out quickly.
Royce stands up and comes over to me. They turn my body in the chair and crouch before me, holding my chin.
"Open up, let me see. I need to know if you've burned yourself." I stick my tongue out and let them examine me.
It's oddly comforting to be taken care of this way.
The fact that they asked to be called a dominant title comes to mind. The desire they have to take care of me is apparent from their actions. And the need I have to make sure they're okay as well hints at a dynamic I wasn’t expecting.
This connection we have, this relationship that was only meant to be business, it's definitely more.
The question really is how much more?