The Babysitter

22

𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗘 / 𝗥𝗢𝗬𝗖𝗘

It was going to be a long night.

I was in a club, full of older men. Including ℎ𝑖𝑚. 𝑅𝑜𝑦𝑐𝑒.

As we were walking in that club, all eyes were on us. Young women, and especially older men. Whispering, looking at me, eying me from up till down, looking at me in a different way than Royce would do.

I watched as they eye me from up till down, I watched them as cigar smoke curled through the dimly lit room, adding to the dark atmosphere. All was dressed in black suits as they sipped their whiskey with a quiet confidence that was almost palpable.

And that, all of that made uncomfortable. I was comfortable around him, but not with them.

We were now sitting on a table, full of older men, in their forties and fifties, around them younger women, and some of them who wore bad clothes. And I mean by that, they're only wearing a bra and panties. Damn! That's not good. They shouldn't even be wearing them.

"Cariño," his voice came out raspy, with half of a groan in it. "Stop doing that." He demands.

"Do what?" I turn my head facing him.

"Moving like that," he motioned at me. Oh. Realization hit me.

I was moving on his lap. "I- I- um sorry I didn't know. I was bothering you. i'll get up -"

"No." His hands snaked around my waist, pulling me closer to his chest. My cheeks burned when I saw that everyone saw what he did. "You don't dare move from here." His voice was demanding it made me feel something in my stomach. And weird feelings I couldn't describe or say because they weren't even in innocent places.

I sat on Royce's lap, feeling the warmth of his strong arm wrapped around my waist. His presence was a comforting anchor in this unfamiliar world. The older men around the table, all in their finely tailored suits, cast glances at me and the dancers with polite curiosity, their expressions a mix of amusement and intrigue.

Royce held his cards with confidence that made my heart race. I didn't understand the game, and I didn't know how it played, but I could sense the stakes were high. His fingers idly brushed my side, a gesture that was both reassuring and possessive, sending goosebumps everywhere. I tried to sit still, not wanting to disturb his focus, but every now and then, I couldn't help but fidget.

"Your move," one of the men said to Royce, pushing a stack of chips to the center of the table.

All of the men here were dressed in neat, elegant black suits. But none of them looked as good as Royce did.

Royce's eyes never left the cards as he took a sip of his whiskey, then set the glass down, his focus entirely on the table. "All in," he said, his voice calm and unwavering. He pushed his chips forward with a confident flick of his wrist.

I leaned closer to him, my heart pounding in my chest.

He glanced at me, his eyes softening for just a moment, and then they turned cold again.

The other men studied Royce carefully, their faces inscrutable. One by one, they folded, unable to match his confidence.

The last man sighed, throwing his cards down in defeat. Royce revealed his hand with a smile, and a mix of groans and applause erupted around the table.

I beamed with pride, kissing his cheek impulsively. Oh god. It was unexpected for me to do that, but I wasn't thinking because I was so happy he won.

The rooms tension seemed to melt away, replaced by a warm atmosphere. Royce's arm tightened around me, pulling me closer.