Risky and Wild(6)

I close my eyes a moment at the reminder, the blur of color and sound as the truck fishtailed and I slammed headfirst into the sand dunes. Things could've ended up so much worse, I know, but the memory still isn't a pleasant one. I open them back up and stare at Royal's back, at the cut off sleeves of his tee, the way his body reacts to mine when I move, pushing my breasts up with my arms.

I have power over this man, this big tough asshole who thinks he owns the world.

“Why would you want me to move in here anyway?” I ask, trying a different route as Royal flicks on the vent above the stove and the fan sucks away the steam. “Do you really want to lose all your bachelor perks so quickly?”

Royal pauses, giving me another look, one that has something in it that I'm not quite sure how to read. Fear. That's what it is, but it doesn't look like it's me he's afraid of. He caps the emotion off as quick as it came and then scoops the steaming noodles onto one of two blue plates.

“With me, it's all or nothing,” he says seriously. “You were there. You saw things you shouldn't have, Lyric. You're a liability to the club.”

“A liability?” I ask as he tastes the sauce and then spoons some onto the noodles.

“An outsider that knows too much about the in.” A pause. “Unless, of course,” another look thrown over his shoulder, “you belong to me.”

“So you're dating me to, what, keep me safe? From your people? Your friends?” I'm trying not to sound hysterical. I think I might. A little. This is all just a big … clusterfuck. Yeah, I said it. Clusterfuck.

Yesterday, I waited all day for this guy to get back from wherever it was that he went, a couple of his club members stationed outside the house as bodyguards I guess, and then when he finally showed up … we spent all evening and all night wrapped in each other's arms. Remembering the feel of his naked, sweaty body against mine riles me up and gets my heart pumping even faster. But it also pisses me off because remembering yesterday is making today seem even worse.

I'll be here and I … like you, Royal. I really do.

I can't believe I said that to him, especially after … whatever this is.

Royal picks up the plates and comes to stand next to me, his eyes twinkling in amusement. Rat bastard son of a bitch, I think as I glare back at him. I'm upset here, okay? I glare up at him as we stand there in yet another stare off. Seem to be having a lot of those lately.

“Well?” I ask as Royal moves forward and sets the plates on the table. I follow after him, arms still crossed over my chest, furious and fuming.

It's because I'm king, love. And I need a queen.

He said that to me. He did. I haven't lost my mind yet, although if I spend a lot of time around Royal, it's likely to happen.

“No,” he says, turning on me, sliding his hands around my waist and making me gasp. His grip is firm and steady, like he knows exactly what it is he wants. I wonder if that's true. I wonder if he's as confident inside his head as he appears on the outside. “I'm dating you because I like you, Pint-Size. Didn't I make that clear yesterday?” Royal leans down and runs his tongue along the side of my jaw and I shiver. His stubbled face rubs against my cheek as he starts kissing his way down my neck. “I asked you to be my queen, didn't I?”

“Yes, but—” I start, but it's really hard to think when his right hand is sliding down my side and attempting to dive under my skirt. My own hands drop down to block him, determined to finish this discussion. Royal and I, neither of us lives their life in la-la land. I hate to be that person, the one that needs everything outlined and labeled, but … that's kind of who I am.

I'm just not exactly sure that it's who I want to be.

“Listen Lyric,” he says, the expression on his face hardening again. “With this,” he gestures between us, “it's all or nothing because it has to be, do you understand?” I keep staring at him as he backs up and pulls out a chair at the table for me. I look at it a long moment before sitting down and tucking my skirt beneath my thighs. Royal's big hands settle on my shoulders and squeeze, sending a spiral of warmth through my body. “The club doesn't like you,” he states as I glance up at him. He's staring into space now, at a spot of wall directly across from us where a black and white photograph of a motorcycle hangs.

“So … why all of this?” I whisper, feeling my heartbeat stutter and stop as I grip the sides of the chair and try to figure out what it is that I'm feeling. I can never quite sort my emotions out when he's around. “Bringing me over here, asking me all that stuff yesterday …”

His lips twitch a little as he lets go of my shoulders and slides his body into the chair on my left, our knees bumping under the table.