Page 23 of Trained Royal
“They’re all doing well. Juliet is pregnant again.”
Patrick bit back his retort about bringing another child into such a shit family. Instead, smiling and congratulating him. “When’s the lucky day?”
“10 March.” Charles smirked, and Patrick’s hands trembled.
“I’m sure the kids are looking forward to having a brother or sister as much as you’ll be happy for another child.”
Charles crossed his arms over his chest. “Mother and Father are over the moon.”
Patrick wasn’t surprised. More brains to corrupt. “I’m sure they are.” He nodded to the door. “It’s time for me to go. Have a good evening, Charles.”
Charles stared at him, unmoving, then he flicked his gaze to Patrick’s right and sneered before stepping aside. “You, too.”
Patrick opened the door and strode into the conversation area, not stopping until he was through reception and in the Monitor’s changing room. Then he sat on the bench and dropped his head between his knees. How could such an evil person act like he cared about his family? It wasn’t that long ago that Charles held a locked and cocked gun at Christian’s head and threatened to end his life. Patrick couldn’t understand how the two sides could work together.
Kieren settled beside him, his legs bracketing Patrick, and pulled him sideways against his chest. The arms were just what he needed when his hold was fraying, but he needed to get out of the club before that hold disintegrated completely. He pulled free from Kieren and opened his locker, yanking his shirt over his head and his trousers down his legs. He quickly dressed in the clothes he had worn to arrive and grabbed his belongings. Kieren reached past him to get his things, then they were out of there.
They signed out at reception, Clarice giving them a small smile, and headed for the car.
“Give me the keys,” Kieren said, and Patrick handed them over without complaint. He wasn’t in any state to drive.
He stared out of the window on the journey home, his chin resting on his hand. Something was going on with Charles, and it had nothing to do with the new baby. Patrick’s instincts were flaring, but he couldn’t figure out what was prickling at him. He ran through his conversation with Charles again, but nothing stood out.
“What’s wrong?” Kieren asked as they pulled into Bagshot Park.
“I don’t know,” Patrick said, distracted.
When Kieren parked the car, Patrick climbed out and headed straight indoors. He needed his music.
“Patrick.” He continued on his way. “Patrick!”
Patrick whirled around. “What?” He glared at Kieren, unable to temper his expression right then.
“Make sure you rest,” Kieren said, pivoting away and striding down the hallway.
Kieren turned the corner, then Patrick closed his eyes and shook his head. How he had ever been given such a nice guy as a bodyguard, he’d never know. He didn’t deserve it with how he treated the man sometimes.
His music room calmed him the moment he shut himself inside it. He paused with his back against the door, looking at his instruments, deciding which would be the best for him to expel the feelings inside him. He hadn’t played his flute or clarinet lately, but they weren’t what he needed. Neither was his violin. He aimed for his piano, sitting on the stool and lifting the lid.
He rested his fingers against the keys, closed his eyes and inhaled. As he exhaled, his fingers began moving, but what came out wasn’t the riot of noise Patrick had been expecting. Instead, tears sprung to his eyes as a melody with peaks and troughs filled the room. The peaks flew higher than the tallest tree, full of lightness and freedom, and the troughs filled with weights and darkness. With each peak, his mood improved, but with each trough, it fell. A never-ending cycle that seemingly wouldn’t end.
But end, it did. As the last note drifted away, Patrick lowered the lid and left the room, eyes locked on the floor. By the time he reached his rooms, his body was a ball of tension, all the work Kieren had done to loosen his muscles after his scene at the club gone to waste.
He showered off the sweat, pretending the tears were just water droplets trickling down his face, then dried off and climbed into bed. As he stared at the ornately decorated ceiling, he did the only other thing he could think of to distract himself from what was trying to escape his control—he wrapped his hand around his cock. His eyelids fluttered closed as he stroked, his mind taking him back to the room at the club when he was enveloped in Kieren’s arms.
Instead of them leaving the club, he deepened the kiss, licking into Kieren’s mouth as their hands explored. He removed Kieren’s shirt, exposing the tanned, defined abs and chest, and moved his mouth over them. Despite the hardness of the muscles beneath, the skin was soft, with minimal hair, unlike his own. When he reached Kieren’s waistband, he glanced up at the man’s burning gaze, smiling and unfastening the button and lowering the zip on his trousers. Kieren shifted his hips, allowing Patrick to pull the trousers down over his hips and freeing his cock.
Patrick licked his lips and grabbed the shaft, bringing it to his mouth. He laved the head, moaning at the taste of him. He sucked, wanting to swallow more of the liquid, then lowered his head, taking Kieren deep into his mouth. Bobbing his head, he used his hand at the base, adding to the sensation. He peered at Kieren, his eyes widening at Kieren’s hands gripping the headboard. The man wasn’t bound, but it gave the idea of it, and Patrick’s arousal rose. He increased his speed, swallowing every time Kieren hit his throat, and within minutes, Kieren’s body locked as his release spurted into Patrick’s mouth at the same time Patrick’s orgasm hit him.
Patrick opened his eyes, chest heaving, the ornate ceiling having not changed to the smooth one of the club. The release had calmed him, but wishing for something he couldn’t have never helped. He cleaned himself up and climbed back into bed, rolling to his side with his hand under his pillow.
Seconds later, he shot up again. “Shit!” He scrambled for his phone and dialled. “Sorry, Freddie,” he said when his cousin answered. “I spoke to Charles today, and something was bugging me. I finally figured out what it was.”
“What?”
“Juliet’s pregnant, and apparently, she’s due on 10 March.”
Freddie stayed silent, and Patrick hoped he’d figure out the connection without him having to explain. “The anniversary of the bomb.”
