6. Patience #2
He draws his bottom lip into his mouth before letting it free. “And I know you remember what punishments Daddy likes to dish out.”
When my stomach caves, my nipples rub against his hard chest, causing delicious friction. Fuck. Why was I even mad? All I can think about is coming. Over and over again. Geez, that night.
It’s no wonder I’m pregnant.
A cold draft hits me and I open my eyes. He’s not in front of me anymore, even though my ass and neck still feel the burn of his touch. A chortle has me looking toward the closet door, where he’s strolling out like he didn’t just go all Daddy Dom on me.
“Ten minutes, Paypay.”
Fucking asshole.
Since Autumn and I moved in together three years ago, Royce has been the pesky neighbor on the sitcom that doesn’t know when to go home.
They’re always there, eating the food, using up the electricity, being in business that isn’t his, but you never see where they live.
Same with Royce. He’s never at his house.
Ever. If he’s not at our house, he’s at G-Pops, or at his main girl Naomi’s house.
Even when Deuce facetimes us, the background is clearly G-Pops house.
If Royce wasn’t constantly throwing his money around, I would think he was homeless.
As we pass through the cityscape, I get more and more confused. We left West Kenton, and we’re zooming through downtown. When he gets off on Proctor, toward South Kenton, I turn to face him.
“Where exactly do you live?”
His answer is a smirk as he turns right instead of left. Left would have taken us to Kilpatrick Avenue, right into Foe Dub territory. But now we’re in a more industrial part of South Kenton.
Before I can ask something else, he produces a garage clicker, and pulls into the underground driveway of what looks like an abandoned fire station.
The overhead lights come on as we cruise through, lighting up three other cars covered in some kind of tarp.
He pulls into a park next to them and turns off the car, but makes no move to get out.
His jaw is clenched, and he keeps rubbing the leather of his steering wheel rhythmically, cutting his eyes to me every time his hands touch.
“Um… why haven’t we gone up? Changed your mind already?”
He chortles and shakes his head. “Don’t touch the door, shorty.”
With that, he’s out the car, rounding it to help me out my seat.
He grabs the two bags I packed, locks his car, and leads me to the stairwell by the elevator.
One floor we go, and the door opens to an open space lit by natural light from huge warehouse windows.
The floor is hickory, shines and buffed so good I can see my reflection.
His furniture is sleek, and expensive looking, even down to the chef’s kitchen with industrial looking appliances.
Surprising, since he acts like he doesn't know how to cook.
There’s a small hallway off to the side of the kitchen with three doors, and a spiral staircase that leads to the loft space on the second floor.
“I don’t have a guest room, but you can take my shit and I’ll sleep on the couch if I’m home.”
“All your guests stay in your bed I presume?”
He stops and turns to my arched brow with his own. “The only other person that’s been here is Deuce, Paypay. His room is the first door to your left.”
Oh. “Not even Autumn?” I mutter to his back as I follow him up the staircase.
The floors up here are concrete. In the middle of the floor is the fire station pole but the hole has been filled in, so you can’t go down.
His bed is huge, has to be bigger than a California King bed, with black silky sheets and a stark white duvet.
The rest of his furniture is black, too, from the leather sofa set to his dressers and rug.
The space oozes masculinity and sex, and all Royce.
The right wall is all warehouse windows as well, and this close I can see they’re treated to be one-sided.
“Nope, not even baby mama number one. Make yourself at home. I probably won’t come back tonight but the fridge is stocked and all the menus in the first drawer know where to drop off the food if you order from them.”
I freeze, one foot in the air about to go explore his ensuite, before I turn around and give him the ugliest scowl I can. “You’re leaving me here alone? I could have been in a hotel!”
Royce just blinks at me. “It’s cameras all up in through here. This muthafucka is a fortress. The safest place you can be. That reminds me, I already sent Autumn the code so you don’t have to put her up on game, she know the deal.”
I just nod and hug myself. Why does he have to go? Why can’t he stay here?
We just have a stare off, me pleading with my eyes for him to stay, him… being him.
Trying to figure me out I suppose. I can practically hear the wheels in his head turning, and know he’s coming up with the wrong conclusions. Waiting for me to confirm or deny and fill in the blanks.
But Foxtail Beverly is dead, and her life was buried with her long ago. How am I supposed to unearth her? Especially when that’ll put him in the way of the devil himself?
Not to mention the conversation I’ve already been avoiding, that’s becoming more and more pertinent.
Especially now that we’re… housemates.
Autumn says he’s not dumb, but he hasn’t brought it up to me, not once. Hasn’t asked about the father in general, either, but still. Wouldn't any normal guy want to know for sure? I mean… he called me his baby mama number two.
“Hello? Pay?”
I blink and he’s right in front of me, waving a hand in my face. I scoff and swat him away. “Sorry, thinking about how I’m going to raid all your drawers.”
“You funny. Be good, princess.”
I bite my cheek at the endearment. I don’t know what it is but hearing him purr that at me floods the seat of my panties. He knows its effect, too, winking at me before going down the stairs. Seconds later, I hear a door slam shut and a lock echo through the house.
I’m alone.
In Royce’s house.
One where Autumn hasn’t even been to.
That nugget of information makes me want to puff my chest out, and scold myself for feeling even a little special.
I refuse to even let Autumn’s words bubble more to the surface. That means nothing. This means nothing. He’s only helping me out because I’m Autumn’s girlfriend, and he has some sick obsession with her.
Yeah, that’s it.
Right?