Page 13 of Kings & Corruption

Rock’s bathroom was luxe, with a marble walk-in shower, a soaking tub (I admit to being surprised by that; it was hard to imagine him cramming his giant body into any tub, let alone enjoying a soak), a toilet and bidet, and a double vanity, one side of which was stacked with feminine toiletries.

That last part left me with disappointed, which was dumb. I wasn’t interested in romantic entanglements at Aventine, and I was less than interested in a romantic entanglement with one of the Kings.

And if it was possible to be less than less than interested, well, that’s how I felt about Neo, Rock, and Drago.

I was obviously just tired and sex-starved, which made sense given that my last orgasm with anything other than my vibrator had been almost six months earlier, a less-than-satisfying encounter with a fellow traveler I’d met in Berlin.

Mental note: fix that stat, preferably in a non-messy way.

I needed to be clearheaded with Neo and his boys, and Rock was no exception, even though so far he’d been a lot nicer than I’d expected.

Rock didn’t show me any of the other rooms on the third floor. He just pointed to each of the two closed doors, indicating that Neo and Drago were the only other residents, and explained that all the rooms were similar except for their furnishings. Apparently I had an en suite bathroom too, something I hadn’t had time to discover in my rush to leave Neo behind.

The second floor had eight smaller bedrooms with private baths, all of which were assigned to other members of the Kings' house, Matt included. It also had a large, well-equipped gym, sauna, and steam room.

By the time we got to the ground floor, I was coming around to living in the Kings’ house. Sure, it meant being up close and personal with the Kings of Kings, but I was starting to think it might be worth it for all the amenities. I’d just avoid the guys.

How hard could it be?

Rock took me through a posh game room (high-end ping-pong and pool tables, fully stocked bar, couches, big-screen TVs), a guest room, and three more bathrooms, then opened the door to the media room before I had a chance to tell him I’d seen it.

Matt jumped up from his seat, spilling his popcorn for the second time in less than an hour.

“Fuck!” he said before seeing Rock and composing his face into a welcoming smile. “Hey, Rock.”

“I was showing Willa the media room,” Rock said.

“I saw it when I first came in,” I said. “Matt was the only one here.”

Rock scowled and looked around the room, taking in the spilled popcorn and empty beer bottles next to Matt’s seat. “Clean this shit up. Drago will have your head.”

Matt was already moving as Rock shut the door.

“Is Drago a neat freak?” I asked.

“Only in the media room,” Rock said.

We continued into the kitchen, a sea of marble and dark wood that somehow managed to be both modern and inviting. I was surprised to see that the commercial-grade range showed signs of use, its stainless surface marred with dark spots that softened the showroom effect.

Two canvas bags sat on the island, two baguettes and a bunch of celery sticking out of one of them.

“Have a seat,” Rock said. “I picked up some groceries to tide us over.”

I slid onto one of the chairs at the island, not sure whether I was more thrown by the image of Rock grocery shopping or the fact that he’d used the pronounus, like we were roommates by choice or something.

He walked to the designer fridge and removed two beers, uncapped them both, and handed one of them to me.

He took a swig of his beer and studied me. “Are you one of those girls who knows they’re super hot or one of those girls who doesn’t?”

“Uh…”

He snapped with his free hand and pointed at me, then threw back his head and laughed. It was deep and sexy and ran through me like wildfire. “You don’t know!”

I shifted on the chair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say I’m—”

“You’re hot,” he interrupted. “Super hot.” He rubbed the blond scruff at his jawline. His eyes roamed over my face and continued appreciatively down my body. “That face, that body, all that hair…”

I swallowed and realized I was twisting a lock of my blonde hair. It was a nervous habit, and I was hella nervous, both because I hated attention and because my body felt warm all over, like a chicken that had been turning in one of those rotisserie ovens in the grocery store.

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