My Royal Surrender

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I’m slinking to the door when the light turns on. I freeze, like a cat caught in the cream.

X, dressed in black athletic wear that makes love to his muscular frame, regards me coolly. My heart accelerates like I’m doing interval training.

“Going somewhere, pet?” he asks.

“You can see that I am,” I snap, embarrassed to be caught scuttling away. Mortified that I needed the comfort of his arms last night. Frustrated that I’m craving his body heat more than my next breath.

“I’ll join you.” Not a question. God, he’s such a cocky man. And damn if I don’t love it.

“Ha.” I roll my eyes, pretending to care less. “Trust me, you can’t keep up. I run six-minute miles when I let loose in the parks.”

“Impressive.” He drops his chin, a hint of a smile tugging the corner of his wide lips. “That’s fast.”

“I know.” I don’t fuck around when I run. I beat the pavement like a horde of zombies are hot on my heels. It’s the only way to get a much-needed endorphin rush, to clear my head of cobwebs.

“I’ll try to keep up.” He kicks back a foot and reaches to squeeze his ankle, pulling his leg in a deep quadriceps stretch.

His pants do nothing to disguise his rock-hard thighs, or the visible bulge.

“You can try.” I force my appraising gaze away and stalk to the hotel door. “But trust me, you’re going to lose.”

“We’ll see about that,” he growls as I march into the hallway.

Our elevator ride is tense. He’s standing three feet away and yet it’s as if I can feel him against me, his touch branding my skin.

He doesn’t look my direction. He says nothing.

I hate him right now. This was meant to be my time. A chance to outrun my demons. And yet now I’ll be truly chased by an actual devil from my past.

I purse my lips into a grim smile. At least I’m going to kick his ass into next Sunday. There’s something delicious about that fact.

We walk through the deserted but sumptuous lobby. Shangri-La is a five-star hotel and spares no expense, from the eight-tiered fountain to the marble columns to the cut-crystal chandeliers. It could be tacky but is more old-world Hollywood glamour. This is the type of hotel couples would pick out for their honeymoons or romantic getaways. Not to crash after spending nights in BDSM dungeons.

I refuse to make eye contact with staff, wondering if any of them recognize me from my nearly naked fishnet look last night.

We step out into London’s early morning and the road is quiet, traffic not yet buzzing to life. Four classic black taxis idle at the hotel cab station, two bellboys in tailored uniforms shoot the breeze by their desk, and an elderly man is walking his beribboned Pomeranian, but otherwise we are the only ones out and about.

I set my GPS watch and reach to where my iPhone is strapped to a running armband.

“Which way are we going?”

“My plan is to hit the main parks... Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, Green Park and St. James Park.” It’s a fun loop and one of my favorite runs in London.

X opens his mouth, but I start my Spotify running playlist and whatever he says is drowned out by Tom Petty’s “Runnin’ Down a Dream.”

Without another word, I take off in a dead sprint. He doesn’t catch up with me until Notting Hill station.

I’m surprised. He’s quicker than I anticipated.

I’ve worked hard to be fast. When it comes to the Order’s comprehensive physical exams, I’ve schooled most of the men in the Asian offices. I don’t bulge with muscles, but I’m strong, my body nothing like a frail model. Instead, I’m compact and confident. I’ve been training for years.

I glance at X, who offers a smug smile.

“Hello,” he mouths.

I can’t wait to wipe that grin off his face. I’ve been going easy. Time to get my motor going. Pumping my arms, I up the pace. He lunges, trying to match me. He’s powerful, built for sprinting, but I’ve trained for endurance. I’ve got a series of ultramarathons under my belt and have conditioned my body to accept and even crave the pain.

Might come in handy in the Lion’s Den, the little devil on my shoulder purrs.

I don’t turn around until I’m passing Royal Albert Hall, sweat slicking the skin in the valley between my breasts.

When I do, the path is empty.

I’ve lost him.

I should want to pump my fist, but instead I’m more aware than ever that I’m alone.

Like usual.

How I prefer.

But I can’t quite tune out the cool wash of disappointment in my belly.

Did I really want X to chase me?

I start running before I answer my question.

If I’m going to survive this mission, it’s critical that I don’t overthink.

All I can do is breathe in and out. And survive.

X

Lora’s fast as the devil. I’ll give her that much. Secondary school may have been decades ago, but she’s stronger than she’s ever been.