Page 22 of Making the King

Putting down the now empty tub of ice cream, I unzip my boots and pull them off before getting up from the couch, placing them neatly by the door. It’s awkward, but I walk backwards, refusing to take my eyes off Rocco. He might have had my back at the club, but that doesn’t mean he won’t pounce when I’m not looking.

As soon as I’m back on the couch, Rocco says, “I want to talk about what happened with Mindy.”

Here we go. He’ll probably tell me off for attacking her.

“I’m not sorry for what I did,” I snap, defensively.

“You shouldn’t be.”

My lips part, but I can’t think of any words to say. This isn’t the reaction I was expecting.

“You and I aren’t together, Cara. So I can do whatever the fuck I want. But—”

I jump off the couch and place my hands on my hips, my temper getting the better of me. “Is that so, husband?” I sneer. “Can I fuck around as well, then?”

Fuck me. I shouldn’t antagonize him or remind him that I legally belong to him.

“You can try,” Rocco snarls, getting to his feet. “But it won’t end well for whoever you give your virginity to.”

His nostrils flare as he crosses his tattooed arms over his chest. I’m momentarily distracted by the ink on his chest.

“Cara!”

The way he snaps my name has my hackles rising. “I’m not a fucking virgin anymore,” I lie. “You’re about three years too late.”

Horror creeps over his features, and he takes a step toward me. “What?” Although I don’t want to give him any ground, I take a step back. “You weren’t a virgin when we got married?”

I force out a laugh. “Sure I was. But I took care of that within the first week in juvie.”

Bullshit, that’s what it is. Rocco doesn’t need to know that, though.

A low growl emanates from his throat as he clenches and unclenches his fists. He looks scary, so I’m not sure why I don’t feel any fear. He could easily pick me up and do whatever the hell he wants, and maybe that’s why I can’t stop pushing him.

So far, he’s been… nice, something I don’t trust. I need to see what’s underneath the surface. When Mindy antagonized me, I got a small glimpse of Rocco’s monster. Which reminds me…

“You want me to punish you?” I ask, completely changing the subject.

“Say fucking what?”

I nod. “You said I could punish you.”

Palming his chin, he runs his thumb up and down the scruff. “I didn’t say that for you.”

“But you deserve to be punished,” I exclaim.

I have no idea how I could do that, only that it feels right. In prison I punished everyone who disrespected me. Usually with my fists or feet, which was enough for them to learn their lesson and leave me the fuck alone.

Rocco’s different, and to truly punish someone, you need to know what they either fear or hold dear. With him, I don’t know enough to even take a guess.

“Take your best shot,” he smirks.

I nod. “I will. Eventually.”

“We’ll see.”

Without another word, Rocco disappears into the bathroom, and within minutes I hear the water from the shower running.

This is our routine. He showers before bed, and I half suspect it’s partly to give me privacy to change into the leggings and tee I sleep in. Well, sleep is much too generous. I still can’t relax enough to let myself go completely, so it’s more like I’m resting.

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