Page 11 of Kingston
His whisper carries a hint of warning, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he speaks. “Whoring yourself out to us won’t make us go any easier on you, sweet cheeks.”
My hips are pinned to the cold marble by his body. He’s so much bigger than I am, stronger, that I don’t know what to do. My breathing is shallow as my mind races. This is surely an intimidation tactic. Whoring myself out? The fuck I am. “I’m not your slut. Get off me.”
His cock nudges me from behind, nestling right between my ass cheeks. My first instinct is to push backward, but that action elicits a groan from Kingston. His dick is hardening by the second. “No?” He presses forward again. “Maybe if I hadn’t seen a few things, I’d believe you.”
What?But before I can question him, one of his hands disappears from view, only to have him take hold of my hair in his grip and slowly ease my head back against his chest. “We’re about to have a meeting—you, me, Cannon, and Archer. Get some clothes on. Or take them all off. Doesn’t matter to us either way. We’re going over some ground rules with you.” He gives a little grunt as he releases my hair and pushes away from me. “Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind. In which case, I’d be happy to help you take your shit back out to your car now.”
As I turn to face him, my cheeks feel so hot, I know they must be red, a glorious flame of color. Swallowing, I allow my eyes to flick over him. He wears a short-sleeved shirt that stretches tight across his well-muscled chest and shoulders, the armholes barely big enough to fit his huge biceps, and expensive-looking jeans belted around slim hips. My gaze drops ever so slightly to the impressive bulge behind his zipper.
As he watches me study him, he reaches down, palming his apparent monster cock. “This is the problem with a woman within the brotherhood.”
At my frown, he yanks me closer and bends at the waist. His hot breath feathers over my cheek as his hands trail over my exposed thighs, his fingers dancing across the hem of Cannon’s T-shirt. He’s dangerously close to my pussy, causing it to clench as a blaze of heat ripples under my skin everywhere he touches. I bite down on my lower lip, fighting to understand whether what I’m feeling is hate or desire.
“You’re a distraction”—his mouth grazes the side of my neck, cruel words licking my flesh—“and fuck knows, I don’t do distractions. Not even if your pussy is purring at me to lap it up.”
I meet his eyes, my lips parting in indignation as I push forcefully away from him. “Seriously? Have a little control.”
“Don’t worry, baby. You’re about to find out who has all the control in this house.”
EIGHT
KINGSTON
Fuck me,she’s going to cause no end of trouble here, I feel it with every cell in my body. Hell, I already have proof of it. Cannon and Archer have both been in her room with her, doing who the fuck knows what. I’m not one to question anything they want to do—or who—but this is our goddamn initiate. And mixing business with pleasure is never a good idea.
This morning, the brotherhood as a whole is abuzz with talk of her striptease last night and what a fine piece of ass we have in the house. I think half of them think she’s our little pet, like she belongs to the house. Not fucking so. Their attitude toward her presence is case in point as to why the distraction I was referring to earlier is very real.
I find Cannon and Archer in the kitchen, sitting side by side on stools at the large island that spans the length of the room. Cannon, earbuds in as usual, is in the process of wolfing down scrambled eggs while Archer tucks into a bagel with a half inch of cream cheese smeared on top. A giant mug of cream-laden coffee accompanies Archer’s meal, as where Cannon goes for his typical bottle of water and ever-present pile of vitamins and medication.
From the looks of them, neither must have slept very well last night. That’s typical for Archer, whose brain is always going a mile a minute, but not so much for Cannon, he usually sleeps like the dead. It’s past nine o’clock, which is super late for either of them to be having breakfast. We’re generally early risers around here.
Personally, I didn’t even go to bed until after I saw Archer come out of Elliot’s room around three in the morning. I’d been up way too late thinking through things—how to handle having a female in residence, whether the rules for the rest of the house are appropriate for her or if things need to change. I’m not surprised that after a few tumblers of whiskey, I ended the argument with myself by digging my heels in. Tradition is tradition. I’m not changing the way things have been done for nearly a century simply because a girl decided she wanted to insert herself into our legacy. She lied about who she was, so she can take whatever the fuck is coming. What we made her do last night is only the beginning. Wait until I sink my teeth into her. She’ll regret ever showing her face here.
Giving the guys a brief nod, I cross to the coffee maker and pour myself a cup of coffee, then turn to face them, clearing my throat. Cannon pops out one ear bud, eyes trained on me. Dude is always listening to music. “Was the chore list divided up among the initiates?”
I prop my ass against the edge of the counter, brows lifting in question as I take a sip. Chores are the least of what the newbs will deal with. But giving them tasks to complete is meant to show us whether or not they’re dependable. I’ve always felt giving the incoming members duties around the house immediately makes them a part of the brotherhood. Not to mention they take on the grunt work no one else wants to do—taking out the trash, scrubbing bathrooms, mowing our expansive lawn, cleaning the pool, vacuuming, dusting, that sort of thing.
“Yeah. I took care of it this morning and let the others know what Bridger and Taggart need to be doing.” Archer picks up his coffee and downs a gulp before he finishes. “Both groups are out of the house already. Alec said something about taking Bridger to the batting cages today, and Dane said he and Zeke were going for a run with Taggart. They were going to discuss house rules and their responsibilities and such while they were out.”
“Perfect. I’d prefer to have the house to ourselves while we discuss things with Elliot.” I glance from Archer to Cannon, who continues to chow down. Drawing in a breath, I grind out, “Look, before she comes down here, I want you to know I had a word with her this morning.”
Cannon stops eating as Archer voices the question he knows Cannon wants asked, based on the jut of his chin and the narrowing of his eyes. “About what?”
I set my coffee down on the counter and rake my hands through my hair. “I fucking told her I think her pussy in the house is a distraction—one none of us needs.” After a brief pause, I cross my arms over my chest. “And that’s why there’s never been a woman in the brotherhood. Period.”
Cannon rolls his eyes and shrugs. Of course he does. Yet he’s made no comment about how his shirt ended up on Elliot’s body this morning, despite the text I sent him late last night.
Archer wipes a napkin over his mouth, then wets his lips. “I think if she can handle whatever we dish out, we should suck it up and see what she’s made of. She has something to prove. I’m not one to deny a woman equal rights, know what I mean?”
Irritation burns behind my eyeballs. One, that’s not how this brotherhood has ever functioned. And two, fucker doesn’t realize I saw him sneaking out of her room. Of course, he wants her to stay. It’s easy for him to agree to it when he’s been balls deep in her pussy. Same with Cannon. Or had she sucked them off with that sassy, pouty mouth of hers? Or maybe she’d spread her legs and let them feast on her sweet cunt.Fuck.It’s bugging the ever-loving shit out of me that I don’t know. My jaw clenches viciously. “You’re good with the additional rules I texted you about last night?”
Cannon nods his assent without looking at me, but Archer shrugs. “No discussion of last year’s unfortunate events in front of the initiates—that for sure makes sense. And whatever you need to be okay with Elliot staying, we’ll do.”
“Fine, then. It’s on. Follow my lead.”
“Oh, great.” As Elliot enters the room, the sarcasm that’s dripping from her words is also apparent in her expression.
And I’ll be damned if the sight of her doesn’t trip up all three of us. It’s like we’re a bunch of idiots who have lost our mental faculties. It doesn’t help that the teal shirt and dark-wash jeans she wears are both very formfitting, showing off curve after delectable curve. Yeah. She’s fucking dangerous, all right.
