Page 61 of Making the King

An idea comes to my mind as I remember how she didn’t want to put her feet on the tiled floor before. She doesn’t have a problem in my shower, most likely because it’s a smooth bathtub, so I ease her back and notice her eyes are squeezed tight again.

“Cara, I need you to stay right here for a minute or two so I can do something. Okay?”

Slowly she nods, reaching her hand out blindly to find the metal shelf that holds the soap, shampoo and conditioner.

Once I know she’s steady, I climb out of the tub and dart from the room, dripping water onto the carpet of the hall as I rummage through the linen closet. I get every towel I can, and hurry back into the bathroom before laying out the towels on the floor, making sure there is no sign of the tiles underneath.

Once done, I step back into the tub, reaching out to my wife.

“I’m back.”

“Where did you go?” she asks, still with closed eyes.

“Open your eyes again for me,” I ask, and she reaches out, running her hands over my pecks until she’s pressed to my front, and only then does she crack her lids.

“I need you to trust me, Cara. Trust that I have your back. That I will keep you safe. That I am here to care for and protect you.” I give her a little squeeze. “I need you to look at the bathroom floor.”

Immediately, she shakes her head and squeezes her eyes tight.

“Cara please. I promise it’s okay. Just take a look for me, please.”

Honestly, I have no idea if this will work, but I need to at least try.

If it works, then great. I know what I have to do to make her feel comfortable in my home. Our home. And if it doesn’t work, then I will think of a new solution. I’ll think of a thousand until one sticks.

“I’m not sure if I can,” she whispers, and I give her a reassuring squeeze.

“You can. You’re the bravest person I know. You can do it.”

Slowly, she nods and cracks her lids again to look at me.

“Good girl.”

Her eyes widen before a repulsed expression crosses her face. “Seriously? Good girl? Say that again and I’ll cut you.”

A laugh bubbles up my throat, and I throw my head back as I let it take over, welcoming its lightness.

“I have no fucking doubt you’ll cut me. And noted.” I grin, trying to compose myself.

It makes sense that she’s not into praise kink. Not that she necessarily knows what that is. She’s finally free of the rules her family tried to brainwash her with, and given she was forced into submission, I can see that Cara will probably never be a submissive woman. Sure, she’s submitted to me a few times, giving me the control, but that was her trusting me to teach her how sex should be. I don’t doubt that in the future we are going to butt heads in the bedroom. I can already see her dominant nature coming through.

“Good. Don’t forget.” She snaps sternly and I chuckle even as I draw a promise cross over my heart.

“Now, Killer. Stop stalling and take a look at the floor.”

She blinks a few times, and I can see she’s fighting against her instincts, but then slowly, she turns her head and eyes the floor.

Even though she’s stiff in my arms and her breathing quickens, she keeps her eyes trained on the toweled floor.

“Talk to me. Is it better? Worse?”

“Better,” she whispers before turning back to me. “Thank you.”

My smile is small as I take her in, brushing my thumb over the teardrop tattoo just under her eye.

“When your twelve-month parole period is up, and you have the right to decide how your future looks, I really hope you’ll consider staying here with me. As my wife.”

For a moment I’m looking back into the eyes of the sixteen-year-old girl that was given no choice. She was just as scared as the woman is in front of me now, but both versions never let anyone see. But I do. I feel like I can see into her soul.

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