The Making Of A King: The King Duet, Book 1

by N. M. Catalano

  Fucking kisses her.

  I’m so goddamn mad, I can feel my blood pound in my head.

  The Whisper Song by the Ying Yang twins starts blasting through the sound system wired throughout the house. I want to grab Storm by the hand and drag her out of here, kicking and screaming, before the fuckers start with beating the puss up, and all I can see in my head is Preston’s goddamn smirk telling her ‘Wait til you see my dick.’ Over my dead and cold fucking body.

  Max slaps me on the back and laughs, “She works for you? Dude, that’s excellent,” because he’s a nice fucking guy like that.

  Finally, fucking finally, she turns her head slowly to face me. Her expression is almost devoid of any emotion, but I know her. I can read everything going on inside that pretty head of hers, like how she was both appalled and turned on when I opened Caroline’s door. I bet she couldn’t stop the images from repeating in her mind of us fucking, while wondering what my cock looked like. She’s still pissed at me for that. I’m not sure if this is her getting back at me, but I’m going to stop this shit with Preston right now. “Still being a psycho?” she asks, because she gives zero fucks that I’m a dick.

  “Still stupid I see,” I grind out through clenched teeth, because she’s here with the guy who’s trying to make fucking an Olympic sport. The fact she has the ability to elicit any reaction from me, and she’s wearing contacts for this tool, pisses me off even more.

  I take a step closer to her, not giving a shit that she’s here with a friend of mine.

  It’s because she’s here WITH that friend of mine.

  My gaze slides to Preston. “What the fuck is wrong with you bringing her here?” Because, you low life mother fucker, she’s mine.

  I know I’m acting like the psycho she calls me, but I can’t stop. He knew. She fucking knew. And yet, here they are looking like an Abercrombie & Fitch ad with a Bohemian twist.

  Preston straightens, drops his arm from around Evelyn, and gets in my face. I want to lay his ass out right here on Max’s travertine floor. “Listen, dickbag, it’s none of your fucking business who I bring, who I’m with,” he inches his face closer, “and what I do with them.” He sneers at me, that cocky fucking grin that says he’s going to be sticking his dick in her the first opportunity he gets. The corner of his mouth kicks up in a victorious smirk. I want to rip his lips off and shove them down his throat. “And it’s you I’ve got to thank for sending her to me.” Then he shoves me.

  Red. All I see is red when I throw the first punch. It lands on the side of his head and buckles his knees, but I don’t stop hammering my fists to his pretty boy privileged face.

  “JESUS CHRIST, LUCAS, STOP!” Evie’s yelling, but the sound of her voice is muffled through my rage.

  With blood pouring from the cut on his lip, Preston grabs me by my shirt and head butts me, momentarily dazing me, then brings his knee up and makes contact with my balls.

  “MOTHER FUCKING PUSSY,” I snarl trying to keep from collapsing to the floor, because that hurt like a bitch!

  “All’s fair, bro!” Preston laughs, because that was almost as much of a dick move as bringing Evelyn here.

  “WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” Max is between us trying to push us apart. The baller’s have surrounded us, some of them have got my arms pinned behind me, others are holding Preston back, but both of us are still coming at each other.

  “Not fucking cool, Preston,” I growl at him.

  “Not your fucking concern,” he’s got the audacity to laugh in my face. “She can go wherever she wants; with whomever she wants. And that’s here. With me.”

  I glare at him, biting back all the shit I want to say. Why? Because she’s mine, and you can’t fucking stand it? But I can’t say any of that, not one goddamn word, because none of it matters. Not to him.

  “Luke, not cool, man.” Max looks from me to Preston. “Whatever the fuck is going on here is some twisted shit. Cut it off right the fuck now.”

  Too late.

  Preston’s mocking me with his glare, like he knows, but doesn’t care. Or that’s why he brought her here with him, to rub my face in it, and gloat.

  “Let me go,” I shake off the muscle heads. Then lock eyes with Evelyn.

  Pain and humiliation are bleeding from her eyes, but her mouth is set in a hard, angry line.

  “Fuck this shit,” I spit out as I grab the bottle of vodka from the wet bar and leave.

  Everyone moves out of my way as I cut through them like a weapon of mass destruction, ready to blow this mother fucking place up.

  I head to the back patio that overlooks the swimming pool and cabana where the party pours out to. The girls have tiny triangles of gold and silver and every other color swimsuit on that barely cover their tits and twats. Some guys are perched on the sides with their feet dangling in the water and a head bobbing up and down on their laps. I don’t even see them as I move toward the beach and to the bon fire. The liquor burns as I swallow long pulls straight from the bottle with the image of Storm and Preston burned into my head. And that fuckers face smirking at me.

  There’s a long stretch of dunes between the estate and the beach with a path that cuts through it. I can hear giggling and laughing in the darkness inside the foliage, couples getting their freak on.

  “Fuck it,” I mumble as I step onto the beach.

  There’s a large crowd down here as well, bodies rubbing, dancing, humping all over the place, some of them in the water, some standing, others laying, but it’s packed.

  “Hey Lucas!” some girl in a bikini greets me.

  I scan her face and try to place her, or at least remember anything bad about her. Nothing says ‘Stay the fuck away,’ so I snake an arm around her waist because she’s as good a distraction as any. “Nice tits. Can I see them?”

  Her face lights up because she thinks she just won the jackpot tonight, assuming I’m going to fuck her. The jury’s still out on that.

  “Sure,” she grins and pulls down her top so her breasts pop out.

  “Play with them,” I hiss, because, honestly, I have absolutely no interest in this chick. Or her tits.

  She’s a good little girl and does what I ask without hesitation. And zero self-respect. I want to push her aside and yell at her to stop giving her shit away. But what’s the point? If she’s so eager to throw her pussy at me, who am I to argue? I tell myself to enjoy the small gifts, like this chick, because I fight for every other goddamn thing in my life. But this shit? It feels empty.

  The one thing burning a hole in my chest and exploding in my brain is up at the house with a piece of shit who could give two fucks about her tomorrow. He’s doing this to fuck with me.

  She’s mine, he fucking knows it.

  It doesn’t matter that the only thing I want her for is to destroy her. It makes no difference the sole reason I sent her to his house was to show him she belongs to me, mine to fuck with, mine to torment. Mine to use any way I please. Only me.

  I turn the now half empty bottle up for another long drink. I’m feeling the alcohol because I’m starting to sway on my feet when I hear Storm’s voice over the sound of the waves and the out of control teenagers.

  “LUCAS KING, I want to talk to you!”

  She knows! She fucking knows she belongs to me!

  A sly grin spreads across my face, but Evelyn can’t see it because my back is to her.

  I’m going to make you pay for coming here with him, Storm. You asked for it.

  “Tilt back,” I tell the chick on my arm playing with her tits. When she does, I pour the vodka all over her breasts. Then I bend down and lick it off, sucking each nipple into my mouth as I do. While turning so Storm can see exactly what I’m doing.

  I know she’s right there, I feel her before I hear her.

  “You’re such a disgusting pig. A psycho. Do you know that?” the sound of her fury is like a soothing balm to my sick soul.

  I turn my body to face hers. Her eyes slide from me to the tits on my arm. “Wha
t the fuck do you want, Storm? I’m busy.”

  I watch the different emotions blur across her face. Anger, confusion, all mixed together with hesitation, debating whether she should turn and leave, or finish what she came after me for.

  She clamps her arms across her chest, pushing her tits together in that body hugging shirt of hers. I imagine sucking them just like I did Miss No Name, only this time I actually want to.

  “Would you like to tell me what the hell that was all about?”

  “No.” Because I don’t. I don’t owe her a thing.

  “Really? Because it looked like you going bat shit crazy because I’m here.”

  No. It was me going bat shit crazy because you’re here with him.

  I release the bimbo and shove her away as I take a step closer to the raging storm in front of me. Somewhere in the roar of the party I hear Tits McGee make some stupid sound, but she’s insignificant and whatever she has to say doesn’t fucking matter. “Don’t flatter yourself. It makes no difference to me that you’re here.” What’s completely fucked up is that you’re with him.

  She takes a step toward me as well, the space between us evaporating. “It certainly didn’t look like it didn’t matter to you. Is getting into fights at parties with your friends something you do often?”

  I let out a chuckle. “When are you going to stop being stupid, Storm?”

  I see the hurt flash in her eyes.

  “Why do you hate me so much, Lucas?” and it’s there in her voice.

  That strange feeling in my chest sucker punches me from the inside. Because you know my secret.

  Over Storm’s shoulder, I see Preston emerging from the path between the dunes. He’s looking for her.

  Son of a bitch.

  “Come on,” I grab her hand and start walking the other way.

  “What are you doing?” she tries to tug free. Not hard, but she makes a poor attempt.

  That’s right, you’re coming with me before that douche sees us.

  I know he won’t stop. And I know I do not want her going back to him. He’ll fuck her just for revenge, pissed off because she came looking for me.

  I lead her onto another path down the beach, dark and devoid of any inebriated teenagers. “You’re taking me home,” the piss poor excuse pours from my mouth.

  “Are you out of your mind?!” she exclaims, but she continues following behind me.

  I’ve still got a chokehold on the bottle of vodka, so I hold it up. “I’ve been drinking. A lot. You’re my designated driver.” It sounds like a perfectly logical reason.

  “Oh my God, Lucas…”

  “Just Lucas. You can call me God later,” I must be drunk because I snort out a laugh. That shit was funny.

  “I can’t just leave,” she argues. But she’s still not fighting me.

  The path spits us out near the front of Max’s estate. I stop short, and she almost runs into me. I face her. It’s show time. “You want to stay, then stay. I’m leaving.” Because she has to come with me because she wants to, not because I’m forcing her to. The choice has to be hers. Just like it was her choice coming here with that fuckface.

  Our eyes battle. I can see the war she’s having with herself in her eyes. I eat it up because I put it there, and it tastes fucking delicious.

  “Fine. Give me your keys,” she finally gives in.

  I don’t say a word, I show no reaction, as I fish my key from my pocket and place it on her open palm.

  Because she’s leaving with me.

  I’m going to fuck her, and she’s going to let me. I’ll use her up, then dump her, because this chick is starting to get to me. She’s a goddamn complication, and I hate complications.

  She’ll most likely hate herself tomorrow, but I’m a selfish prick. I don’t give a fuck.

  CHAPTER 8

  Not one word was said the entire ride to my place.

  I didn’t give her directions. I damn sure didn’t apologize for making her leave, because I didn’t. She left of her own free will. I gave her a choice, and she made it. The right one. When we got in the car, her in the driver’s seat, me on the passenger side, I’d taken her phone and programed my address into her GPS. Then I pulled out a joint and lit it, not giving a rat’s ass if the cops stopped us. I’d left the booze on Max’s front steps for the next poor slob who needed to get shit faced. I’d had enough of it. I didn’t want to get sloppy drunk. Not tonight. Not with her.

  For a fraction of a second, I thought about what her reaction was going to be when she saw my place. Then I smashed it, because, why? It was mine. I’d busted my ass to get it. No one helped me, and no one damn sure made it easy. I knew two years ago I was never going back to the place I’d come from; I’d planned it for years. I did anything I had to, short of killing someone, because nothing was going to stop me. I had no choice.

  Storm doesn’t ask me where we’re going when the directions lead us over the bridge to the mainland. She doesn’t say anything when she pulls onto a gravel driveway off a quiet road. She’s nervous, she has been since she got in the car. I watched her from the corner of my eye as the smoke curled from my nostrils and the broken lines of the road flashed by. She chewed her lip as her brows furrowed, then shot up, as the silent argument she was having with herself waged on. Whatever was happening in her head, she lost because I won.

  At the end of the long drive that leads to a simple two story house is a double garage with a tiny apartment above it. The place where I live. Wordlessly, she turns off the ignition. I still don’t look at her as I open the door, get out, and climb the stairs. She’s behind me, I can feel her heat through my clothes even though she’s two feet away. It’s the same feeling every time she’s near. She follows me because she has no choice. Just like I didn’t have a choice when I showed my ass at the party. There’s something loud and alive thrashing between us, angry and full of so much fucking energy. I don’t like it. That’s why we’re here, so I can face this fucking thing. To make it stop.

  I walk into the apartment and keep going toward the sofa. There’s one light on, I always leave it on because old habits never die. For the two seconds I stand with my back turned toward the door listening for her to enter, I imagine what she must see. The small room with modest furniture, the bare necessities that hardly suggest the place is occupied, and the almost obsessive order of things. I feel like my chest is ripped open and everything inside me is spilling out on the old rug, open and on display, and fucking vulnerable. No one’s ever been here. Not a soul. I’m not ashamed. This place is me, it’s who I really am. The fucked up punk who gave life the finger and dove into battle, fighting for my fucking life. This place is private. I want to keep it that way. Whatever twisted thing Storm and I are, I know I can trust her.

  I hear the door click. That’s when I turn and face her. She’s transfixed like a deer in headlights. She’s scared shitless, and I can’t say I blame her. I would be too, if I were her. I almost laugh. She doesn’t know if she’s here because I want to choke her or fuck her. She’d be right on both accounts.

  She doesn’t flinch when I approach her. She meets my gaze when I grip her chin and tilt her head back, defiant and needy. She makes no sound when I pull off the elastic that’s holding all her wild hair captive. Finally, when my lips crash with hers, when the first lick of that raging energy between is unleashed, she moans. And it’s exactly what I want to fucking hear.

  It’s the spark that ignites the blaze.

  Goddamn. I have to stifle the moan that erupts from my chest when I taste her. She’s sweet and warm and she tastes like cotton candy and sunshine. I slip my hand behind her neck and squeeze, because, Fuck me, she’s the best high I’ve ever had.

  Our bodies inch closer until we’re smashed against each other. This time I growl. The kiss isn’t timid or tentative. It’s raw and angry, it’s everything that’s been simmering between us since the first time we laid eyes on each other. The hand around her neck feeds into her hair and grips it, crushing
her mouth onto mine, demanding from her what I’ve already told her I wanted. Everything. Every goddamn thing. I’m going to ring it from her tonight, every drop, until there’s nothing left.

  Tearing my mouth from hers, I pull off my shirt, wrap my arm around her to pull her close again, and grind my body against hers, wanting to feel her against my skin. As she drags her nails down my bare back, I peel her shirt off. My dick spasms when I see her perfect tits hugged by her lacy pink bra. Of course it’s pink. Innocent. Not for fucking long. I almost groan with the thought. I suck her nipples through the fabric as I open her skirt and push it down her hips. The way her body trembles as the tips of my fingers graze against her skin almost makes me want to come right now. Along with the matching panties.

  Rolling a pointed nipple between my fingers, I unhook her bra with my other hand. Tossing it aside, I grip both her breasts and push them together, needing to taste them at the same time. Her fingernails scrape across my scalp as she gathers my hair and pulls. When she rubs my mouth against her breasts with the grip she has on me, I almost combust. This girl is going to fucking destroy me. Her scent, that scent I didn’t realize I was hungry for, fills my senses as I inhale her. I drag my tongue along her flesh and bury my face at her neck. Then stop.

  Fuck no.

  Preston. I can smell him on her, and it pisses me off.

  I grab her hand and lead her to the bathroom. “Come on.”

  “Wha…,” she stops short when I rip the curtain aside and turn on the shower.

  “In,” I tell her as I shove my shorts and boxers to the floor, my dick so hard, it practically sawed its way through my zipper.

  Her gaze drops to my erection, and she gives me a fleeting reaction of ‘Oh, shit!’ until she remembers I was just being my usual asshole self. “Why?” she plants her hands on her hips, not one fucking bit embarrassed her tits are taunting me.