Risky and Wild(16)

“Wouldn't you like to know,” I say as I pick the salad bowl back up and tuck it into a cabinet, glancing at Royal over my shoulder. It makes me nervous to put my back to him, but not because I'm scared. Because I want him to push me over the counter, take me from behind, his belt buckle clinking as he thrusts hard and deep.

I shiver, glad that the kitchen island's between us.

“He seems like a nice guy,” I add as I drop down off my tiptoes and close the cabinet. My house is nothing like Royal's, no old world charm, just white custom cabinets that I had put in when I bought the house. I stare at the glossy surface of one of the doors before looking back at Royal.

His presence takes over the entire living room/kitchen area, making the place feel a lot smaller than it really is. When he puts his tattooed hands palm down on the countertop next to the box of condoms, I try to scoot forward and surreptitiously grab them.

“Well now,” Royal says, grabbing my wrist in his fingertips when I snatch the box away from him. “What's this for, Pint-Size? You and Mug fooling around on me?”

“Hah,” I start, but Royal jerks me into his chest and I end up dropping the black box on the wood floor. “I read online that some clubs share their girls around,” I say, and it's only partially a joke. I read that and it scared the crap out of me. Women aren't sex dolls for men to pass around like chattel.

Apparently, Royal must think something like that, too, because he grits his teeth as he wraps an arm around my waist.

“Every club is different,” he says, but his voice is low and it's not a complete denial. “Stop reading shit on the internet and just ask me about it.” Royal's hand grips my waist tight as he looks down at me, trying to drown me in the two dark pools of his eyes. His face is covered in stubble and his muscles are tight with stress. Still, he smells like wet earth and wild things, and his chest is warm, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat pulsing beneath my left palm.

“Does that mean you don't want to share me?”

Royal smirks and lifts his left hand up to cup the side of my face.

“What a bloody stupid question,” he says before releasing me and taking a step back. I try not to let him see how disappointed I am. I don't want him to let me go; I want him to hold me, kiss me, fuck me. Those are the only things I've wanted since I first laid eyes on him. Damn it, Toni Gladstone, I think as I run a hand through my hair. I couldn't stand the tight pull of the bun anymore. Besides, I think it helped Mug to trust me more, made me seem less mayoral. “You'd allow a man to do that? Share you around?”

“Of course not,” I say, picking up the condoms and opening a random cabinet. I shove them in next to a stack of silver platters, just to get them out of the way.

Royal shrugs his broad shoulders as he looks over at me, a slight smirk working its way onto his lips.

“Then why ask? You set your own terms, love. Make your own rules. I'm not interested in telling you what to do.”

“Good, because I never asked you to,” I snap as I put my hands on my hips and we stare each other down. I feel a cultural divide opening up between us, and it bothers me. Really, really bothers me. “I just … that's not something your club buddies do with their old ladies?”

Royal snorts and moves around the counter. I move away from him on the pretense of putting away the rest of the dinner dishes, but he notices, penning me in against the fridge with a hand on either side of my body.

“You think I'd share you with any of those assholes? Are you taking the piss with me, Pint-Size?”

“But you do … share those … are they groupies? Club whores? Leather lovers? There's a million different terms floating around online.”

Royal laughs and stands up, shaking his head at me.

“You must've spent a whole lot of time researching there, love. What are you so afraid of? That I'm going to cage you?”

“Club life doesn't seem all that … it doesn't seem like it has a lot of room for experimentation.”

“Those girls, the leather lovers, like Mia,” he says with a raised brow. “They're there of their own accord. Nobody makes 'em come, and nobody makes 'em stay. If they don't want to shag somebody, all they have to do is say no. I don't let women beaters or rapists in my club.” There's a sharp note to that statement, like Royal means serious business. I can only imagine what he'd do to someone like that. “So, sure, the girls sleep around with a lot of the guys. Some of the boys are married and their old ladies are okay with it, but most are single.”

Royal takes a step towards me.

“Nobody's sharing a shag unless it's something they really want to do. So no. I don't want or need you to cook, clean, or otherwise be my whore.”