Monster (King Brothers #1) Page 5

  He didn’t even make them; my mom bought them from the old general store because, even though she could have made fucking stellar red velvet cupcakes herself, she wanted to support her friend’s sister’s daughter, who wanted to be a baker. Griffin rode that pony all the way to lunchtime—the cupcake pony, that is. Not, you know, the daughter.

  Although … hmm. This is a development.

  Griffin shakes his head. “I’m not telling you jack shit. Get the hell out of here. You’re interfering with my mojo.”

  “Your mojo? Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my brother?” I say, flabbergasted.

  Instead of answering, he starts bodily shoving me toward the door. Rory laughs and precedes me, enjoying every second of this familial interaction. I mean, if my brother is suddenly getting a life, I’m all for it. But I obviously still need to tease him about it mercilessly.

  Rory is already waiting at the passenger door when Griffin finally succeeds in shoving me out of his house. I give him a giant salute and tug of my borrowed shirt to remind him he hasn’t entirely won this interaction. He cups his hands over his mouth and yells from the door, “You’re welcome!” then slams it shut.

  Okay, I’ll admit he has a point with that last one.

  Grinning broadly, I unlock the door and come around to lift Rory into the vehicle, who protests as usual. I give zero fucks. Any brother interaction—well, excluding Axel, obviously—puts me in a good mood. And frankly, I’m a stupid shit, which means Rory giving me sass only arouses me further.

  But I’ve come to accept this about myself. I’ve long since integrated it into my psyche. I’m fucking A-plus at self-care, thank you.

  Rory pokes a finger at me as soon as I situate myself into the driver’s seat. “While I’m glad your brother fixed me, I’m still mad at you.”

  I nod affably. “Sure, sure.”

  “And you’re not making me dinner.”

  “Incorrect, but your opinion has been duly noted.”

  “Jackson!”

  “Yeah, peach?”

  “First, stop calling me that. You have no right to call me anything but Miss Larson. Second, you’re a monster. Third, take me home immediately. Fourth, your truck fucking reeks.”

  “You dare to insult my darling Peony, woman!”

  “Oh yes. Of course, the insult to your truck is what you noted. Naturally. Terrible name, by the way.”

  “The only time I’ll ever call you Miss Larson is if we’re acting out a hot-for-teacher role-play. No worries, we can begin right now. I need some special after-school tutoring, Missss Larsssson.”

  “What you need is to get your head checked.”

  “My head is top-notch, thanks. Already did an inspection this morning. My favorite part is my tongue. Would you like a firsthand demonstration?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get to that later.”

  “No, we won’t. Take me home this instant.”

  “With pleasure, but first, a pit stop.”

  “No pit stops!”

  Gleefully ignoring her, I turn into the grocery store and park. Rory launches out of the vehicle before I can lift her out. She always was a fast one. But to my confusion, she doesn’t head for the store, but the road.

  “And where are you going?”

  “I’m walking home! Don’t come back.”

  “Yeah, sure, you’re going to walk eight miles home in the dark.”

  “Worth it to get away from you!”

  I watch her sashay away and enjoy the view for a few moments, because Rory really does have an exceptional ass, then turn to find Mr. Stevens staring open-mouthed at us. Mr. Stevens runs the old general store on Main St., which is more the epicenter of the gossip mill than any kind of store. Perfect.

  I point at him menacingly. “If you or anyone else gives her a ride home, I’ll refuse to sell their house.” I can make this threat, too, because I’m the only realtor in town. And when it comes to Rory, I have zero problem resorting to menacing the rest of the town to fall in line with my seduction plans.

  He says nothing but continues to gape. No matter; this story will be all over town almost instantaneously. In half an hour, everyone will know Jackson King is making dinner for Rory Larson.

  What an excellent start to the weekend. Take that, Griffin.

  I strut on into the grocery store, nodding to the various patrons who also witnessed the confrontation and are now openly staring at me. I head right over to the deli and purchase some big fat fucking steaks, because this is a steak sort of situation, and literally no woman has ever managed to resist my steaks.

  Except the vegan that one time. Christ, what a shitshow. I could have made her a vegan option with, uh, bean curd or something if I’d known! After selecting the biggest, juiciest steaks in the meat section, I snag a couple bottles of red, because seduction and steaks without red wine is for amateurs.

  It should be obvious at this point that I do not reside in the land of amateurs.

  I get some vegetables and shit, because I’m a healthy motherfucker, and am out of there in less than fifteen minutes. I’m well aware that Rory is a fast walker. She’ll be about a mile down the road by now—almost out of town. I have no intention of her walking a single foot without streetlights.

  Someone does a slow-clap while I stroll out of the store. It’s probably the high school kid who rang me up, but I don’t pause to look. I do, however, wave a hand over my shoulder in goodbye, because we all know that this will go down as the day I finally seduce Rory.

  Sure enough, she’s just reaching the outskirts of town when I pull up beside her. She resolutely keeps walking for a few feet without even glancing at me, the sexy little shit.

  “Rory.”

  “Go away.”

  “Rooooory.”

  “I said leave!”

  “You can’t walk eight miles in the dark, Rory.”

  “Someone will give me a ride eventually.”

  “What do you know? I’m available.”

  “Someone else.”

  “I’ve already warned them off, so that’s a no from the town.”

  Rory grinds to a halt and turns to glare at me, hands on her hips. “You did not.”

  I hold up one of the wine bottles and shake it at her. “I have wiiiiine. You always liked Chianti, didn’t you?”

  She shifts on her feet, a mutinous expression on her face. It’s cute as fuck. I want to lick it right off her face, like a Rory-flavored ice-cream cone. Perhaps later.

  Rory’s eyes flick repeatedly from me to the wine. I just grin and continue shaking it at her, because we both already know she’s going to end up in my truck. Finally, she heaves a sigh and climbs in, slamming the door hard behind her with her uninjured hand. We continue down the road in silence.

  “What food did you get?” Rory mumbles after a few minutes of sulking. I grin like I’ve just won fucking Olympic gold.

  “Do you know me so little? Steaks, obviously. We both know you could never get enough of my meat.”

  “Jackson …” Rory says in warning, but I cheerfully ignore it.

  “And, perhaps for dessert, I can finally taste your famous peach.”

  Chapter Eight

  Rory, bless her little heart, gives it one more try when we arrive. She flies out of the vehicle and makes a run for her front door. I follow sedately with the groceries. She actually attempts to barricade me by placing her body in front of the door.

  “Now, Rory, we discussed this.”

  “No, you suffered a delusion, and I’m disabusing you of the insanity. No need for you to continue embarrassing yourself.”

  I chuckle. “Look, I’d love to continue the witty banter for the next couple of hours, but how about we relocate to the kitchen first? You can berate me all you want while I cook. I’ll even let you beat your fists on my chest.”

  “You are monstrously disgusting.”

  “Nope, I’m terribly witty, and you can’t r
esist me.”

  “I most certainly can!”

  Apparently, drastic measures are in order. “Rory, let me put it this way. I’ll even say it slowly to ensure you entirely understand. If you don’t let me through this door, I’m going to kiss you.”

  She reels back into the screen door. “No, you aren’t.”

  I pretend to think about it, scrunching my face up in intense thought. “Hmm … Yeah, I think I will.”

  She throws her hands up. “Don’t—don’t you dare try to kiss me.”

  “Why, Miss Larson, I know I’m naught but a poor schoolboy, but I just can’t seem to resist you. Please put me out of my misery. I ache for the taste of your lips.”

  “Get away, you pathetic excuse for a romance hero!”

  “Oh, I like that. I am very heroic, this is true. Can we do a comparison with your novels? Can I read the sex scenes to you? Better yet, can you read them to me?”

  “I don’t have any romance novels, you nutcase!”

  “Sure, sure. I’m also a pig that can fly. Spoiler alert: I remember how you used to binge them. There’s no way you don’t have some of them still lying around. Now step aside, or else I’ll plunder your lips.”

  “Get. Go on, get out of here. Go back to your lair.” Rory does the same shooing motion that Griffin did only an hour ago.

  “I do not have a lair; I have an abode. Also, that only works on my brothers. And even that’s because they’re physically able to shove me. You, dear Rory, are too dainty.”

  “My Remington says otherwise!”

  I just ignore that little remark. The only hole that’s going to be pierced in either of our bodies is her pussy via my cock.

  “Okay, so a kiss it is.” I take two giant steps. Rory freezes faster than a deer caught in the middle of the road. I lean down, my mouth coming ever so closer—

  “Fine, dinner!” Rory squeals, and shoves me away with surprising force. Huh. Maybe she really could shoo me. Rory takes advantage of my momentary loss of balance to rip open the screen door and escape into the house. She backs away from me, staring. I half expect her to throw up her hands to ward off the evil eye or something.

  Now that’s just hurtful. I’m terribly wholesome.

  I follow after her, sickeningly proud I’ve finally breached her barrier. To the house, of course. Other barriers will definitely be breached later, though, if I can continue making her flush like that. If her face turns such a sexy color when I simply whisper naughty things to her, what the hell is it going to look like when I’m thrusting deep inside her?

  Fucking world-ending, that’s how.

  My eyes scan the kitchen. Rory’s redecorated it; the last time I was in here was during that fateful Thanksgiving party my freshman year at Georgia Tech, when Rory’s parents were still alive, our families hosted each other all the time, and Rory didn’t hate me. All of the cupboards have been painted white, the counter is a giant marble slab, and the appliances are sparkling new.

  “I needed a change after Dad died,” Rory says when she notices my scrutiny.

  “It looks great,” I say because it does. It used to be all dark and musty. Or at least, that’s how I remember it.

  But that’s enough of the decorating bullshit. I’m not here to give a shit about the interior decorating; I’m here to give Rory a foodgasm and then an actual orgasm. Or three. I cozy right on up to her, plopping the food bags on the corner not two inches from her. She makes a face and tries to sidle away, but I follow, because now that I’m finally here again, I hate to be even one unnecessary inch away from her.

  “Ease up a bit, will you?”

  I touch her lightly on the shoulder, my thumb sliding over her bicep, still focused on the grocery bags. “Hey, Rory? Can you get us some glasses? Assuming you want to open the wine now, of course.”

  Rory jumps about a foot in the air at my touch and immediately backs away. “Don’t touch me like that.”

  I glance up from removing the food from the bags. “Like what?”

  She glares at me. “Like we’re familiar.”

  I run my eyes down every inch of my body. “But we are familiar.”

  “No, we’re not!”

  “Rory, I’ve known you since you were three years old. Let’s not be ridiculous.” I take a slow step toward her, grinning when she sucks her lower lip into her mouth and shakes her head slightly. “Besides, people touch each other all the time.”

  “But not like you.”

  I raise an eyebrow and take another step closer. She’s now backed completely up against the counter. “Oh, how interesting. Are you saying that my touch thrills you?”

  “No!”

  “Arouses you?”

  “Definitely not!”

  “Tempts you?”

  She shakes her head fervently.

  I place my hands on the counter on either side of her and then lean all the way down until our faces are just inches away. She’s completely frozen; I don’t think she’s even breathing. I drop my gaze to her lips, so very wishing I could lick them.

  “Rory,” I whisper. Our gazes lock. Hers are wide, the pupils dilated. “Your touch does that to me. Every. Single. Time.”

  The tiniest little moan escapes her. I groan. My lips are descending on hers before I can think to stop myself. She moans again, this time louder as I slide my tongue inside. Sweet fuck, she tastes just like my fantasies, like peaches and cream and sex. Just like she used to. God, I’ve missed that taste. I tilt my head, taking the kiss deeper as I struggle not to ravish her.

  Suddenly, Rory tears her mouth from mine and ducks under my arm. I hang my head between my forearms for a moment, trying to get myself under control, because seriously, what the fuck is with these mixed signals? She was right there with me, licking and moaning and stroking until she literally ran the fuck away.

  I straighten to discover Rory is clear on the other side of the kitchen, face ashen, pointing a shaky finger at me. “Don’t you do that!”

  “Do what?”

  “Seduce me! This is not why you’re here!”

  “Rory,” I say, staring at her with what I hope is enough intensity to convey the truth of what I’m uttering. “I’m hideously attracted to you. I can’t help it.”

  She pales even more, gaze flicking from my mouth to my eyes. Her gaze falls to the floor, and then she turns to a cupboard, opening it to reveal wineglasses as she utters something that sounds suspiciously like “that’s a lie.”

  If what I just did is a lie, then apparently I’m a fucking nutcase, because then this overwhelming urge to bite every inch of her body must be a hallucination. But I’m quite certain I don’t need to get my head checked, despite Rory’s advice to the contrary, so I let it drop for now. We’re going to eat some damn good meat, drink some delicious wine, and then, after we’re all fattened up from a great meal, we can get down to the business of why she hates me.

  And I’m going to get an answer, this time.

  Rory brings the glasses over to the counter and I pass her the bottle as I rake another gaze down her body. “Open this while I start the steaks?” I say, then return to cooking.

  I can feel her staring at me, studying me. Wondering about me. When she keeps staring, I glance over and lick my lips at her wickedly, before turning back to the food. I’ve made this meal so many times I hardly need to think about the cooking. I just replay that kiss, over and over. If I had done something differently, would we be fucking on the counter this very moment? My hands shake thinking about it.

  This desire is beyond pathetic. Fuck, the things I want to do to her. The things I ache for her to do to me. I’m a shambles of lust and confusion. Just when I think she’s finally come around, she turns cold again. It’s exhausting, trying to read her.

  But I’m nothing if not stupid, so I try again, asking for her help with the vegetables, shamelessly wrapping my arms around her to demonstrate exactly how I want her to cut them, my chest flush against her back. She cuts them like a champ, not breakin
g from her intense concentration on the task even when I lower my mouth to her ear and whisper that she tastes like my favorite pie.

  Peach, of course.

  I feel her staring at me when I’m not looking, searching for something I would give her in a heartbeat if only she’d just ask.

  I use every excuse to touch her. A tap on the shoulder when I ask for a wine refill, a squeeze of the hand when I take the blade from her, a nudge of my hips when I need more space on the counter. I do it without looking, without thinking. It just happens, so naturally, like this is any other night, any other dinner, in our lives.

  And every time I do, I feel that stare, that questioning gaze. She’ll ask me, in time. It’s inevitable, now. Before the night is over, we’ll finally clear the air. And whatever it is I’ve done or not done will no longer keep existing between us like so many rotten peaches.

  I let her plate the vegetables, then drop the sizzling steaks next to them, my mouth watering at the smell. I grab the plates and head for the dining room, ignoring Rory’s protests to eat in the kitchen with a simple wink over my shoulder.

  Chapter Nine

  My carefully laid seduction plans immediately go awry because Rory refuses to look at me. We eat in silence. It’s awful. I keep staring at her, but her gaze remains resolutely locked on her plate, determined not to discuss what happened in the kitchen. Or anything, for that matter. Yet another setback.

  “How’s your arm?”

  She nods around another mouthful, swallows. “It’s fine.”

  “You probably shouldn’t take any pain meds with the wine. I should have thought about that before I bought a couple bottles.”

  “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just a scratch. I don’t need the pain meds.”

  “You got twelve stitches, so I disagree it’s just a scratch, but I’m glad it doesn’t hurt.”

  She makes some sort of grunt in acknowledgement. Rory’s just barely refraining from eating like a complete animal, she wants me out of here so quickly. It makes me chew slower, deliberately linger over every savory bite of my deliciously prepared meal, thank you. By the time she’s finished, I’ve only eaten half of my plate.