Ruthless Kings - Laura Lee Page 0,22
“Whatever you say, baby girl.”
“Don’t patronize me, Bent.”
He presses a palm to his chest and gasps. “I would never. I’m just sayin’, if you want to make out with me during the movie, could you maybe pop a mint first?”
I give him my best stink-eye. “Don’t worry, Bentley, my mouth won’t be getting anywhere near yours.”
“We’ll see about that.” He winks.
Kingston reaches over me and smacks Bentley on the back of the head. “Shut up, asshole.”
Bentley rubs the back of his head. “Dick move, bro.”
Kingston narrows his eyes. "Keep your hands to yourself, and we won't have a problem."
Bentley shakes his head and mutters something under his breath.
“Uh, guys,” Ainsley interrupts. “Can you pause the sword fighting so we can watch the movie?”
Kingston gets off the couch and flips the overhead lights off.
“Hey! What’d you do that for?” I ask.
He falls back onto the cushion beside me. “There was a glare on the screen.”
No, there wasn't, but I keep my mouth shut because I'm sick of missing the show. I do my best to focus on the fast cars and man candy on the screen, ignoring the idiots on either side of me. Sadly, I'm only doing a half-assed job because Kingston's woodsy cologne smells way too mouth-watering. I actually sniffed him at one point, but he didn't call me on it if he noticed.
Halfway into the third movie, I get fidgety because I really need to stretch out, but the sectional isn't large enough. It's supposed to seat eight, but the three giant boys and their incessant need to manspread take up a large chunk of space. After several pathetic attempts to rotate my body, I finally give up with a huff.
Kingston leans into my ear. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find a comfortable position.”
“Would lying down help?”
“Probably.” I shrug. “But there’s not enough room to do that.”
“Sure there is,” he insists. “Put your head on my lap and lie down.”
I snort. “I am not putting my head in your lap, Kingston.”
"I wasn't asking you to suck me off, Jazz. I'm just trying to help." His face is illuminated enough to see the heat burning behind his eyes as if he's visualizing me doing exactly that.
Nope, not gonna go there.
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Bent, scoot your ass over,” Kingston demands. “Jazz needs to lie down.”
Bentley smiles. “You can lay on me anytime, Jazzy.”
Kingston pulls the throw pillow out from under his arm and chucks it at Bentley. “She can lay her head on that. On the couch.”
I eye the pillow longingly. “There’s still not enough room.”
Kingston pats his thighs. “Put your head on the damn pillow and throw your legs over my lap.”
“Fine,” I mutter, carefully laying on my side and stretching out. I’d hate to admit it, but this is much more comfortable.
Kingston adjusts the blanket, so it's still covering my body and rests his hands by my ankles. "This PG enough for you?"
The position is perfectly innocuous, but my hormones haven’t gotten the memo.
"Yep." I turn my attention back to the screen where there's a ridiculous, implausible, yet totally awesome chase scene.
Kingston's thumb is rubbing circles right above my ankle, which is becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. Heat is blooming beneath my skin, causing a dull ache between my thighs. I don't know if I'll ever understand this connection he and I share. Kingston's hardly touching me for fuck's sake, but I feel like I'm melting into a puddle of need. It's like there's this inherent bond between us, something that transcends logic. It's even worse now that we've had sex. Knowing what it feels like to have him moving inside of me, the sound he makes when he comes, I’m practically salivating at the thought of doing it again.
But that’s not going to happen, I remind myself. Kingston’s hiding something from me—several somethings—and until I know what that is, I can't possibly consider trusting him, let alone having any relationship with him. Those niggling doubts in my head will never go away while there are so many unknown factors. Why was he so intent on pushing me away at first? Why did he feel it was necessary to bully me, humiliate me, take incriminating pictures of me? God, that in itself should be an unforgivable offense, but oddly, it's the least of my worries.
I want to know what he's hiding about our parents and why he thinks I couldn't handle it. The conversation we overheard between our fathers goes against everything I know about my mom. Sure, she