Page 15 of Making the King

Whatever it is, has my eyes lingering on the round globes of her ass as she walks in front of me as we enter Dirty Diamonds. I swear she’s testing me. Waiting to see if I’ll turn into the monster she thinks purchased her at the auction. Waiting to see if I’ll throw her down and take what’s owed to me as part of the marriage agreement.

Her virginity.

Fuck. I hate that she thinks I’m that person, and I also hate the way I’m so fucking drawn to her and eager to know if said virginity is still intact.

“I don’t know why we are here. I already told you I finished all the book work.” Cara’s tone is laced with bitterness as she tosses a glare over her shoulder at me. “Jesus, were you just looking at my ass?”

Spinning to glare at me as she steps through the curtains into the main room of the club, I watch her fists clench like she is gearing up to punch me.

Fuck, I think I want her to punch me. I think I’d love to wrestle her to the ground and press my body into hers and…

“Rocco, my man.” Cain claps me on my back, snapping me out of my lust daze. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

I smirk at Cain. He knows exactly why I’m here. I sent him a text earlier making sure there weren’t too many of his pretty Diamonds around in the hopes Cara would feel more comfortable.

“Are the showers empty?” I ask, darting my gaze to Cara whose steely eyes widen.

“They are as empty as my soul,” Cain sing-songs, before throwing his head back and laughing.

Cara’s glare softens as a frown takes its place, her eyes now studying Cain.

He’s a crazy fucker. She will come to that realization quickly the more she comes into contact with him. As crazy as he is though, he’s solid. Reliable and trustworthy, traits that are hard to come by in our world.

“I have arranged all the most beautifully scented products for you to shower with.” Cain directs to Cara with a bow, and she jerks back like she’s just been slapped.

“What do you mean? I don’t need a shower.” Her gray eyes turn to me filled with panic and I frown.

I haven’t been able to establish why she doesn’t like showering. I thought perhaps she has a problem with confined spaces, but the dancers’ locker room has a large open shower space that allows multiple women to shower at once. I figured she’d feel more comfortable there, and since her last shower was a couple of days ago in my backyard after the whole bathroom screaming incident, I figured another shower was due.

“Come on, Cara. I’ll show you. The showers here are in a large room that you can have all to yourself.” I step up to her, taking her upper arm, but she shoves away from me, beelining for the exit.

“I showered a couple of days ago. I don’t need another fucking shower.”

It only takes me two strides to catch up to her before I wrap my arms around her waist and tug her back against me. She flails against my hold, but when I press my lips against her ear, she stops.

“Cara, just do me a favor and at least take a look at the showers they have here before dismissing it. I swear, if you don’t want to use them, you don’t have to.”

Her chest is rising and falling rapidly under my hold, the fitted clothes she wore when she stepped out of the prison gates like a glove on her body again today. From this angle, I can see down the front of her top, the valley between her breasts squeezing together by the hint of the black lace bra she’s wearing.

Shit.

Don’t get fucking hard!

I will my dick to listen to my brain. Pressing a boner into her ass right now isn’t how I want things to go down. I’m trying so fucking hard to hide how she affects me.

She may be my wife, but she didn’t choose this, and technically neither did I. Not for the purpose of love or some sick and twisted craving to possess a minor. By marrying Cara, I then became her guardian, which meant her parents, the sick cunts, could no longer have a claim on her. It was an arrangement I agreed to at Dante’s request. Being only nineteen at the time, I was closest in age to her, aside from Cain, but he would have scared her more than anything with his flighty personality, so I was the best option.

So as married as we are, I will not ask her to perform her marital duties, or even pretend to give a shit about me. Except maybe when we see her parole officer. But other than that, I want her to just be free and safe, and fuck, even though I want her to shower, she smells so damn good.

“Do you promise?” she asks quietly, her voice a little shaky. “Will you give me your word that you won’t make me use the showers if I don’t want to?”

“Yes,” I breathe against her ear. “I promise.”

For a moment, a brief millisecond, I feel her lean into me, tilting her head to press her ear closer to my mouth.

Fuck!

DON’T GET HARD!

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