by Kendall Ryan
Monster Prick
Copyright © 2015 Kendall Ryan
Cover design by Sara Eirew
Editing by Ellie of LoveNBooks, and Alexandra Fresch
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
About the Book
Over my dead body.
That's what I told Gracie when she informed me of her plan to pick some random guy she met online to get rid of her pesky virginity.
If anyone is touching her, it's going to be me.
I shouldn't even be considering it, but I can't get it out of my head: her, under me, begging me.
* * *
Arrogant. Cocky. Prick.
Those are the words I’d use to describe my older brother’s dangerously handsome best friend.
When he learned of my plan to kick off my white cotton briefs, ditching my good-girl persona once and for all by losing my virginity to the first eligible bachelor I could find, he flipped out. Said over his dead body.
He says if anyone’s going to do it, it’s going to be him.
I hate that I’m even considering his offer.
But I am … I sooo am.
Ever since he suggested it, all I can think about is his cocky smile on those full lips as he’s driving into me.
But if we cross that line … will I ever be able to go back?
Chapter Two
Hudson
Gracie stomps out, heels clacking and chestnut hair swishing. Her face is cute even when it's set in a stubborn scowl. But I suspect she wouldn't appreciate that comment right now.
Maybe I should have stepped in. What could I say, though? As she argued with Hayden, it was all I could do to keep my cool. Just the idea of some random Craigslist schlub pawing at her...she hasn't even picked a guy yet, and I already want to punch him.
I shouldn't let my hormones take control like this. I thought I buried my feelings for Gracie a long time ago. We've known each other since we were both kids. When I became a man—and I realized she was becoming a woman—I did my best to shut things down. The only crime worse than messing with your best friend's lover is messing with his sister.
But I guess I haven't moved on as well as I thought. My blood is still boiling at the thought of Gracie in another man's arms. Even if he isn't the least bit dangerous, even if he treats her like the princess she is...fuck no. Unacceptable.
I try to convince myself that I'm just protecting her. Just being a good big brother, like Hayden. He's flipping out about this too, right? I can be worried without it getting weird.
Deep down, though, I know I'm not worried. I'm pissed. A deep, primal kind of pissed. Territorial and jealous. I want to fight off every challenger...and bury myself in her until she screams that she's mine.
Shit, what am I going to do? I glance over at Hayden. He still looks thrown off, angry and skeeved out and a little lost. I can't really blame him. His precious baby sister is all grown up—God, is she ever—and she's just thrown that fact in his face. Nobody wants to think about their siblings rolling in the hay.
“Let me chase after her,” I say. Now that I've had a chance to gather my thoughts, I want to talk to Gracie. And no woman, let alone one as pretty and tiny as Gracie, should walk alone in downtown LA after sunset. “I'll make sure she gets home safe.”
Hayden claps me on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. I'm sure she'll calm down eventually...but she probably doesn't want to see me right now.”
“You just want me to save you from getting bitched out on the phone tomorrow.”
He snorts a little chuckle. “What can I say? She's always liked you better.”
Leaving my half-full beer on the counter, I dart out after Gracie.
Through the wandering crowd, all laughing and chatting and enjoying the autumn crispness, I spot Gracie a little ways up the street from the bar. There's only so fast she can hustle in those heels. Her hips pop from side to side as she speed-walks; my eyes fall to the cute, round ass encased in her tight work slacks. Fuck me running. Earlier, when I'd walked in to see her sitting at the bar with Hayden, I was taken aback by how professional she looked...and how sexy “professional” was on her. I guess anything can be a turn-on when Gracie wears it.
“Gracie, wait,” I call out.
She turns her face away from the night sky and back to me. “What,” she replies flatly. But she stops, waiting for me to catch up with her, and I take that as a good sign.
“Sorry. I kind of...just sat there like a numb-nuts,” I say. “Can we start over?”
“Not if you're trying to change my mind.” Her full lips are still in a resolute pout. “I'm doing this. You and Hayden can't stop me.”
I hold up a hand to show my defeat. “Okay, okay. I won't argue with you. But I am walking you home...it's getting dark.”
She cocks her head, either judging the sincerity in my face or noticing the streetlights blinking on. Finally she nods. “Okay. I'll let you.”
Does she know that my reasons for acting chivalrous aren't totally innocent? She elbows me as she walks by, a playful shove, and I resist the urge to tickle her like I did when she was ten. There's no way that putting my hands on her can end well.
* * *
As we walk to her apartment, we slowly start talking again, the bar blowup forgotten—or at least set aside. I ask her more about her new job. She jokes that I'll be investing in one of her designs someday; I tease back that I don't buy dingbats, and she sticks her tongue out at me. We reach her yellow adobe building all too soon.
Evidently she thinks so, too. Instead of going inside, she lingers on the stoop, fiddling with her keys almost shyly. “You want to come up for a little bit?”
Caught off guard, I ask, “Y-you're not tired?” What a dumb fucking question, Hudson. It's not even nine yet.
She shrugs with a slight smile. “The night kind of got...cut short. We didn't get to finish our drinks.”
She's acting almost sheepish. Does she feel like it's her fault that the party ended early? Even though it was her party in the first place and Hayden was the one acting like a tool. I know I shouldn't accept her invitation—she's still totally off limits, and there's no point in tempting myself with what I can't have. But I don't want to leave her hanging. And to be honest, I can't pass up the chance to spend time with her.
I give in and shrug. “Sure. One drink can't hurt.”
Her smile goes big and bright. She scampers up the stairs, with me trailing after and trying not to stare up at her ass.
Her place is a small, cheerfully cluttered one-bedroom. I've seen enough properties to tell that this one was on the boring side when she first leased it; the furniture is sleek, modern, and lifeless. But Gracie has given everything her own unique touch. Gauzy curtains, jewel-toned throw pillows, a quirky zigzag floor lamp, a spider plant by the window, a seashell on the end table. The effect isn't little-girlish, but feminine and playful. A few Japanese ink paintings of flowers and mountains are squeezed onto the walls between the overflowing bookcases. And their highest shelves are all occupied with children's books that I recognize as my own gifts.
Did she put them up there because she wants to admire them, or because she doesn't read them often? Either way, she kept them all. And she went to the effort of moving them from her family home to her first adult apartment. I didn't know she'd done all that.
Gracie kicks off her shoes into the entry closet, drawing my attention back. I can see her much better in this light. Supermodel cheekbones and
sapphire eyes, framed by tousled, wavy dark brown hair. A heart-shaped ass tapering down to legs that look miles long even without heels. Soft, full breasts nuzzling together under her white linen blouse. It hits me all over again that she's a woman. She's been a woman for a while, but now, she has her own career, her own place...and her own love life to prove it. I feel twin sparks of arousal and jealousy.
We get our drinks from the fridge—another beer for me, a wine cooler for her—and sit down on the couch. Even at the opposite end, I can catch whiffs of her peachy perfume. The walk home must have made her sweat. She sips her wine, red lips kissing the edge of her glass.
I swallow back the urge to touch her. Smell her, taste her...stop it, Hudson. I'm noticing everything about Gracie and I can't turn it off.
“Come closer,” she coaxes. “I want to show you something.” She pats the cushion right next to her.
I scoot over as casually as I can. My cock is already starting to twitch to attention, but I should at least try to keep acting normal.
Fortunately, my mind jumps right back out of the gutter when she opens her laptop on the coffee table. On the screen is the website for the online dating service she'd been talking about. And at the top right, there's a “23” hovering over her envelope icon. She has twenty-three new messages. Twenty-fucking-three.
I clench my jaw. Of course men would jump all over a piece of fresh meat, especially a beauty like Gracie. She'd be a textbook girl-next-door type if she weren't so striking. Gentle, sweet...and innocent. How many of these pricks are just aiming to take advantage of someone like that? How dare anyone touch her?
Oblivious to my growing rage, Gracie clicks around, opening two new tabs. Each shows the profile of a different man. They look ridiculously wholesome and bland, like stock photo models or athletes on cereal boxes. “These are some of the guys I've been talking to. See, this one likes writing poetry and training his dog. And this one volunteers at a soup kitchen...would a serial killer do that?”
She probably picked the most harmless-seeming guys on her list to show me. Not that that stops me from wanting to growl at them.
I shake my head—at myself more than her. I need to pull my shit together. She's just trying to ease my mind, make me stop worrying about her safety. There's no way for her to know that this is pissing me off all over again. “It's not that easy to tell,” I say. “Somehow I don't think a psycho would list 'duct tape' and 'blood' under his hobbies.”
“Somehow I don't think an evil person would love animals and homeless people,” Gracie fires back. She raises her eyebrows at me: See, I can play this game, too.
“Hitler was a vegetarian who cried when his dog died.”
She gives me a weird look. “How do you know that? And why is everyone trying to keep me from living my life? For Christ's sake, I'm twenty-two. Are you going to stop me from getting on city buses next?”
I shift to sit facing her, willing to risk losing myself in her wide blue eyes. “No, Gracie. I just don't understand. Look...why do you want to do this? Really?”
Praise for Screwed
"Irresistibly sexy, witty and delightful." (Vilma's Book Blog)
"For fans of dirty mouths and dirtier deeds, Hayden Oliver is the man for you! Screwed is definitely a guilty pleasure read." (USA Today bestselling author R.S. Grey)
"Dirty and delicious -- I loved Screwed!" (New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Probst)
"Kendall Ryan brings her talent for writing sexy men and steamy romance to her first (and hopefully not last) romantic comedy. Readers will be squirming and laughing as Hayden "The Playboy" Oliver attempts to be "just friends" with sassy, smart Emery Winters. He's so screwed." (USA Today bestselling author Daisy Prescott)
"Screwed is a hot, humorous, heady, and hypnotizing romance that sucks you in from the very first page--consuming your heart, soul, and panties--you'll want to eat up this deliciously decadent book with lightning speed. Kendall Ryan's writing is refreshing and raw--a breath of fresh air--sprinkled with humor and heat." (Karen M, Bookalicious Babes Blog)
"Screwed is sexy, flirty, and funny as hell. Hayden and Emery's chemistry was amazing, pulling you in from the very first page as you find yourself lost in their story, not wanting it to end." (New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Kelly Elliott)
Chapter One
Gracie
I’m in a celebratory mood as I sip my third appletini and glance around at the sleek modern décor of the lounge. My brother, Hayden, invited me out for a congratulatory happy hour after I completed my first week as Peterson Design's newest architect. I was all too happy to accept. Free drinks at a posh club in downtown LA? Count me in.
I hadn’t counted on the fact that Hudson Stone, his best friend and business partner—and my lifelong crush—would also be joining us. When he strolls in looking like a walking aphrodisiac, the temperature in the club seems to rise ten degrees and my underarms start to sweat. He's as tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome as ever. Despite the slight chill in the early fall air, he's dressed in jeans and a black short-sleeved T-shirt, which do nothing to hide his delicious muscles.
I panic for a moment about how I look, dressed smartly in a jacket and slacks that were fine for the office, but not so much for an evening out. But the vodka coursing through my veins quickly takes care of that. And when he gets close, his cologne- and pheromone-laced scent delivers a powerful punch that knocks all other thoughts out of my mind. Hello there, libido. My pulse pounds in time with the low thumping music.
“Congratulations, Gracie. You’re finally an adult now,” Hudson says, leaning down to give me a one-armed hug where I sit perched on my barstool. My pussy squeezes a little at the tone of his warm, husky voice right in my ear. Did I mention I need to get laid? Like, yesterday?
“Something like that.” I shrug off his compliment. At twenty-two years old, I’ve been an adult for a long damn time. It’s frustrating that he’s taken so long to see me that way. No matter how sexy his voice is when he says it...the prick.
Hudson slides onto the barstool next to mine. Within seconds, a bouncy-chested blonde waitress arrives to fulfill his order, and probably anything else he’d like, too.
His eyes watch her backside as she saunters away. It’s then that I notice women throughout the club venturing hungry gazes over toward Hudson, openly admiring his chiseled arms and broad shoulders. He could easily have his pick of any woman here, and later, I’m sure he will. A fact I try not to dwell on.
“Cheers,” my brother Hayden calls out. He raises his glass, pride beaming across his face.
“To Gracie.” Hudson’s eyes linger on mine for several intense moments. A warm shiver races through my body, my heartbeat thudding away. Seriously, they need to adjust the thermostat in this place.
Our moment ends when the eager waitress delivers Hudson’s beer, lingering at our table even as we all ignore her. I look away and squelch my disappointment.
But when I glance up again, Hudson is still looking at me as he takes a sip from his frosty pint glass. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me after all these years.
When we met as kids, I was average in every way. I made good grades, but nothing that could ever qualify as “gifted,” like my big sister Beth. She was the smart, studious one. She excelled in choir, too; we'd all pack into Mom's SUV and drive to see her in regional competitions. And Hayden was the athlete. I spent years of my life sitting in the bleachers with my parents, watching him run up and down the court with a ball. Sports were even less of my thing than academics. A friend talked me into joining track in eighth grade. I was excited at first. It was all so fun and different at practice: learning to conquer the hurdles, pumping my arms and legs as fast as I could for the fifty-meter sprints. But the time came when the coach assigned everyone to an event. I got the two-mile, the longest run in track and field. I hated it. And I was horrible at it. Huffing and puffing with a bright red face, struggling in dead last to the finish line where my in
haler was waiting for me. No thank you—that ended my illustrious track career.
I never quite found my place as I grew up either. I felt invisible inside my own family. But my saving grace was Hudson. He was always at our house, hanging out with my brother; he'd sneak into the back yard, where I often went to think, or duck into the kitchen to find me alone. He'd ask me about school and my friends and boys. He'd compliment me, and he never made me feel stupid. I felt safe around him. Someone I looked up to and admired was taking an interest in my life. It made me feel like I was worthwhile, and I grew to cherish our stolen moments together.
Once in a while, on an unpredictable schedule, Hudson would leave me a children’s book under my pillow. Sometimes they appeared every couple of weeks; other times, months passed in between. But he never forgot. I loved to read, and I especially liked picture books. Long after I finally outgrew them, I still treasured each one he picked for me. They were never about princesses. They were all different, but they always had a message. Accepting your differences. Overcoming adversity. I think Hudson was the only one who noticed how I struggled to fit into my own family.
Then I got boobs and everything changed. They just kept getting bigger and bigger, until by eleventh grade, I was a full C-cup. On my small frame, they looked like I was smuggling grapefruits—big and bouncy and hard to hide. Hudson’s eyes would zero in on my chest and he’d frown, looking frustrated. I would catch him watching me as I jumped on the trampoline in my parents’ backyard. The kiddie books stopped then, along with his attention. He started spending less time with me and more time screwing anything that moved. He and my brother were disgusting. Through the bedroom wall we shared, I would overhear them talking about their latest conquests. They tag-teamed girls and compared notes. It was crushing to hear. Because I knew, despite all his attention, he'd never viewed me that way.
