Bringing It Home (The King Brothers Book 2)

by Teagan Kade

  The poor guy couldn’t be any more confused, but what do I say?

  “Is it my father?” he asks. “Do you know him well or something?”

  I take the deepest breath I can, wiping away tears with the sleeve of my sweater. “Maybe that’s it,” I lie. “Or maybe I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

  He places his arms around my shoulder, pulling out his keyfob and his car’s lights flick on and off down the parking lot line. “I’ve got the perfect thing for this,” he says.

  “What’s that?” I ask, unsure where he’s going and probably not up for sex after he witnessed me going full Linda Blair in the bathroom back there.

  “Early nineties rom-coms.”

  I laugh a little, my throat still burning. “Like Pretty Woman?”

  “Like whatever the hell you want, table service included.”

  “Table service?”

  “Hell, I’ll hit every Baskin & Robbins in the state if you want me to.”

  “I don’t think I could even stomach ice cream right now.”

  We arrive at the car, Titus leaning down to open the door for me, easing me into the passenger seat. “Whatever you need, I’ve got you. Let me take care of you, seriously. You’ve taken care of me, haven’t you?”

  If only you knew.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TITUS

  I legitimately think my face is starting to hurt I’ve been smiling so much. Last night I took Maya back to my place. We watched Clueless and Drive Me Crazy in bed, stuffed ourselves on such a densely laden bowl of sugary calories it’s a miracle I didn’t go back into a coma. Or at least I stuffed myself. Maya barely touched hers.

  And it was nice, being there with her, expecting nothing more. I could get used to it.

  Quite a shift in scenery being here at the diner with Jamie, my agent. He calls and I come running, even if my mind keeps jumping back to Maya.

  The diner’s empty—like my stomach.

  Jamie signals the waitress again.

  “Small town service,” I tell him. “You’re in Kansas, Toto.”

  A rare smile forms on his lips. “My boy, the question is, where do you want to go when you tap your heels together three times, ’cause all those teams wanted a piece of you. Felt like a tank of fucking piranhas. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  We’ve spent all day meeting with Major League team reps. They came back to the table when we announced I was heading back to the field. Most of them expressed interest in the past, but after a bit of shock and awe at practice this morning they were ready to make offers. More than ready, they were practically coming to fisticuffs trying to win us over. It felt like a reverse job interview, and it felt good, like, really good.

  Jamie sees the look on my face. “Not even an inkling, a flutter in your stomach, twitch in your dick which way you want to go?”

  “My dick’s not a divining rod.”

  He starts to tap his fork on the table with impatience. “I bet there are some young ladies out there who would argue otherwise, and there’ll be plenty more where they came from when you choose a fucking team,” he laughs, emphasizing his last words.

  I put my hands up in surrender. “Alright. Jesus. I get it. I’ll think about it, okay?”

  He levels the fork at me. “You better, ’cause these offers have a tendency to act like the aforementioned groupies—they dry up real fast if you’re not showing them any attention.”

  The waitress arrives, a perky redhead who I had in high school and was definitely not dry during any of our encounters. She turns to me first. “Usual, Ti?”

  “Thanks,” I nod.

  She smiles at Jamie. “And you, hun?”

  His prior frustration evaporates. He orders, but I’m lost in my own thoughts. Last semester and things are finally falling into place. The teams have come to the table, more than I expected, and now it’s up to me. Countless crack-of-dawn torture sessions, endless time spent in the cages, fastballs to the head, the nuts… and now it’s paying off.

  I picture myself on field, switch MLB uniforms in my head, test them out and try them on, see how they feel in my mind’s eye. Thing is, I can’t seem to settle on any one team in particular. Something’s holding me back. They all have their various pros and cons. It’s going to take time to work out what’s going to be best for me.

  For Maya.

  Once again, my thoughts are drawn to her. Whatever I think about, it inevitably leads to her.

  Finally fed, I shake hands with Jamie outside the diner. He hands me a folder with all the offer material. “Promise me you’ll look at these.”

  I place my free hand on my heart. “You got it.”

  He nods slowly. “You’re heading to the big leagues, son. Crestfall has served you well, but it’s time to move on, to move up.”

  “I know,” I reply.

  “Your dad’s going to be real proud.” He smiles one final time and heads off to his car, a jet-black Jag, the epitome of a midlife crisis.

  I look behind myself at the diner sign, the ‘n’ and ‘r’ lighting intermittingly so it simply reads ‘die’ half the time. The sunset’s turned the sky to a peachy blanket in the background. I check my watch. We’ve been here almost four hours.

  I reach into my pocket and take out my cell, dialing Maya.

  A car backfires down the street, a dog barking in retaliation.

  Her voice is coy when she answers. “Titus…”

  “Hi,” I reply, kicking at a stray weed and unable to stop smiling, because even just the sound of her voice is enough to send what was already a good mood into sexual overdrive.

  She picks up on it immediately. “Someone sounds like they’re in a good mood. Did things go well with your agent?”

  “More than well. It’s cause for celebration.”

  “I take it you have something in mind?” her tone turning seductive. Suddenly it’s not just my smile that’s growing.

  “I have many things in mind, but why don’t we start with dinner?”

  “I could go for a good meal. Another, that is.”

  “It’s a date then.”

  Slight hesitation in her voice. “I’ll, ah, text you my address. What should I wear?”

  Nothing, my head interjects, but I doubt that would go down well with the pearl-clutchers around here. The thought’s crossed with a sudden surge of jealousy, that anyone except me could see her like that. I’m surprised, actually, how possessive I’ve become of her. “Dress to impress.”

  “I will.”

  I say goodbye and linger there in the glow of the diner trying to calm my dick down before I get picked up for public indecency.

  My cell dings. I pick it up and study Maya’s address. It’s oddly familiar. Again, something sweeps through my head I can’t place—not déjà vu, but a familiarity nonetheless.

  It remains with me when I arrive home, in the shower, getting dressed. I can’t shake it until I’m in the car, my attention pulled to driving, but even then, I barely look at the GPS. The closer I get to Maya’s address, the more it seems like I’m driving off instinct.

  And I don’t know why, or how.

  I pull up in front of her apartment building and that familiarity blooms again.

  I look at myself in the rear-view mirror. “You good?” I ask myself, unsurprised there’s no answer.

  I return my attention to the apartment building, scanning the windows and imagining her in there selecting what to wear, lingerie perhaps, something simple, lacy, or sleek and satin? Either will do just fine. I pull my lip back thinking of her and what’s to come later. We might be heading to dinner, but my head’s firmly fixated on dessert.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MAYA

  “Do you have a booking, sir?”

  While Titus deals with the maître d’, I take in the restaurant. It’s old-school fancy with low lighting, waiters in black and white, moody jazz playing the background. It’s busy, which is a good sign, the smell of thyme and burnt but
ter drifting past on a plate. It’s certainly a step up from the instant noodles I had been planning to eat tonight.

  We’re seated at a quiet table by the window that’s small enough so there’s little place to look but each other. That’s not so bad given how Titus has dressed up tonight. With that tailored and pressed shirt he’s looking all kinds of sexy. The sleeves are rolled up, which suggests this particular Wall Street banker-slash-movie star-slash-concert pianist who also likes to play a little rough in his downtime. I wouldn’t say no to a bit of rough and tumble myself should the time and place allow it.

  “Did I mention you look incredible?” Titus tells me, elbow on the table, stroking the light stubble on his chin in pensive admiration.

  I look down at the black bodycon dress I’m wearing. Christina told me it showed off my ‘assets’ and accentuated my ‘hourglass figure’, though in the mirror, said figure looked entirely more spoon-like. I never dressed up like this when we were going out, though I must say having a dress like this glued to your every curve does embody one with a certain sense of sexual emancipation, or maybe that’s the lacy hipsters underneath.

  “Thank you,” I reply, thankful the mood lighting doesn’t show the rush of red in my face. “Are you hungry?”

  His eyes fall to my cleavage. “Famished.”

  Red becomes scarlet becomes every shade of good-god-I’m-going-to-burn-alive. “You must have some ulterior motive for bringing me here, surely?”

  A waiter arrives to fill our glasses with water.

  “Champagne,” Titus tells him, rattling off a label and vintage before returning his attention to me. “I simply want to wine and dine you.”

  I raise a cautious eyebrow, squeezing my legs together tight under the table. “And then?”

  He smiles knowingly, leaning across the table and lowering his voice. “Then I make you come so hard you see stars.”

  I choke on my water, placing a hand on the table to steady myself and trying not to make a scene, because I’m sure the eighty-somethings dining next to us heard every word. Their hearing aids are going to explode if Titus keeps this up.

  Titus leans back. “Or we can Netflix and chill. It’s up to you.”

  “And what would we watch? More rom-coms?”

  Now it’s Titus who raises his eyebrow. “I don’t imagine it’s going to be My Little Pony. Put it that way.”

  “Hey, I loved My Little Pony when I was growing up.”

  He shakes his finger in the air and gosh darn it he looks amazing tonight, that perfect blend of naughty and nice that drew me to him in the first place, that look that says ‘hang with me and you’re going to live a little, maybe lose more than your underwear tonight.’ “Let me guess, you always pretended you were Applejack, right?”

  “’Honest, friendly, and sweet to the core!’” I chirp.

  His smile grows. He taps his fork… the second one. “I bet I could turn you into Rainbow Dash.”

  “A loyal and dependable friend who is always ready for adventure? I’m always up for adventure, but I was hoping for more than friendship.”

  “Mmm,” he murmurs, taking me in as the champagne arrives.

  He pours and picks up his menu. “So, sweet Applejack? What tickles your fancy? Do you want an appetizer, or do you prefer to go straight to the main course?”

  Why does everything he says have an air of innuendo about it? I’m pretty sure he could run through his tax return and I’d be dripping wet by the end of it.

  I look through the options detailed in French, remembering escargot is simply a fancy name for snails. The pumpkin souffle sounds good, so I go with that, Titus ordering the filet mignon I’m pretty sure was in the triple figures.

  The food’s amazing, wonderfully rich. It’s not long before Titus notices I haven’t touched the champagne. “The champagne is so we can toast, you know.”

  “To?”

  “You, for bringing me back to life, for being that one ray of sunshine I so desperately need right now.”

  He gestures to the champagne glass.

  “I can’t,” I tell him. “My stomach’s still feeling a little unbalanced.”

  Clear concern follows. “Was it your main? I can talk to the chef.”

  “No, no, that was great.” I pick up my glass of water instead. “How about this?”

  He lifts his champagne glass, clinking it against my water. “To you, Maya. Thank you, truly.”

  And yet again I’m burning up. “To… me?” I giggle, taking a sip.

  I wipe my mouth with the napkin and place it on the table, standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  I weave through the restaurant towards the bathroom at the back, spend a good minute looking at myself in the mirror wondering if this is the time I should come clean. It’s the perfect moment, right? But every time I think about it my stomach knots and I’m back to square one, shaking in my boots… or ill-fitting heels, rather.

  Why am I like this, so goddamn gutless and annoying? I know what needs to happen, so why can’t I do it? It’s like I’m the one who’s been hit in the head, paralyzed and unable to move for fear of falling down and having no one there to help me back to my feet.

  I’m tossing this all over as I walk down the hallway leading to the dining room. Someone grabs my arm, a hand going over my mouth as I’m pulled into the adjoining hallway.

  Still unable to see what’s going on, a muffled scream barely audible against the fingers covering my mouth, I’m spun into a small alcove next to what must be the kitchen given the noise beyond.

  It’s Titus. He’s pressing me up against a wall in the dark, a finger going to my mouth to tell me to be quiet. He slowly lifts it from my mouth when it seems like I’ll be compliant.

  The space we’re in can’t be any bigger than a phone booth. In fact, I realize it probably used to be a phone booth of sorts given the empty fitting on the wall beside us. And we are next to the kitchen. I can hear the chef barking orders in there, pans shifting and sizzling around.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper, a definite edge of alarm in my voice.

  Titus presses up against me, his hands running down my sides. His mouth goes to my ear. “I need you, now.”

  “Here?” I whisper back in surprise. “The kitchen’s right there. Someone could walk—”

  He silences me with a kiss, and I realize with equal measure elation and concern this is going to happen. Titus has always been able to get me to do crazy things like this, but this… This is completely crazy.

  Nuts.

  Bonkers.

  Insane.

  But his mouth against mine, the way his hands settle on my hips… I want him as much as he wants me. The danger of it all only adds a delicious layer of excitement, reckless in the extreme. I want to go back to a bed later, not a jail cell.

  I press my tongue to his and open my mouth wider, flattening my hands against the wall behind me and finding it warm from the kitchen beyond, the heat extending to my buttocks.

  It all happens so fast. His hands are everywhere at once, his hard body pressed to mine and leaving little air to breathe in this stifled space. I’m sweating, hot and close to combustion.

  I flinch when there’s a shout from the kitchen because I swear to god it sounds like the chef is standing right beside us. There’s a clatter as something falls to the floor. My whole body freezes up, Titus nuzzling into my neck and mewing there like a wild animal.

  I bring my nose to his hair and breathe him in, suddenly realize he doesn’t smell like danger at all, but the ocean itself—that suddenly clarity of air when the tide pulls away and your feet start to sink into the sand. And that’s it, you’re trapped there, waiting for the water to rush back in and wash you away.

  I breathe out long and unsteady, shivering against his warmth in contradiction, my fingers clawing at the wallpaper.

  He drops and draws my dress up. It bunches around my hips as he presses himself into the crotch of
my panties, breathing in my sex through the lacy gauze and moaning his approval. He takes hold of them with his hands and tugs them down my legs, unhooks them from my heels before sliding the warm bundle into his pants pocket.

  And suddenly I’m standing there half-bare as the day as I was born, my dress around my waist and zero confusion about what’s going on here at all if someone were to pass by.

  Titus places his lips against me, against that heated haven between my legs, before rising and applying them to my lips once more.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and draw him to me. He reaches down to unzip himself, pulling his cock free and taking hold of my right thigh with one hand, lifting it high against his waist, trapped there between him and the wall.

  The head of his cock taps against my opening and I near faint from the anticipation. Cold sweat has broken out on my brow. I’m quivering and restless and want nothing more than for this man, this tide, to take me.

  I whisper this against his ear, tell him exactly what I want.

  He shifts his hips slightly, the tip of his cock pressing against the wet pocket of my pussy. “Is this what you want?”

  “Yes,” I plead, biting at his shoulder.

  There’s a whoosh from the kitchen, a flare of fire illuminating the hall and our hidden space.

  I go to press down on him, to drop and take his beautiful cock inside me, but he draws back, teasing and taunting. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I moan. “Please. Please.” I’m begging, barely in control of my carnal desire, but I do not care. I want this more than anything.

  He answers by thrusting upwards into my heat. I lift against the wall and throw my head back.

  I’m so wet, so hot. Every thrust from below sends me higher and higher against the wall, my feet starting to lift from the floor, heels loose.

  He takes hold of a breast between us and thumbs my nipple through the sheer fabric. Needy pangs of sensation follow, flicker between my chest and my sex, bouncing back and forth inside me until I’m not sure where I start, and he begins.

  All the while he thrusts deeper and harder, his cock sluicing into my wetness and filling me up, finding those hidden spaces he used to know so well.