ROYAL (20 page)

“I’m sure he was doing whatever his attorney told him to do,
Derek. For Christ’s sake, he was nineteen and scared and alone.” My eyes burn,
and the image of a young Royal sitting in some jail cell with no one on the
other side to help him makes me want to peel out of this driveway and go be
with him. Hold him. Tell him I believe him, and that whatever it was—whatever
happened—it’s in the past.

“That’s what I want to believe,” he says. “But all I know is
that there were two witnesses with air-tight, corroborating statements, as well
as physical evidence.”

“Physical evidence?”

Derek lowers himself further, pressing his forehead against
his arm as it rests against my open window.

“I know you’re going to go to him.” His voice is muffled
until he looks up at me. “I know nothing anyone says is going to change your mind.
Just . . . be careful. He may not be who you think he is.”

Royal

She acts surprised to see me Monday night, her jaw hanging
and her eyes round and wide.

“Can I come in?” I hoist the empty cardboard boxes in my
arms and nod toward her foyer.

“Yeah, of course.” She steps away, almost studying me.

“Thought you could use some help packing,” I say. “Or at
least some boxes. I assume you’re moving out soon?”

She carries a couple of boxes to her kitchen island. “Would
you like something to drink?”

“Why are you acting so strange?” I laugh before cupping her
waist and drawing her into me. “You’re being all formal. Did you forget about
Saturday night?”

“I went to your place yesterday,” she says. “You weren’t
home. And you didn’t answer your phone.”

Cupping her face, I kiss her forehead and move to her mouth.
I’ve been craving those lips since Sunday morning.

“Painted my car yesterday, was at the shop until midnight. Worked
a twelve today. I’m sorry, Dem.” I kiss her again. “Believe me, I’d much rather
have been with you.”

“I couldn’t get my job back.” Her body is rigid, tense.
There’s something colder about her today. There’s undeniable distance in her
pale blue eyes. “Principal McClean refuses. I’m sure Brenda Abbott has
everything to do with it too. She’s friends with her. She’s the one who got me
placed on permanent leave in the first place.”

“You’re a teacher. You can get a job anywhere.” I kiss the
tip of her nose, moving to the sides of her mouth and trailing down her neck. I
could eat her alive, she’s so fucking delicious.

“Royal . . .”

Sliding my hands down her thighs, I cup her ass and lift her
on top of the counter. Our stares hold, and her eyes wince like she’s
concentrating.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“I told my parents about you.” Her words come in one long
exhale.

“Ah, shit.”

“Or at least Dad and Derek.”

“And?”

“Dad freaked out. Said you did something disgusting.”

“Of course he said that.” I smack my tongue, hooking my
hands on my hips and staring off. Those were the words he used that night, too.

“And Derek knows,” she says. I glance up at her, watching as
she chews the inner corner of her pouty lip. “He’s known since law school.
Guess he had access to some confidential files. But he wouldn’t say much.
Legally . . . he can’t.” She inhales, her entire body shifting. “Did you hurt
someone, Royal?”

“No.” My hands find hers. “Demi, how much do you know?”

“I don’t know anything.” Her hair drips down her shoulder
when she tilts her face to her left side, her eyes never leaving mine. “But I
want to know . . .”

She lifts my hands and drops them in her lap, dragging her
fingers between mine.

“These hands . . .” she says, interlacing hers with mine. My
hands have touched her lips, traced her body, knotted in her hair, and pleasured
her from the inside out. “How bad can they be?”

“I wouldn’t touch you—I wouldn’t come anywhere near
you—if I was a bad person, Demi. I swear to you.”

“Then why’d you stay away? Tell me the truth.”

I clear my throat. “We’ve already had this conversation.
Your dad warned me to stay away from you. And you seemed happy. Happy without
me.”

“Bullshit. I don’t buy that.” Demi releases my hands,
folding them across her chest. “Those are weak reasons, Royal.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” My body grows hot, then
cold, then numb. And my stomach churns. The heaviness consuming my chest steals
my breath.

I have to tell her . . .

. . . I have to tell her
everything
. . .

. . . before I lose her forever.

“Society has labeled me a monster,” I begin, bracing my
stance.

Three loud thumps on the door send my heart into my chest.

Demi slides off the counter and tiptoes to the foyer. I stay
back, out of sight, and watch the flash of red, white, and blue lights from the
driveway shine in through the front windows.

“What’s this about?” Demi asks.

“Ma’am, this is your eviction notice,” a sheriff’s deputy
says.

“Seriously? Are the lights really necessary?” She yanks the
paper from his hand and peers up and down the street. I’m sure her neighbors
are all peeking out from behind their custom Roman shades. “A little overkill,
don’t you think?”

“You have twenty-four hours to vacate the premises.”

Demi slams the door and shuffles back, her hands digging
into her scalp and the eviction notice floating to the floor in a crumpled
ball.

“How can Brooks evict you?” I ask.

“He owns this house, remember? When we moved in, he made me
sign a lease. You know, to protect both of us. But I never paid rent. He never wanted
me to me pay a single penny. This was just a formality.” She slumps over the
island. “So yeah, legally, since I haven’t paid any rent to him—ever—he
can serve me with an eviction notice.”

“Fuck that asshole.”

She turns to me, dark hair covering her face, and huffs.
“Fuck him so hard. In the ass. God, I hope he goes to prison. Screw it. I’m
going to do everything in my power to make sure he spends time behind bars, and
it’s not going to be some white-collar minimum security retreat either.”

“Demi.” I grab the flap of a cardboard box and drag it off
the counter. “Let’s channel this energy on productive things. Like getting you
all moved out before that asshat deputy comes back tomorrow with a padlock for
the door and a pair of handcuffs for you. You’re too pretty for jail anyway.
Those women would fucking feast on you . . .”

I slip my hands behind her ass and cup her perfect cheeks,
pressing her against me.

“Stop.” She tries not to smile as she smacks my chest.
“Fine. Let’s pack. And let’s make sure we accidentally pack some of his shit.”

“Which will of course get lost in the move, because that’s
just what happens sometimes . . .”

“You’re bad.”

Her smile fades for a second, and maybe she’s replaying our pre-eviction
notice conversation in her head.

I need to think fast. Distract her. Anything to keep from
having to tell her yet. We’re on the right track. I think she could love me
again. I just need a little more time with her, a little more time to remind
her that I’m not what they say I am. I didn’t do anything wrong. And I love her
just as much now as I ever did before.

And maybe the truth is, I’m the one who’s not ready. Because
if I tell Demi what happened, and she doesn’t believe me?

I’ll lose her.

All over again.

Forever.

And I can’t fucking live without this woman.

Demi

His lips silence my thoughts, absorbing my curiosity, albeit
temporarily. My hands hook his broad shoulders and my nails snake through his
soft, thick hair, raking his scalp. I pull back for a moment because I want to
look into his eyes, and when I do, I see a bad boy and a good man, and I’m not
sure how that can be.

His metallic scent fills my lungs, and the thought of his
dirty hands all over me makes my body hum with life. His fingers tug at the hem
of my shirt before boldly slipping under and caressing my breasts.

I draw in a slick breath and hold it as he massages the ache
in my peaked buds. Lifting the shirt, he brings his mouth to one of my nipples,
drawing it in with gentle, warm sucks and flicking it with his tongue.

I can’t breathe, my head falling back.

The window by the breakfast nook is uncovered, and I’m sure
the Manchesters across the street are getting an eyeful, but I’m too
preoccupied to care. I never did like them anyway.

This street is pretentious as hell, and I never really
belonged here anyway. This was all Brooks’s doing.

Royal’s hands clutch my sides and he wraps my thighs against
his side. He kisses my neck before cupping my ass and sliding me off the
kitchen island. I hook my arms around his neck as he carries me toward the
foyer.

“Where are you taking me?” My words are a breathless whisper,
and certainly not a protest.

He doesn’t answer. He only carries me up the stairs, one by
one, making me feel light and weightless in his hold. My stomach swarms with
butterflies, and my heart pulses with each step.

Turning the corner at the top, I slide off him, and his
hands press into my hips, guiding me backward until we hit a wall. A framed
portrait of Brooks and me falls, the glass popping out of the frame.

When I glance down to look at it, Royal cups my chin and
redirects my attention to him.

“Fuck that guy,” he whispers before claiming my mouth again.
His kiss is harder this time, more in control than ever before. But I have to
admit, he was always in control.

This man is my weakness.

I’m addicted, and he’s my fix.

Royal’s mouth drags from mine, his thumb pressing into my
collarbone as he lowers his mouth to my belly. Pushing my shirt out of the way,
he unbuttons my jeans and slides them down, along with my panties, and peels
them off.

Spreading my thighs, the next thing I feel is the warmth of
his wet tongue invading my damp center. His finger slides between my seam,
pressing inside me as he circles my clit.

I have to brace myself against the wall when my thighs
shake. The scruff of his five o’clock shadow brushes against my inner thighs,
creating a sweet trifecta of sensations.

He’s completely focused on me. My needs. My pleasure.

I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have a man put me first.
His licks and strokes are equally tender and heart-stopping. A sweet, yet
painful reminder of everything I’ve missed the last seven years.

My sex aches for more, for him, for that connection I crave
so deeply it terrifies me.

Royal abandons me seconds before I reach my peak, rising
slowly until our eyes meet and his heat radiates through me.

He kisses me once more, and I taste myself on him. I taste
what he does to me. His hand cups the side of my face, his fingers behind my
neck.

“Come on,” he whispers, his mouth still pressed against
mine.

His hand drags down my arm until he laces his fingers into
mine, and then he leads me into my bedroom, guiding me to the center of the bed
I’ve shared with Brooks for years.

The discordant feeling I get when I sprawl across the center
of this bed is quickly overshadowed by the ripe rush that floods through me
when I watch Royal yank his belt open and unzip the fly of his gray work pants.

In an instant, he’s naked and on top of me, his thick
erection grazing my trembling inner thighs. I want to feel him inside me, all
of him, with nothing between us.

His hips buck and move, his cock teasing my slit. He presses
his half-open lips against mine, dragging my lower lip between his teeth and
releasing it. When he claims my mouth again, I feel him smile.

“Why are you smiling?” I whisper.

He props himself above me, and I trace the indentation of
his triceps with my fingernails.

“Because fucking you in the bed you once shared with Brooks
is vindicating, don’t you think?” His voice is breathy, his gaze intense in the
dark.

I nod, my chest rising and falling, my skin sticky against his.

“This should’ve been us, Demi,” he says. “This should’ve
been our bed. You should’ve been living in a house I bought for you, wearing a
ring I put on your finger. This was always supposed to be our life.”

I’ve had that thought a thousand times before. Maybe more.

“Anyway,” he says, depositing a kiss in the hollow beneath
my neck. “Back to this amazing revenge sex we’re about to have . . .”

I bite a smile and widen my thighs, heart pounding in my
ears. Royal has a way of making shitty situations a million times better. Right
now, I should be packing, thinking about my eviction and my jobless situation.
I’m technically homeless.

In under two weeks, life as I knew it completely evaporated
into thin air.

I should be lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

But this man, the one with the stormy blue gaze and dimpled
smile, who looks at me with nothing but love in his eyes, is all I can think
about.

His hips circle in mine. One slip, and he’d be inside. And I
want that so fucking badly.

Holding his chiseled, bristly face in my hands, I swallow a
deep breath and lick my lips.

“I’m on the pill,” I say.

“And I’m clean.”

My heart hammers so hard it almost hurts, and I nod. And
with one sliding thrust, he’s deep inside me.

He settles into a riding rhythm aided by my slickness, and
his girth stretches me until I’m formed to him. We fit perfectly, and it feels
natural. I’ve never been with anyone bareback before. Even in high school, we
only ever used condoms because I was too scared to ask our family doctor for
birth control pills.

I’ve never even been with Brooks bareback before. We always
doubled up because he was adamant about not wanting to become a father.

Apparently, exceptions are made when your pussy is attached
to the name Afton Mayfield.

Tingles ricochet from every part of me, and my body shudders
when the hint of an orgasm ripples between my thighs. They’re like little mini
earthquakes, and the build intensifies with each one.

The sheets tangle around our bodies, another subtle “fuck
you” to Brooks and his Pottery Barn catalog lifestyle. God forbid our bed ever
looked a hot mess. And God forbid he ever took the time to make it. He hated
duvets yet insisted upon them because they looked better than quilts.

Royal’s taut, steely muscles flex and bulge as he moves
above me, and his thrusts grow harder, needier. His face lowers to mine, and I
welcome his lips with an open mouth.

I could never tire of his kisses, his tongue, his lips. His
taste.

His body possesses mine with every impalement, and our
breathless sighs mix in the dark night air of the room I once shared with the
man I was never supposed to be with.

Once again, in a roundabout way, Royal saved my life by
intervening at exactly the right moment.

“I love you, Demi,” he breathes into my ear.

His words send tingles dancing across my flesh.

The words are there, on the tip of my tongue. The feeling
has never gone away, no matter how much I tried, no matter how many times I
told myself I hated this man.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, burying his head in my
wild hair.

He’s not expecting me to say it back. At least I don’t think
so.

He’s simply telling me. Stating his truth. And I know, when
I look into his eyes, that he means it. That it killed him to stand back and
watch me live our happily ever after with the wrong man. A man who clearly
didn’t deserve me.

“I love you too, Royal. I never stopped.”