Monster (King Brothers #1)

by K. D. Elizabeth

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Monster Copyright © 2019 by K.D. Elizabeth

  All rights reserved. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission in any form is a theft of the author's intellectual property and not permitted. If you would like permission to use material from the book (except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews), please contact the author at kdewrites@gmail.com. Thank you for supporting indie authors.

  The use of this book is permitted for noncommercial purposes only.

  First Edition: February 2019

  Vivre Libre Media and the author are not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the either the publisher or the author.

  The author is available for speaking events. You may reach out for more information at kdewrites@gmail.com.

  ISBN:

  ISBN-13: (paperback)

  Proofreading: Margarita Martinez

  Cover Design: K.D. Elizabeth

  Print and E-book Formatting: K.D. Elizabeth via Vellum

  Also by K.D. Elizabeth

  Construct My Heart Series

  Miss InstaPrincess

  Miss ManKiller

  The Bright Series

  The Christmas Cadeau

  The Season Bright

  Christmas of White

  The King Brothers

  Monster

  Devil

  Rascal

  About the Author

  K.D. Elizabeth is the author of steamy contemporary romance novels in the small town, holiday, and suspense sub-genres. Before writing full-time, she worked in finance in Boston. She splits her time between New Hampshire and Pennsylvania, is fluent in French, and has traveled to over twenty countries. When not writing, you can find her skiing, scuba diving, traveling (although not this year!), enjoying great food, crocheting, and painting.

  Check out her work here.

  Click the icon below to follow K.D. on the social media platform of your choice.

  Acknowledgments

  This is the first novella in a crazy series!

  Thanks to Margarita for proofreading. It’s great to work with such a professional.

  Here’s another shoutout to the Bookstagram community. I’m terrible with marketing, but y’all make it fun!

  Thanks to everyone who agreed to review this book before it released.

  I wouldn’t be here without my family.

  To all of my readers, thank youuuu. Send me an email with your thoughts!

  With love,

  K.D. Elizabeth

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  I’ve wanted to fuck Rory Larson for twenty-seven years. Okay, fine, I’ve really wanted to fuck her for seventeen, but I’ve wanted her for twenty-seven. More specifically, since I was five and she dumped an entire container of multicolored glitter over my head.

  For a full minute, as I stared through that sparkly film, I was utterly convinced that I’d been turned into a wizard, or an elf, or some other suitably masculine magical creature. But then Rory pointed her little finger at my shimmering face, proclaimed me a glittery monster, and that was that.

  Monsters, after all, are much better than pansy-ass elves. Wizards, too, who can’t get anything done without a fucking wand—although, as I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, my wand is fucking stellar. Grade-A wood, you better believe it.

  But I digress. I should have known that monsters were better. Obviously. But Rory knew. She always knows. This is the girl for me.

  Naturally, I didn’t quite realize this in the immediate aftermath of the glitter incident. Any self-respecting five-year-old boy knows that three-year-old girls are disgusting. I was far too busy chasing the little girls around the classroom, shrieking, “MONSTER! I WILL EAT YOU!” to pay attention to what the universe was telling me—although, even then, I suppose I had a rather considerable preoccupation with eating, nibbling, and tasting women, so you can hardly blame me for being a little too distracted to fully understand the significance of the moment.

  It would take a good ten years for me to realize that Rory Larson was it for me, and another seven of delicious torture before I finally snatched my first and only glorious taste of her. And when that finally, achingly happened, I knew if it wasn’t Rory, it was going to be no one.

  Oh fuck, did I know it. But the thing about Rory is the little witch has a mind of her own. You can talk until you’re blue in the face, but if she disagrees, she disagrees. It’s rather inconvenient, actually.

  How inconvenient? Very. You’ll find out, soon.

  But that doesn’t matter. I’m enacting my evil plan. By the time the week is out, I’m finally going to fuck her and put an end to this unbearable twenty-seven-year itch.

  It’s not going to be easy, though. Mostly because Rory hates me. Loathes me, actually. In all honesty, I don’t deserve it—really—but some people love a grudge, and Rory can hold a grudge more fiercely than anyone else on this planet.

  Sure, she’ll inevitably say that I did something horrible, something irredeemable, that night all those years ago, but that’s just flat-out wrong. I’m completely blameless in the situation.

  Well, maybe not completely blameless, but like eighty-seven percent blameless. You’ll see.

  All you need to know is that I’m finally going to have my wicked, wicked way with her, and it’s going to be fucking great. Fucking fantastic, actually.

  I just need to lure her into my office.

  I know what you’re thinking. “Damn, this guy really is a monster—and not of the glittery variety.” But like I said before, you don’t know the whole story. Maybe I’ll even get into it with you, but I’m not really a man to kiss and tell. I have morals.

  Anyway, the bottom line is that in, oh, thirty seconds from now, Rory is going to stroll right into my office at King Realty, which I own, and the games will finally begin. Well, one game, really. The only one that matters. The game of fucking.

  “Uh, Mr. King? There’s, um, someone here to see you.”

  See? I told you.

  I’d have to be the world’s most unobservant man to miss the uncertainty—no, the fear—in my secretary’s voice. Rory doesn’t just terrify the shit out of me; she frightens everyone. Well, a better word for that would probably be intimidate, but let’s not split hairs.

  “Don’t tell that bastard I’m here, just let me in!”

  Rory’s voice blares through my speaker, and I swear, just the sound of it does funny things to me. Things to my cock, that is, if you couldn’t pick up on that subtext. Just ten words and I’m already a goner.

  Not that I have any intention of letting her know that.

  I don’t even have the time to respond before my office door bangs open. Rory storms into my office as if she owns it, as if she’s been here every day of her life, as if I’m the one who should be asking for admittance.

  I allow myself one brief moment to stare, for my gaze to drop from her dark brown hair, pulled back in a viciously tight bun, then down, down, down her tall, sinfully curvy body to rest, finally, on her fuck-me leather b
oots that look like they could give any man a real kick in the ass. One brief glance, and then I return my gaze to those stupendously brown eyes, the eyes that always remind me of the decadence of rich chocolate cake. I school my expression into one of neutrality.

  “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rory snarls. She doesn’t bother explaining further. Frankly, it’s unnecessary, anyway. I already know what I’ve done, because if I hadn’t, she wouldn’t be here.

  In lieu of answering, I shrug a shoulder carelessly, as if my entire body isn’t tensed, entirely focused on the moment I’ve been anticipating for twenty-seven fucking years. “I already told your agent; the offer is final.”

  “You bastard, you’re deliberately sabotaging this sale. My farm is appraised at $500,000 higher than that offer. Did you really think I’d accept it? You’re deliberately trying to pressure me into giving your client one hell of a sweetheart deal, and it’s just not fucking going to happen.”

  Confession time: she’s right. I did lowball her. Deliberately. Well, not much, anyway. Based on the details I’ve seen, her farm’s not worth more than $1.75 million, and I offered a buck five. I have no clue where she’s getting the two million figure. Whoever gave it to her is out of his mind.

  Sure, my offer was low, but not that low. And I had to do it for two reasons. One, maybe pigs would fly, hell would freeze over, and she’d actually take it. In which case, my client really would get a hell of a good deal. Two—and more importantly—I knew the offer would piss her off so much that she’d do what she just did—come here to confront me in person instead of going through her agent.

  Until now, I haven’t seen Rory, not during the sale of her farm, not for the last ten years—not since that night. And not for lack of trying, either. Our town might be small; its citizens might know everyone’s business, but everyone, right down to the youngest child, knows that Rory Larson doesn’t talk to Jackson King anymore.

  That would be me, in case you need a clue.

  Rory’s hatred of me has become rather legendary in this town, so much so that no one dares meddle in our lives, which really is saying something because there’s nothing people in this town love more than meddling. Hell, I’d be all for it if I thought they’d be successful. After all, we’ve already established that I want to fuck her.

  But Rory would never fall for such tactics. She’s too smart. Too wily. The only way she’d ever confront me face to face is if I did something so fucking stupid she just couldn’t resist tearing me a new asshole.

  Something stupid like a ridiculously lowballed offer, perhaps? Correct.

  Rory’s staring at me like she either wants to shoot me or jump me. The latter is probably wishful thinking, but hell, this confrontation is even more fun than I anticipated, and I’ve only said two sentences, so I’ll chalk it up as a win.

  “I’m doing my job, Rory. You seem to be under the impression that my duty is to get you the best deal. It’s not. I’m here to ensure that my client doesn’t have to pay one damn cent more for your farm than is absolutely necessary. It’s not my problem if that reality pisses you off.”

  Rory stalks forward so she can slam her fists on my desk. She gets in my face, and it’s only by sheer force of will that I don’t haul her across my desk and fuck her right now. Christ, she’s beautiful. I wish I wasn’t so damn attracted to her, wish I could excise this need from my soul. That would make it a thousand times easier for everyone, myself included. But I’ve already tried that, been trying that, and it’s just not happening.

  I need to fuck Rory out of my system, and I need to do it now. Well, maybe not right now. Not where my secretary can hear, although that would also be kind of fun. Soon, though. This bullshit is unbearable.

  “You’re not going to take advantage of me, dick,” she hisses. I take the opportunity to climb to my own feet. Rory may be tall, but I’m six-two. She’s got nothing on me.

  “I gave an offer based on what I believe is the true value of your property. My firm has been supplied with more than enough information for me to arrive at the conclusion that your farm, such as it is, is worth $1.5 million and not a penny more.”

  “That’s such bullshit and you know it. The tax assessor said—”

  “I know what the assessor said, Rory. Sure, the tax people think it’s worth two million. But your property is the second biggest in the county. Of course they’re going to inflate its worth as much as they can. You’re one of the largest taxpayers in the area.

  “What I, however, am interested in is the market value of the property. What someone will actually pay for it. And based on what you’ve given me? My client would have to be a dumb shit to go for anything higher than the price we’ve already offered.”

  Rory’s eyes narrow, her chest heaving as she struggles to keep herself under control. It’s a sight to behold. Glorious. I want nothing more than to lick my way down her neck until she’s panting for another reason.

  “You’ve given me an unfair offer, and you know it.”

  “No one else is even remotely interested in buying your property. Why the hell would we pay full price for it?”

  “Because that’s what it’s worth!” Rory’s voice drops and she leans closer. Her eyes burn my soul, they shine so brightly. Her next words are uttered softly, like she can’t bear to say them. “If you think because of our history, you can screw me again now—”

  And now we’ve finally arrived at it. “Whyever would you think that, Rory? We never actually screwed, after all, right?”

  Rory’s eyes flare before she banks the fire. “I am not discussing that with you. At all.”

  I scoff, doing a damn fine job of quashing the pain, that fucking pain that always rears its ugly little head when I think of that night. “Oh? Because you’re the one who brought it up. Seems to me like you want to have a little chat about that night.”

  “Shut up. I’m not here to discuss that night with you. I’m here because of my farm.”

  “Well then, that’s really too bad, because—”

  My words die when Rory grabs the lapels of my suit and drags me so close I can smell her scent. Peaches and cream. Sweet fuck, she smells wonderful. My mouth waters as my gaze drops to her lips.

  Rory releases me like I’ve branded her. And maybe I have because she sure as fuck just branded me.

  Not that I’ll ever admit that.

  Instead of touching me again, she jabs a finger toward my chest. “You’re coming with me.”

  I still, my entire being focused painfully on that red mouth of hers. Her words, uttered innocently enough, nevertheless instantly elicit another, dirtier image in my mind. I barely, and I mean just barely manage to stifle the groan at the thought of Rory screaming into my mouth, her pussy squeezing my cock as I finally, finally, FINALLY come inside her.

  Rory’s face turns red as she stutters, “T-that’s not what I meant, you fucking perv.”

  “I think that’s exactly what you meant.”

  “What I meant was that you are coming with me back to the farm, and I am going to show you every acre and go over every financial statement until I convince you to change your shitty offer.”

  My body actually locks up at the wave of desire that crashes over me. Never in a million years would I have anticipated such luck.

  Rory wants to lock me in her house alone with her until I cave? Hell fucking yeah!

  Chapter Two

  Of course, my luck doesn’t extend to riding with her in her old, beat-up-but-somehow-still-running pickup truck. I have to follow along behind her in my own. And that’s okay, for now. She’ll need this time to collect herself before I begin my all-out seduction.

  Because I have absolutely zero intention of leaving this farm until I’ve thoroughly tasted every last inch of her.

  Rory drives faster than she should—she always has—but I’m right behind her. Maybe somewhere deep down, she’s just as excited for this confrontation as I am. That’s probably more wishful thinking. Nev
ertheless, I ride her tail until we’re twisting up the long and winding drive to Larson Farm.

  It’s been years since I’ve been here. I used to come all the time when we were kids. After all, the King farm is right next door—the only farm larger than the Larson’s in the entire county. The same farm our family still owns, although my brother, Axel, runs it now instead of my father, who’s now passed.

  Axel’s my client, the one who wants to buy Rory’s farm, so he can double the yield of our own peach farm. By some wonderful twist of fate, Rory doesn’t seem to have put this together yet, and I am A-fucking-okay with that. Something tells me if she finds out I lowballed her for my brother, she’ll shoot me faster than Annie Oakley and bury my body somewhere on her property where I’ll never be found for the rest of time.

  Might be worth it, though, if she gives me another fierce tongue-lashing first.

  I park my truck next to hers. I’d open her door for her, because, believe it or not, I’m from Georgia, and all Georgian men are gentlemen, but by the time my truck’s in park, she’s already thrown her door open and stalked around to my door. Her arms fold across her chest, pushing her breasts up just about to my eye level from where I sit in my vehicle. Tasty.

  Instead of getting out of the truck, I roll my window down and grin at her lasciviously. “If you wanted to have your way with me, peach, you could have just asked. You don’t need to go foisting your tits toward me all tempting-like. I’ve already noticed them.”