Page 16 of Making the King

Think of something gross.

Gangrene toes.

A bucket of vomit.

A cow giving birth.

Cara tugs at my arms around her waist before I can do anything else, so I release her and watch as she turns to face me.

“Show me.”

Wait. Is she asking me to show her my hard dick?

When I don’t speak, she rolls her eyes.

“Earth to Rochus. Show me the damn showers.”

Oh damn. Yes, the showers.

Fuck, I need to get my head out of the gutter when I’m around her.

Maybe I should find a Diamond to take the edge off while she’s showering. That should help me stop responding to her like a fucking dog in heat.

“Call me Rocco,” I suggest, my voice sounding husky, so I clear my throat.

“Or, you can call him Mr. King.” Cain’s voice reminds me that he’s still here, having witnessed me losing my fucking mind. “Or Master King. Or just Master. He’d like that too.”

“Really?” I snap at him, and he shrugs like he’s done nothing wrong.

“She’s your wife. She should be prepared for how you like it.” Cain shrugs and I roll my eyes, turning back to Cara.

She’s eyeing both of us like we are freaks.

She’s probably not wrong.

“Come on.” I urge her to follow me, and she does, giving Cain a wide berth.

He gasps and slaps his hand to his chest like she’s just stabbed him, the dramatics coercing a giggle to fall from Cara’s lips.

Fuck, I like the sound of that. I haven’t heard that from her until now, and fuck if I’m not going to make it my mission to make it happen again. And again. And again.

Weaving through the tables, I lead Cara to the back section of the building and down the long passage until we reach the dancers’ locker room.

After a quick rap of my knuckles on the door, I ease it open, ducking my head in to make sure it’s empty, before pushing it wide and gesturing for Cara to step in.

She does so slowly. Cautiously. Like she’s ready for a fucking bear to jump out at any second.

I go with her, staying close to her side as she walks through the space, her eyes raking over the racks of skimpy costumes, and the lockers with each dancer’s name drawn in lipstick on the front.

“The shower room is through there.” I point toward the door at the far side, and she makes her way over to it by my side.

Her chest is heaving faster the closer we get, her hands trembling as her eyes widen with fear.

I have no fucking clue what happened to her. No idea why this is such a massive deal to her, and even though I have no right to know, I want to know the reason behind it.

Taking the lead, I push the door open, revealing the large, tiled room beyond.

Cara gasps, leaps back and shakes her head frantically.

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