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To keep her from scraping her kneecaps on the rock’s surface, I quickly tear my hands from her, lean back so she doesn’t fall back, and glide my palms underneath.
The move forces her to lean forward.
Her hands land on my shoulders, her chest pressing into mine, her cotton shorts right the fuck against my starving cock.
She wiggles, attempting to climb higher maybe, off hopefully, but neither of those things happen.
What happens is I twitch against her and fuck me, she feels it.
Her head’s fallen near my ear, and the gasp that breaks from her as she feels me jolt against her pussy, has me clenching my muscles.
She doesn’t play into the position like every single other girl I’ve ever fucking met would, but presses her knee into my palm firmer to get her balance. She quickly stands.
Brielle smirks down at me, standing over me all proud and cocky like.
She made it up the rock, all five-foot of her, and she’s damn happy about it, even if she needed help to make it happen in the end.
“Fair warning, little Bishop.”
She glances at me, confusion drawing creases along her forehead.
“Move, or I’m looking up the shorts.”
Her mouth drops open and she hops over with a laugh, but it turns into a sigh as she looks out, able to see beyond the blocking trees near the lower rock. “Wow.”
I nod and push to my feet, staring in the same direction.
“What’s this place called?” she wonders.
“Knight’s Ferry.”
She glances over, her lashes fluttering in full-on mocking motions. “Are you a knight?”
“I’m a soldier, a knight, a fuckin’ hoodlum.” I shrug.
Her head tilts and she pulls her lips in to fight a grin.
“What?”
She lifts a shoulder, her eyes following her hand as she trails it along an overhanging tree limb. “Figured you say something like I’m a king, little Bishop.”
“If I had, your smart-ass would throw back something like only in your dreams, Playboy.”
She giggles. “Do you want to be king? You know, your world’s kind of king?”
“Nah.” I look off, squinting at nothing. “Not the kind you’re thinking, anyway.”
“And what is it I’m thinking?” She shifts closer.
I frown at the hills before us. “Same shit as everyone else.”
Things they’re led to believe at my own hand. Based on the persona I’ve created and created well.
She nods, slipping in front of me, and waits for me to meet her eyes. “And what is that?”
I glare, running my tongue along the backs of my teeth. Everyone thinks it, no reason to keep my mouth shut about it, yeah? So I don’t.
“That I want or need to be the head, in charge or important, all eyes on me front line seen.”
Her lips twitch. “And you don’t?”
I shake my head.
“So, if that’s what me and everyone else assumes, like you said, then what do you mean by you want to be a king, but not the kind we are thinking?”
When I don’t open my mouth, her tone drops.
“What kind of king do you want to be, Royce Brayshaw?”
No.
Nope.
She withdraws, realizing she has no place to ask. That I have no reason to answer, and then she takes another step away and I don’t like it, the distance.
The separation.
So fuck it.
I slide in, closing the gap she put between us and glare down at her.
“You want to know what kind of king I want to be? Fine, I’ll tell you, and then I’ll ruin you if you run around and tell another soul. Got me?”
Swear to God she wants to laugh but fights the shit out of the urge, and nods instead.
I dip down, getting in her face a bit and lay it all out. I give her what others don’t see or understand. What I’ve never admitted to anyone, but know my brothers comprehend. And they should, they’ve already become their kind of king themselves.
“I want to be the guy a girl closes her eyes at night and sees. The one she wakes thinking about ‘cause she wants to fuck me or fuck with me, fight with me. And not because she wants to gain something or prove something, but because I’m all that she can see and she feels blind without me, even if she wishes she didn’t sometimes. I want to be her light and dark and, yeah, sometimes her fucking nightmare. A fucking king in her eyes and she’d be all those things right back, the queen in mine. Of mine.”
My breaths are coming out quicker than expected, and I’m tempted to get her fucked-up so she forgets I said any of that. Tension wraps around my shoulders, and I flex the cords in my neck, waiting for the laugh, the backlash, the fucking foul play to light up her wild, hypnotic eyes.
I get none of that.
This girl... this fucking girl, man.
She smiles, and without a hint of mockery.
