Page 9 of Kingston
“Fuck that.”
I slick my tongue over my lip. “Think about it, K. We’ve never gone back on our word about anything. So”—I blink hard before meeting his displeased gaze head on—“I guess if you want her out, you’ll have to do shit that will make her get the fuck out.” He’s pissed, but I’ve made up my mind. I really want to see what she’s got, how she’ll get through this. Especially if he decides to really make her time here difficult. I’m bordering on insanely curious about her. Thinking about her upstairs in our house has a surge of excitement flowing through me.
I grit my teeth. I do understand Kingston’s aggravation—though I’m not irritated to the degree he is by allowing her to stay. Like I said, it’s our fucking fault she’s here. Actually, if you want to be really technical, it’s Joel and Zeke who are going to get their asses reamed tomorrow. Some fucking initiate committee they turned out to be. I knew it was a mistake for one of the three of us not to be involved, but it’s too damn late now. What’s done is done.
All that’s left is getting to know our girl.
We stare at each other from opposite sides of the counter for a few moments until Cannon appears, still sans shirt.
“Where’d you lose your shirt?”
Cannon rolls his eyes and gestures toward the second floor with his pointer finger.
My eyes narrow, then it clicks. “Fuckin’ softie. You knew her clothing was on the floor in the living room, and I bet you weren’t at all convinced she’d respond if we came upstairs with her suitcases. Is that it?”
His head bobs once in response, and he breathes in and out a few times while staring down at his hands where he’s planted them on the kitchen island counter, then he jerks his thumb over his shoulder, his signal that he’s taking off.
Kingston lets out a ragged sigh as I hit the fridge for another beer. “I’ll check her backpack for an iPad. Be right back.”
I nod and open the beer, flicking the cap into a bowl on the counter I reserve for that purpose. No clue why I don’t simply put them in the trash.
After Kingston brings me Elliot’s sleek new iPad and leaves me to get to work on it, it takes me only four minutes to guess Elliot’s passcode—1-0-0-3-2-1—which I then use to unlock her phone. Is this a breach of privacy? Eh. Maybe. Okay,yes.But I’m not above using all the resources we have at hand. We weren’t kidding when we said she was our responsibility now. We’ll watch every move she makes. How much we need to invade her privacy is up to her. I laugh internally. And Kingston. After our talk earlier, I’m certain she’s in for a world of hurt. I hope she’s ready. When he gets something in his head, that’s it. Right now, making her pay for invading our inner sanctum is all he can think of.
The first thing I do is turn off her device tracking for her iPad. That way if I snag it to take a peek at her text messages in iMessage, it’ll take her a hot minute to figure out where it is if she notices it missing. Second, I briefly glance through her recent messages. There are a few from her mom and dad—not as many as I would have thought, as I scan through them—then a bunch from some dude named Nick. From the looks of it… maybe an ex-boyfriend. A relationship that went south. It actually looks ugly, but I don’t take more than a few seconds to scan through things. I can check more thoroughly some other time, depending on how long she sticks around. There’s no sense in wasting my time if she skips out and is gone come morning.
With a sigh, I get up from my perch, gather her various devices and her bag, and head upstairs, stopping outside the door. Her belongings are piled outside her room in the hallway. She had to have heard them drop this stuff here. What the hell did Cannon do to make her shut herself in there? Or has this entire day been so much that she simply passed out cold and will wake up in the morning in her underwear? Has she put on the T-shirt Cannon left for her? Is she in there in her panties and bra? On top of the covers or lying under the duvet?
Groaning internally, I shove down the incessant questions racking my brain and locate her backpack, slipping her pilfered iPad back into it, then set her purse on top of the pile.
The instinctual urge to see how she looks when she’s sleeping washes over me. I stand in front of her door for several seconds before I give in. Testing the knob, I find it locked, but these aren’t hard to open. They come with flat keys that fit into the slit in the doorknob. I reach above the door, finding it right where I left it on top of the doorframe. How long will it take her to figure out that we have access to her room anytime we please?
As quietly as I can, I let myself in, shutting the door behind me. I blink a few times, peering into the darkness of her room, my eyes focused on the big bed. There’s a small lump under the bedding, at the center of the mattress. She’s probably about a half foot shorter than I am, and I’m maybe slightly above average height for a guy.
But it’s fucking impossible to see much more than her huddled form at the moment, so I’m forced to wait for my eyes to adjust. After a minute or so, I’m fairly certain she must not be awake, or she’d have said something. I breathe carefully as I cross the room, stopping at the edge of the bed. I can barely make her out, so I prop my hands on the mattress and lean in for a better look.
She’s taken her dark, chocolate-brown hair down from the fancy bun she had it pulled back in earlier, and it’s spread out in luxurious waves over the pillow. It’s long. Longer than I thought. Kingston will like that. He has a thing for women who have hair he can hold onto. Pull, even.
I wet my lips, letting my gaze rove over Elliot’s strong features—high cheekbones, a straight nose, lips that are almost a little too full, and the longest lashes I’ve ever seen. I noticed earlier she has these dark eyes that look like they’re capable of searching deep inside my head and discovering all the shit I don’t want anyone to know about. That’s kind of scary, but also intriguing as hell. I tilt my head to the side and feast my eyes on every involuntary twitch and movement she makes. Every breath she takes, my eyes drink her in. She’s a curiosity. Something new and interesting. Something that will break up the monotony of living in a house of men. But I feel it already—she’s also something we’ll not only have to control in a way, but also watch over.
And I like to watch.
For example, I happen to know K seems to have a preference for fucking from behind. The first time I stumbled upon him and some random chick going at it in the backyard at a party freshman year, I thought nothing of it… but when I continued to observe the same thing over and over again, I started to wonder. To be honest, it’s slightly embarrassing how much thought I’ve given to it, but I still haven’t a clue whether it’s a dominance thing or if he simply likes to bury his cock as deep as possible. Or maybe… he doesn’t care enough about the women he’s with to look them in the eye when he’s inside them.
My breath becomes shallow as a mental image of Kingston winding his hand around Elliot’s hair and slowly pushing his dick into her waiting pussy invades my mental space.
Listening can’t be helped sometimes, either. Cannon doesn’t entertain nearly as many women as Kingston does, but when he has one stay the night, I can’t help but notice how loudly he makes them scream. Kind of ironic since he doesn’t say a word to them. I fucking wonder what he does in there to make them lose it like he does. My mind somersaults again, and my eyes crash shut as I imagine hearing Elliot’s breathy moans through my wall.
Is he going down on her? Fucking her with his tongue? Sucking on her clit?
I groan softly, holding myself back as long as I can, but soon, I can’t help but touch her. I brush a lock of hair from her face and run the backs of my knuckles over her cheek. Soft. She’s so fucking soft.
And I’m so fucking hard.
Desire races through my veins as I withdraw my hand from her face and palm my dick with the same hand, unable to stop the onslaught of salacious images rushing at me like a tidal wave. Fuck, the things I’d like to do to her. A slow burn works its way through me as I imagine Elliot on her knees. For Cannon. For Kingston. Forme.
My lips quirk up on one side, and as need rips through my body, I tear my pants open, shove my hand into my boxer briefs, and pull out my dick. Maybe it’s the alcohol working on me, but I can’t stop. I grasp myself firmly, and my heart throbs in my chest in time with each punishing stroke I deliver. Base to tip, base to tip. Over and over as my eyes caress Elliot’s slumbering form.
In sleep, she stretches a bit, raising her arms over her head, and it reminds me of how she’d looked earlier dancing for us. Her confidence was fake as hell, but goddamn, can she move. Another subtle shift in her position, and I can tell she isn’t wearing Cannon’s shirt. I blink into the dark, my lustful gaze dropping to where the bedding is no longer covering her breasts. I wish I could peel that lacy bra from her, get a really good look at the shape of her curves.
