Page 10

NINE

CONTROL

NICOLETTE

“ W hat are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” he shoots back, glaring at the frying pan that I assaulted him with. “I couldn’t make it back to the Playground before you were done so I thought I’d see if you were home—I didn’t think you’d try to brain me with a frying pan!”

“I’m so sorry! I… I didn’t recognize you.” I take in the sweatshirt that, up close, is actually pretty different than the one Kieran had on. “You usually wear a suit!”

“That’s when I’m on duty. I’m off, and it’s fucking cold out here. Forgive me for throwing on a hoodie.”

I ignore that.

“If you wanted to come over, why didn’t you call me first?” I ask, conveniently forgetting that I didn’t give him my number.

But I guess I didn’t have to because he crosses his arms over the front of his hooded sweatshirt and says, “I did. You didn’t answer. I got worried and drove over.” He waves behind him, showing that the reason I didn’t see his car was because he parked it just out of my camera’s range—and I realize that I didn’t look at my phone once since I’ve been home. “I could’ve sworn I saw something flashing over here. I was checking it out when you hit me.”

He shows me something in his hand and stomach sinks.

It’s a tiny camera. Wireless, with suction cups that would keep it on my window so that it could peek inside.

“Oh, that’s?—”

“I know what it is. I just don’t know why it’s out here. Usually surveillance cameras are pointing out, not in, unless someone’s spying on you.”

Yeah. I know.

He sees it. He sees the lack of a reaction on my face and knows there’s something darker at play here. Especially when it doesn’t even occur to me to accuse Royce of being the one to put the camera up.

I watched my footage earlier. I saw Kieran standing in that same spot before, though I couldn’t quite see what he was doing.

Now I know—and so does Royce.

He lowers his voice. “Nic… why did you come out here with a frying pan?”

I don’t answer him. I can’t. Maybe I could have before, but after that night we had over dinner? My impression of Royce McIntyre is that he has a savior thing. If he finds out I have a stalker, he’ll want to save me the same way he did from Miles Haines.

But I grab onto the excuse he unwittingly gave me by grabbing the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I really didn’t mean to swing at you. I was just scared”—for obvious reasons, yeah—“and panicked when I saw you. Let me make it up to you.”

Royce gives me a curious look. On the one hand, I doubt he’ll let me get away with avoiding explaining myself and the extra camera. On the other?

He’s still a man who got cut short in that supply closet. “How do you plan on doing that?”

I roll my eyes, then lead him around back. When he seems even more curious, I explain that the front door’s locked, but I left the back open when I saw someone on the camera.

Once we’re inside, I put the frying pan away in the kitchen, then lead Royce to the living room. A quick tap on my laptop’s lid to close it, then I gesture at his arm.

“Okay. Let me see how much damage I did to you.”

He shakes it his arm. “It’s fine.”

Somehow, I knew he would say that. “Shirt off, please.”

A crooked grin that erases some of his annoyance from before. “Well, when you put it that way… how can I resist?

He takes off his hooded sweatshirt. As soon as he does, he looks like the Royce I know: black trousers, white button-down, expensive shoes.

The white-button down covers his upper arm. I expect he’s going to unbutton the sleeve and roll it up. He doesn’t. Instead, reminding me I told him to take off his shirt, he makes quick work of the buttons.

He doesn’t have an undershirt on. I get my first glimpse of his muscular chest before I give my head a clearing shake, then shove the right side of his shirt down enough to see.

It’s red. Duh. Not broken, I don’t think, but it’s definitely a big red mark.

I lay my fingers lightly along his skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Like you said, you were scared and I was acting shady. You seem to be expecting someone. From the way you reacted, though, I’m not so sure it’s a friend.” He pauses, eyeing me closely. “You are single, aren’t you?”

I nod. “And you’re not.”

That catches his attention. “What? Of course I am.”

“What about Ava?”

“Ava?” His nose scrunches, and he laughs. A full-throated laugh that has his shirt falling back, revealing his entire chest. “Do me a favor, Nic? Don’t ever say that in front of Devil. If he thinks I’m gunning for his wife, I’m a dead man.”

Wait—

“ Devil ’s wife?”

He nods. “He had syndicate biz and she needed help at the penthouse. She has my number and knows that I can be there in no time if I’m at the Playground.”

“Oh.”

His blue eyes seem to twinkle. “Were you jealous of Ava?”

I open my mouth, think about how I want to answer that, then totally change the subject when I notice the design etched into the left side of his chest. It’s about twelve inches long, an elaborate design of… is that a devil?

“You have ink?” I murmur.

“Just the one. You?”

I don’t answer him. Instead, I push off the side of his shirt so that I can get a good look at it.

It is a devil.

“Wow. That’s really nice.”

He starts to shrug off his shirt. “You want to get a better look? I can show you.”

“Later,” I tell him, my voice a breathless whisper as my hand lands on his hard chest.

Later, I won’t really understand why I made the move I did. Whether it’s because that camera Royce found pissed me off, or I really did want to send a massive fuck you to Kieran if he was out there somewhere, or even if the sudden relief I felt to hear that Ava is Devil’ s wife makes me wish we were back in the supply closed at the club… it doesn’t matter.

Earlier tonight, Royce kissed me.

It’s my turn.

I kiss him .

It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Royce was asking questions I didn’t want to answer, and I thought: if he’s kissing me, he can’t ask inconvenient questions, right?

One hand on his chest, the other cupping his jaw, I go up on my tiptoes and I kiss him.

When I’m done, Royce is panting, I’m just about ready to climb him, and he knows it.

“Yeah.” Guttural. Husky. Hot . Okay. Later.”

Or now.

I grab Royce by the front of his shirt. I don’t know if he thought I was going to take a peek at his ink, but I have a better idea. Tugging on him, I drag him so that he’s standing by the living room couch. I push him down on it, completely aware that I’m only able to do this because he’s letting me.

I reward him with a grin as I shimmy my sweatpants down my ass. I kick them off, then yank off my panties. By the time I’m climbing onto his lap, Royce has caught on to what exactly I want to do.

He could reject me. He could say no. He could remind me again that he only wanted to fuck me when I wanted to fuck him.

Well, guess what? This is me showing him that, at this very moment, there isn’t anything I want to do more in the world.

I straddle him, putting both one of my legs on each side of him. My left hand is on his chest, supporting my weight as I reach down between our bodies.

Royce goes for the bottom of my sweater.

No.

I stop him. With a gentle shove at his hands, I shake my head when he looks up at me.

“You can take your pants off,” I whisper in as throaty a voice as I can, “but my shirt stays on.”

It’s my one boundary. I’ll fuck him. I really, really want to fuck him. But if me keeping my shirt on is a dealbreaker right now? Then it’s better we get that out of the way before I go past the point of no return. I won’t sleep with him if he does, and I hope he gets that.

He does. Burying his face against my chest, he muffles, “As long as I can touch them over the shirt, I’m okay with that.”

I think I can handle that.

But when I try to help him take off his pants, he gives me the most lascivious grin a man can manage as he says, “You keep your shirt on. Don’t worry about the pants. If I don’t get inside of you now, I’m gonna fucking blow. Just take me out.”

Sounds good to me.

Flicking the button on his trousers, unzipping him as quickly as I can, I find his erection already tenting his boxers and feed him through the hole in the front.

I hesitate for a moment. He’s hot and heavy in my hand, and though I haven’t gotten a good look at his dick, it feels like a good size as I grip it with my hand.

“Condoms—”

“I’ll use ‘em if you want, but I don’t have any.”

Niether do I.

Shit.

You know fucking what? I think I already passed the point of no return.

“I’m on birth control to regulate my period,” I murmur. “We’ll be fine.”

And then, because I don’t want anyone talking me out of this—not me, not Royce, not my missing common sense—I lift my ass up, grabbing his cock so that our bodies are lined up right where they need to be before letting gravity take control.

It might as well. As I gasp out at the intrusion of his cock inside of me, and Royce digs his heels into the floor so that he doesn’t start thrusting while I’m getting used to him, it seems like the both of us are on the verge of losing it.

I haven’t gotten laid since I’ve been back in Springfield for so many different reasons. I’m so glad that Royce fingerfucked me earlier because the ache would’ve been so much worse now if he hadn’t. Since he did, though, all I feel is a sense of delicious fullness as he grabs the back of my head, tugging me toward him so that he can take another kiss.

He starts moving. I throw my head back as his rocking motion starts out slow. Arching my back, giving him access to my tits, I encourage him to give them a squeeze.

“Do you know how much I fantasized over this?” he asks, finding my nipple through the fabric and tweaking it just enough to have me moaning. “Not just tonight. For so fucking long… Nic. That’s my girl.”

Hey. He’s squeezing. Turnabout’s fair play as I contract my inner walls, strangling his cock.

His thrusts are shallow, but I don’t mind. I’m on top for a reason.

I want to ride.

And that’s exactly what I do.