Page 29 of Shameless Royalty

Ilieinbed,staring at the ceiling, trying to will my brain to shut the fuck up. But it won’t. It hasn’t stopped replaying every second of the day in excruciating detail since I got back to this damn room.

Connor isn’t straight.

It hits me like a slap every time the thought comes around, like my brain doesn’t believe it yet, so it keeps shoving it to the front of the queue. He kissed that guy—just leaned in like it was the most natural thing in the world. And the guy practically melted at his feet.

My cheeks burn just thinking about it. I shouldn’t have seen it. I shouldn’t have felt anything about it. But I did. God, I did.

I turn over, burying my face in the pillow as if that will somehow stop the images from playing on repeat. It doesn’t. All I can see is Connor standing there, so bloody confident, smirking like he owns the world. And then he had to go and show upshirtless this morning, just casually waltzing into my room like it wasn’t a big deal.

By the way my cock twitched, it felt like a big deal.

I’d spent half the time trying not to get a look and the other half trying not to stare. And failing. Miserably. He knows it, too. The smug bastard. I can still hear his stupid voice in my head.

“Enjoy the view, Babyface.”

I groan, flipping onto my back again. Why the hell does he get under my skin like this? It’s not just the teasing, though that’s bad enough, it’s the way he seems to know. Like he can see right through me, past all the sarcasm and the walls I’ve built up, to the part of me I don’t even want to acknowledge.

The worst part is he doesn’t even have to try. He just is, and it drives me insane. He’s cocky, confident, everything I’m not. And he walks around like the world’s his for the taking, like nothing can touch him. But then there are these moments—quick, fleeting—where I catch something else. Something heavier. Like he’s carrying more than he lets on.

It doesn’t make it better. If anything, it makes it worse. Because now I can’t stop thinking about him, and not just in the way I know I shouldn’t.

The way his tattoos curl around his arms, stark against his skin. The way his green eyes seem to pin me in place, daring me to say something smart. The way his smirk tilts just enough to make me wonder what he’s planning. And God help me, the way he looked shirtless, his body lean and strong, every movement effortless.

I bite back a groan and drag a hand through my hair. I shouldn’t be thinking about any of this. He’s the one who locked me in this room. He’s the reason I’m here, paying for my father’s mistakes. And yet…and yet.

“Fuckin’ hell,” I mutter, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

I’ve spent years pushing these emotions down. I’ve been told they’re wrong. I still have the scars where my father tried to whip thewrongout of me when he saw me playing with my cousin’s dolls and immediately assumed I wasn’t straight.

I was only six years old and had to lay on my stomach for the better part of a year. I mean, my father had no idea just how right he was about my sexuality, but I’ve never acted on it… I’ve always been too scared to be myself.

And here comes Connor fucking Cunningham, blasting those walls to nothing and forcing me to look at them while I’m locked up in silence.

I rub my hands over my face, trying to shake the thoughts loose. But they won’t go. Every time I try to push him out of my mind, he just pushes his way back in, louder and more insistent. Now there’s this new layer to it. The kiss. The guy. My stomach twists as heat rises in my chest.

I shouldn’t care.

But I do.

I shouldn’t be jealous.

But I am.

The realization makes my stomach twist, and I clutch the edge of the mattress, trying to steady myself. Jealousy is dangerous. It’s messy, and it’s pointless, especially here. Especially with him.

Because Connor Cunningham is chaos personified, and getting caught up in that chaos would be the end of me. I know it.I know it.

I close my eyes, pressing the heels of my hands against them. It doesn’t help. All it does is bring the images into sharper focus.

Connor shirtless, leaning against the desk, his smirk lazy.

Connor stepping closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him and smell his stupid cologne.

Connor walking away, throwing a wink over his shoulder like he knew exactly what kind of mess he was leaving behind.

I let out a shaky breath, my hands dropping to my lap. I can’t do this. I can’t let him get to me like this. He’s just a guy—a cocky, infuriating, dangerous guy. Nothing more.

I can’t let myself think like this. I can’t let him get to me. He’s already got too much power over me as it is, I’m not giving him more.

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