Monster (King Brothers #1)

by K. D. Elizabeth

  Rory adds her magnificent hands, pumping the base of my length while her other gently massages my balls. And it’s just too much. I pull her away from me before I do something catastrophically mortifying like coming barely one minute into fucking her.

  I bring her to her feet, kissing her harshly and tasting myself on her tongue. “I need to touch you,” I growl, sliding my hands under her shirt so I can lift it over her head. She stands before me in a lacy pink bra the exact color of a peach. The material is sheer, her dark nipples visible through the fabric.

  I drop to my knees, sucking one of those tight nipples through the fabric, a satisfied growl rumbling out of my chest when she moans and weaves her hands through my hair.

  “Jackson … more.” Her voice is the sexiest combination of desire and frustration. I unhook her bra and tear it from her body.

  “Fuck,” I say, unable to look away. She moans in frustration and then begins unbuttoning her jeans. My hands fly to hers. “Don’t you dare.”

  I pick her up and then drop her on the bed, smirking when she rolls her eyes. Her expression dissolves on a low moan a moment later when I undo her jeans and then slowly drag them down her legs, throwing them over my shoulder. She’s left with just her panties that probably match her bra, but I hardly notice because I’m too busy peeling them off her body.

  “Fuck me.”

  “I will, if you’d just—” Rory’s words cut off as I suck her, swirling my tongue over her clit and sliding my fingers inside her. She moans, a high keening sound as she grinds against my mouth.

  “And what about my fingers? Are they larger, too, or have you somehow grown tighter?” Rory emits an unintelligible sound. I smile into her, humming slightly and reveling in the absolutely filthy noise she makes in response.

  “You know, I don’t remember you being quite so audible. That’s a definite improvement.”

  Rory’s fingers dig into my hair and twist harshly. “Quit dicking around and fuck me properly.”

  My hips reflexively thrust against the bed at her words. “And I see you’ve grown a filthy mouth as well.”

  “My mouth’s going to get a lot filthier in a minute if you’re not inside me.”

  As if I could possibly need more encouragement. But, just because I’m a bad boy, instead of complying, I return my mouth to its previous ministrations until she’s moaning and pleading and gasping there hasn’t been anyone in months and that she’s on the Pill and if I could just please fuck her.

  I crawl up her body, taking her face in my hands as I nudge her thighs wider apart and then slowly, so fucking slowly, thrust inside her. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open as I bury myself all the way inside her. We both freeze.

  And now, a full ten years later, I’m finally fucking Rory Larson and it’s more intense, more fucking wonderful than all my tormented nightly fantasies. I withdraw slightly and then thrust again, making us both gasp at the sheer rightness of the movement.

  Rory takes my own face in her hands and smiles. “Jackson,” she says softly, and it’s all she needs to say. All she needs to utter to communicate everything happening between us in this moment.

  My forehead drops to hers as I begin to move, thrusting faster and harder until both of us are gasping and shaking and coming apart in each other’s arms. Rory screams my name and tightens around me. A moment later, I groan, hips jerking erratically as I follow her.

  We lie in each other’s arms, our hearts slowly returning to a normal rhythm, but this time, I know they’re forever synced. This woman has finally fought the monster and tamed it. I’d have it no other way.

  Epilogue

  Rory

  One year later

  “Do you have the cake?”

  I roll my eyes. “I spent about three hours yesterday making it, but, oh yes, you know, I did forget to put it in the car. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to turn around.”

  Jackson gives me a withering glare from the driver’s seat. I smirk in satisfaction. It’s my general principle to keep him on his toes whenever possible. Keeps him honest—and me thoroughly fucked on a frequent basis.

  “There goes that mouth of yours again. One of these days I’m going to have to do something about that.”

  I just wink at him. “You keep telling yourself that. You love my mouth.”

  Jackson focuses on my mouth for so long I worry he’s forgotten he’s currently driving. Thankfully, a second later, Jackson smirks and turns back to the road.

  And there’s just such a self-satisfied look on his face that I know he’s up to something especially naughty. “What?”

  He shrugs casually, but there’s an undercurrent to the movement, that indescribable feeling of a predator lying in wait for his prey. “Oh, nothing.”

  “Come on, now. Don’t be mysterious.”

  “You get off on my mysteriousness.”

  “I do not!”

  “And you keep telling yourself that, peach. But if you absolutely must know, I’m thinking about that leftover icing we left in the fridge and how I’m going to use it to punish that mouth of yours later.”

  I laugh. “What, are you going to spread it over my lips and make me wait for you to lick the frosting off them?”

  “No,” he says, throwing me an evil glance. “I’m going to spread it all over my body, and make you wait to lick it off.”

  Hell yes, am I going to lick this man right up. My eyes travel down his body, mentally cataloguing where I intend to taste that frosting later, but I refrain from answering, just to needle him.

  Sure enough, it takes about two seconds before Jackson squirms in his seat. By ten, he’s throwing me another sideways glance, and saying, “Or is that too much for you? You just let me know if I’m ever too hot for you to handle, peach.”

  Jackson has not and will never be too hot for me to handle; I enjoy getting scorched by him just fine. Like now, whenever he gets suggestive, I can’t help playing with the fire.

  I lean across the seat, trailing my lips up his neck until they arrive at his ear. “Oh, that’s very much inside my ability to handle. In fact, I’ve already made my list of places I plan to lick later, starting with here—” I lightly kiss the skin just below his ear, my teeth grazing him with just the right pressure I know he enjoys, “and proceeding to that glorious chest of yours … down every inch of your stomach …” I run a hand suggestively up his thigh. “Who knows? Maybe, if you’re a very good boy today, I might even end up a little lower.”

  Jackson unleashes a truly impressive string of curses, his voice gravelly and out of breath. I return to my side of the vehicle, satisfied I adequately reminded him that I can arouse him just as thoroughly as he can me.

  Suddenly, Jackson whips the car around and starts barreling back the way we came.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re going home.”

  For a moment, I’m too distracted by that significant word to process the rest of his sentence. Jackson and I have been living together for only six months; it’s still surreal we’ve actually mixed our lives together. Fortunately, it didn’t require much effort on my part, since, after the sale was finalized, Axel asked me to stay on and run the old Larson part of the now-merged property. It ensured a smooth transition, although there were definitely a few bumps immediately following the sale.

  But that’s a story for another time.

  My siblings have flourished with the influx of cash that’s funding their dreams. Sometimes I still can’t believe how well they’re doing. My parents would be proud. I know I am.

  But more than anything, this relationship with Jackson, our own second chance, is the most startling of all. It’s amazing how easily people can fall back into loving each other, being with each other. Some days, I have to remind myself it hasn’t been like this for years. It feels like years we’ve been together. Maybe we never really stopped.

  Of course, nothing important is truly easy. We’re both still healing from the wounds we inflicted o
n each other. For a while, I had to wonder if the only thing we could really be good at was red-hot sex.

  But I was wrong. After only three months of dating, Jackson began asking me to move in with him. It took another three for him to finally convince me, although, in the end, he did the moving, not me. Now, after half a year of domestic bliss—his words—the idea that home for Jackson is my home, wherever I might be, hits me harder than any words, any desire, ever could.

  And while I love that fact, we really do have to go to this party. “We can’t go home; Axel will be pissed if we’re late.”

  “You and I both know that if no one actually showed up to this party, Axel would actually be happier. He’d rather be doing something else with someone else. It won’t make one bit of difference if we show up a little late. Besides, we were heading over there early to help set up. We live right next to each other. They can wait. The frosting can’t.”

  I snort. Jackson can never wait when it comes to sex. Within only a matter of weeks, I learned just how much he enjoys screwing in virtually any place and at any time.

  Fortunately for him, I’m an adventurous woman.

  Jackson barely throws the car in park at our house when he drags me across the seat so that I’m straddling his waist. He buries his hands in my hair as he drags my mouth to his, kissing me with a ferocity that makes me moan in delight.

  I don’t think we’re even going to make it to the frosting at this point.

  Jackson trails a hand down my body, sliding under the skirt of my dress and pushing my panties aside so he can plunge his fingers inside me. I grind against his hand, reveling in how he can touch me just so to quickly send me over the edge.

  He makes a strangled noise as I mold my body against him. I love eliciting those little sounds from him, like he always loses control from my touch.

  We’re so lost in the taste of each other that when the phone rings, we don’t immediately hear it. Then it rings again, the shrill noise echoing loudly in the rapidly fogging car. I tear my mouth away as Jackson growls in irritation.

  “You should answer it. Axel might need us to bring something extra for the party.”

  Jackson makes a face even as he starts pulling his phone out of his pocket. “You know he’s got help for that. He doesn’t need to be asking us for anything anymore.”

  That’s certainly true. But then Jackson answers the phone and his eyes slowly widen. It isn’t his brother on the line.

  “Cory? Why are you … Really? You did? Damn. Well, thanks, man. Look, I’m kind of in the middle of … Say that again and I’ll beat the shit out of you … Yeah, she is great in bed, dickhead, but it’s none of your damn business … Okay, bye.”

  When he hangs up, he stares at his phone for a long moment before turning his gaze to mine. I raise an eyebrow at him in question.

  “That was Cory.”

  “Yeah, I gathered.”

  “It’s just that … You’re never gonna believe this, but he finally figured out who took those photos.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s been a year since I asked him. To be honest, I haven’t cared about the whole thing in months, but Corey’s always had my back. I guess he kept asking around. But when you hear who’s responsible, you’ll know why it took so long.”

  “Okay, so who was it?”

  “The fraternity’s house cleaner.” Jackson stares at me, eyes wide with surprise and even a little boyish excitement.

  I gape at him. “Really? Is he sure? How?”

  “The sorority girls at Kappa paid her. Apparently, years before we ever went to college, they found out who cleaned our frat house and arranged it because the cleaner could come and go unnoticed. The perfect cover. Whenever they found out that one of the pledges would be having a girl over, they’d tell her, and the next time she went to clean the guy’s room, she’d set up a hidden camera. It’s my understanding they paid her pretty well. This went on for years.”

  “That’s … really disgusting.”

  “Yeah, terrible.”

  “I’m pretty sure that violates any number of recording laws.”

  “That’s the thing. Cory had to track down his old college girlfriend and pester her until she admitted who was behind the whole thing. So Cory called the university. Get this. They’re still doing it.”

  “No!”

  “Yep. Both of them. My frat is sleeping with the girls, and the girls are still recording it. How fucked up is that? Of course, now they don’t need the cleaner to do it. Apparently, they just use their phones.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah. After Cory’s tip, the school investigated. While they can’t prevent people from using Snapchat, all the physical books have been destroyed and both the sorority and frat put on a four-semester probation. My pictures are finally gone.”

  “I’m so glad. I hate that that happened to you. I know I keep saying it, but I just can’t get over the fact that anyone could think it’s okay to violate anyone’s privacy like that. It’s sick.”

  Jackson pulls me toward him and places a soft kiss on my lips. “And that’s why I love you.” I gasp, because while we’ve been living together for months, we’ve never quite managed to say those three little words. Jackson grins at me. “What, did you somehow not realize? Did you think that I would just move in with any old woman?”

  “No, but …”

  “Rory, you are the kindest, most caring, yet sassy woman I’ve ever had the honor of knowing. Even when it hurt you, infuriated you, you still took the time to figure out who had taken those photos after I said I had no idea they existed. Even though you thought I was lying to you, you still sought out the truth. You knew, deep down, that I had been unaware of them. And that’s why I love you. Your selflessness and desire to care for the people you love most, even if it means putting yourself second, is why I will never stop loving you, for all the days of our lives.”

  Tears spring to my eyes, because while he’s a filthy monster, Jackson has always had a way with words. And so, because words have never really been my strong point, I kiss him with all the feeling I hold in my heart, then say, “I love you too.”

  Jackson smiles the boyish smile of a man who knows he’s gotten everything he wants. “Let’s go find that frosting.”

  And so I follow him into the house, the place of my childhood and the home of my future.

  The End!

  Trouble at King Farm isn’t over yet. Here’s a steeeeamy preview of book two, Axel’s office romance!

  Andrea laughs a startled, disbelieving laugh. “I can’t believe this. You’re jealous!”

  I scoff. “You’ve gone off the deep end.”

  “You are so jealous right now. You, Mr. I-don’t-need-no-one-and-no-thing, are jealous of the fact that I came here with your little brother.”

  She’s definitely laughing now. Laughing at me. It pisses me the hell off, because I know, deep down, she’s right.

  “Yeah, well, when you look like—” my mouth snaps shut before I finish the sentence, a sentence that’ll get me into all sorts of trouble.

  “When I look like what?” Andrea repeats again from earlier today. Her eyes twinkle up at me; she’s not even attempting to hide how much she’s enjoying this.

  Fine. She asked for it. When I know I’ve got her full attention, I trail my eyes suggestively down her curvy little body. My gaze snaps back to hers. Her eyes widen.

  “When you look that fucking good.”

  “Axel—”

  I kiss her. There’s pretty much no other option at this point. We’ve danced around this all day long. I’m the kind of man who acts on what I want.

  And I want to fuck her senseless.

  I don’t just kiss her. I grab that ass that’s tempted me for hours and haul her off the ground. Andrea moans and grabs my shoulders in surprise.

  I wrap her legs around me, her heels digging into my ass exactly like I imagined. I jerk up her dress, my hands seeking the curves I’ve been fantasiz
ing about ever since she sashayed onto the farm today in that dress. Christ, she fits perfectly in my grip.

  Andrea plasters herself against me, nibbling on my lip until I open for her. She tastes like wine and woman. Softness. Temptation. I want to sink entirely into that taste.

  I press her into the door, freeing my hands to roam over her curves. In seconds, I’ll be balls-deep inside her. Andrea grinds against me, my cock hard against her stomach. Her fingers plow into my hair, nails scraping my skull. Fuck, she’s hot. My little nerd of an accountant is a wild woman. I’m going to screw her right here against this door, until she can’t remember her own name.

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