15. King Lawrence
King Lawrence
In love with a barrister?
It made no sense.
Penelope was clearly a smart woman. And fiery. And alluring in her safe, structured outfit. The charcoal turtleneck with the high waisted trousers screamed not interested. Paired with the mid-calf cashmere coat in black… taken.
She wanted me to know it.
Even the tight, low bun and single ring and watch stated it was all business. Penelope wasn’t here to impress me. She was making a statement. Not. Interested.
But that left me even more determined. Didn’t she know how long I’d waited for her? For this?
A barrister?
It made my head shake. How? When?
I thought back to how she looked. Older.
Stronger. Maybe it was the clothes or the way she carried herself now.
I could be reading her wrong. Maybe her appearance wasn’t disinterest but the fear she held from her masked captor.
He still wasn’t caught. And she wore her clothes like armor. It was meant to repel.
It wasn’t working with me.
All it did was leave me wanting her more.
The mystery revolving around her only added to the burning flames. The rumors of what she’d been through were a dream. She’d been beaten. Raped. Degraded.
One could only wish to find someone as broken as her. I thought I had when I first met her. I knew of her father’s abuse. It gave me hope. But then her scandal…
Old wounds turned raw, flooding back in like they always did.
Had we not had a good time earlier that day?
Had she wanted to be fucked, I would have put her through the floor. But she chose a stranger from a university party to almost have sex with.
I had been bitter. Angry. I hadn’t cared that she was drunk out of her mind.
Of course, when there was no one who compared to her beauty, the temptation had come back.
Rejection wasn’t something I dealt with, and I hadn’t gotten over it.
I meant to make her pay before I forgave her.
But then she’d gone missing. Nostalgia and what little empathy I held sparked.
Guilt hit, and forgiveness came for the most part.
And then she resurfaced. Relief. Hope. …
Anger. More countless rejections that she now confirmed came from her—obsession overload, and it grew by the day.
The fantasies were what I lived for. The cane. The marks.
Someone out there got to hurt her. Someone… got what I wanted from her.
They had. She’d confirmed it.
And now my lust burned hotter than ever.
She was it for me.
Penelope would be mine.
She spoke of queens like she was one. Like she knew what it would take to stand in that position.
She didn’t know me.
She thought I couldn’t mold a queen.
Penelope was about to find out just how wrong she was.