Page 64 of Watched

He grins, the widest I’ve seen yet. “Fucking hell, baby.”

I swipe the continuing flow of water from my face, trying to not show my nervous laugh. “I, um—I’m sorry. I didn’t really know what I was doing?”

“What do you mean sorry?”

I think he’s taken that as I meant something came over me, and I just wanted to suck him off. I guess I wanted to repay him in some way for last night, but that’s not what I meant. “I just mean I’ve never sucked dick before.”

“My King, always putting others on their knees.” I shake my head and push off his knees to stand. “You did good,” he compliments, hands wrapping around my ankles.

I close my eyes, trying to force away the shame knotting my stomach while pouring body wash on the washcloth.

“I mean it,” he says firmly.

I begin scrubbing my arm. “I know. It obviously wasn’t as good as—”

“Don’t fucking compare them.”

His angry breaths and scowl only make me want to turn away so I’m not forced to look at him. Shame thrashes in my stomach, and I feel vomiting is inevitable.

“What the fuck just happened?” His voice raises as he stands.

I turn away, scrubbing my chest and then stomach until the skin is red and raw.

“Rome,” he presses, trying to spin me.

“Leave,” I order.

“Hell no. What the fuck is happening right now? Please don’t tell me you feel bad because you’re comparing dick sucking skills.”

“It’s not that…Just…” I spin around, the water stinging my raw skin. “I-I can’t do this, whatever this is. I don’t want to. Please, leave.”

His chocolate eyes search mine, displaying just as much hurt. “Baby,” he whispers.

“Now!” I shout, throwing the cloth to the corner and stepping out to snatch a towel from the rack.

Vomit jumps up, burning my chest as I clear my throat and wipe my eyes.

I can’t cry.

Men don’t cry.

Fuck, I’m so weak.

I wrap the towel around my waist, fighting to rid the fiery lump now in my throat, but I jolt when hands grip my shoulders to spin me. Air catapults from my lungs as I’m slammed back against the wall beside the door.

“Talk to me,” he urges.

“No. It’s fine for you to say you don’t want to talk, but you won’t extend me the same courtesy?”

“Fuck, fine… I was kidnapped when I was five.”

My heart drops. “You were what?”

He releases me to step back and lean against the vanity, folding his arms over his still-dripping chest. “My father has many enemies but also allies. My uncle—his brother—was invited to a poker game once. My uncle was smart and could count cards easily. Little did he know, if you beat the house…you don’t leave.” I shake my head, pinching my eyes shut. “Dad found out who killed his brother and put a bullet in them himself. He killed the head of their family, and they wanted retaliation.”

I fold my shaking hands over my chest, dreading the next part.

He clears his throat, speaking nonchalantly, like it’s not his own experiences he’s recounting. “Four months after Dad killed him, Dad was in Paris on business. I was picked up from school by Dad’s security. We stopped near a park, he got into the back seat, and I fought while he chloroformed me. I woke up in a warehouse, strapped to a chair and gagged. I was only five and scared out of my mind. Dad agreed to the ransom immediately and had $500 million ready—he had apparently been in communication with a lower-level associate of the woman who ordered my kidnapping. I’d been there for almost three days and was taken to the restroom. I only knew it was night because there was a row of windows above. That’s when the building was stormed and I was kept in the stall. The man who tried to help me was shot by one of his own members when the door was kicked in. He fell on top of me and was bleeding all over me. I then watched an officer kill the person who shot him. I was un-cuffed, my gag removed, and I was reunited with my parents immediately.”