The Elite Kings Boxset Vol. II

by Amo Jones

  Bishop slams his hand over my mouth. “Shut the fuck up!”

  I nod and he lets go, but I still manage to send a snarl toward Nate.

  “Do you know about The Elite Kings?” Bishop shoots off.

  “Only what Tatum has told me. Which isn’t much.”

  He pauses, waiting for me to continue. “And what is that, exactly?”

  My eyes narrow. “It’s literally not much as I can’t even really remember what she said. Honestly? That little race you had, told me more than what Tatum could have.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Nate snaps, his lip curled.

  I giggle. Fucking giggle. I could slap myself, but it added to the effect of my sarcasm, so I go with it. “Nate, so you all go do a little underground racing? Big wow, I don’t really care.” My eyes widen at the end of my sentence.

  Bishop studies me, and then slowly but surely, his grin tilts up to a full clown smile, displaying his pearly white teeth and dimples. But his eyes? Yeah, his eyes aren’t smiling. They are dark, shaded with hate, and planted by anger. It’s in this very moment I realize that maybe I’m wrong. My face slowly falls, which only makes Nate start grinning.

  “Aw, that’s cute, kitten.” He brings his hand up to my dress, over my breasts, and flicks his knife open before slowly cutting down my front. Now my tight strapless dress has a jagged cut down the front, my bright yellow lace bra on full display, but thankfully, because it’s tight, it doesn’t fall off me.

  “What the fuck?” I yell at him. “I answered your question. That wasn’t part of the rules!”

  Bishop smiles. “I make the rules.”

  “Has anyone else spoken to you about us?” he questions.

  “What?” Now I’m just over it, sick of the games and the underlying bullshit they seem to put me through. This is the second time they’ve done some fucked up cat-and-mouse game with me, and each passing minute, my patience runs thinner. “No one has said anything! I don’t know who the fuck you are, what the fuck you stand for—or don’t—and I don’t care! Now...” I slice my glare to Bishop. “Let. Me. Go!”

  He pauses, studying me closely. “And if I don’t fucking believe you?”

  “Then your lie detector is shit.” I stand my ground from my precarious position.

  Nate throws me a wink and then walks off toward Hunter and Brantley, who are standing beside a thick tree. Bishop hasn’t moved, his hands still gripping around my thighs tightly. “You fuck him?”

  I scowl. “What?”

  “You heard me. Answer the question,” he growls, pressing into me again.

  “Hang on a second. You guys stalk me, chase me through a forest, scare the shit out of me, tie me up, and cut my fucking dress, and now you’re asking if I fucked Nate, like you give a shit?”

  “I didn’t say I give a shit.” Bishop smirks. He drops his lips to my ear, his hand running down the side of my ribs. He squeezes roughly, a little too roughly. Rough enough to leave a bruise. “I just need to know if I won the bet or not,” he seethes through a harsh whisper. I tilt my head back, forcing the tears back. Of course. Of course this is a fucking game to these boys. I’m such a fucking idiot.

  “You lost!” Nate laughs, walking back toward us. He comes up beside us, tilting his head at me, before he says harshly, “She didn’t open her gap for me.”

  “Fuck you, Nate. Fuck both of you.”

  Bishop lets me go instantly and I fall to the ground with a humph, the dirt and leaves grabbing onto my thighs and ass. Bishop leans down and cuts the cable ties in the middle, freeing my wrists. I stretch them out, looking up at him.

  “I hate you,” I snarl.

  He grins. “And I still wanna fuck you, so we’ll figure something out.”

  I snap my mouth shut, getting to my feet. He follows, standing an inch away from me. “There is no way in hell you are ever touching me again.” I glare.

  He steps forward, backing me against the trunk. “Nice. Now, try again, but this time”—his hands slam up against the tree, caging me in—“say it like you mean it.” Then he bends down, pulling my lower lip into his mouth.

  I fight a groan at how it feels to have his mouth on me again, and I can’t help it. I fucking hate myself for being this easy for him, but he doesn’t have to know how well my body responds to him.

  He smirks against my mouth, slowly pulling back until my lip pops from his. He licks my chin leisurely. “Wanna lie to me again?”

  “I hate you,” I repeat.

  “Yeah, I know, but we fuck so well together.”

  “Bishop!” Cash hollers from behind us. “Give the girl your fucking hoodie so we can get back to camp.”

  Bishop grins, zipping his hoodie down, exposing his white shirt that glows in the moonlight. He tosses it at me and I catch it, slipping my arms into the warmth and fighting the urge to sniff the collar where his sweet, woodsy cologne is strongest. Planted right between clean soap and pure masculinity.

  Scowling at him, Nate walks up to us, taking my hand, but I pull back. “Get fucked. I’m not following you anywhere.”

  Nate shrugs. “Fine by me.”

  Asshole.

  Bishop chuckles, but I turn, making my way to God knows where in the forest. “Oh, and I need my gun back!” I yell out over my shoulder.

  “Where are you going, kitty?” Nate asks as they all follow me.

  “Well, to the camp, of course.”

  “And how do you know it’s this way?” Bishop asks, his voice closer behind me.

  “Because I just know.”

  We make it to the camp, and as soon as the bonfire comes into view, I relax. It’s in the middle, and there’re around seven tents scattered throughout the area, but far enough away from each other to not know what’s going on in the one across from you.

  “Madi!” Carter yells out from a log beside the campfire. He jogs up to me, and I see his eyes go over my shoulder to the boys behind me, a hundred questions no doubt simmering through his brain. A hundred questions I don’t owe him answers for. “Hey, you made it.”

  I smile. “Just.”

  Bishop snickers from behind me, and Nate leaves, snatching a bottle of whiskey off someone who has already passed out.

  Carter looks back to me, his eyes glassy and lazy. Obviously, he’s drunk, and obviously, I’m jealous. It’s not quite midnight yet, and I need a drink. “Let me show you where your tent is.”

  “Ok—”

  “I got this. Thanks, bumboy.” Bishop hooks his arm around my waist, steering me toward a tent at the back, hidden a little deeper into the forest.

  “Bishop! That was fucking rude. He set up our tent.”

  “So he fucking should. It’s what bumboys do. Now...” We step into the junction of the tent, where two of the bedrooms join the other two bedrooms. He unzips one side, pushing me into the dark room. “Get changed into something more slutty.”

  “What?” I snap. He steps inside the room too, but I can’t see him. I can only make out the edges of his body from the flickering fire dancing, where the party is. “Get out.”

  He steps closer. “No.”

  I step backward. “Bishop, I mean it. Get back.”

  He counters my footwork, stepping forward once again. “No,” he whispers into the inky yet surprisingly warm enclosure of the tent. My back hits the weak wall of the tent and I gasp, closing my eyes. Fuck. I’m so totally screwed with him. I feel him before I see anything, his thumb dancing across my bottom lip. “Scared?”

  “Define scared,” I breathe, my eyes still closed.

  His thumb moves down the rim of my jaw, slowly trickling down the side of my neck and over my jugular. His warm mouth skims over mine softly. “Of me,” he whispers.

  I open my eyes, the white of his skeleton mask glowing and the white of his eyes bright. “Yes,” I answer honestly, because I am. I don’t trust him, but I did like having sex with him. Maybe he’s right; maybe we can just have sex.

  “Good.”

  “T
his.” I gesture between us. “What is it?”

  He lets out a throaty chuckle. “It means nothing. Just sex. You seem to get my dick hard, so I’m running with it.”

  Swallowing past his words, I think over what this would mean for me. I’ve always gotten attached to the guys I sleep with. It’s a fault of mine, and inside, I’d probably be labeled as a crazy girl, but I tend to feel too much.

  “I’ve never done it before,” I admit. “The whole friends-with-benefits thing.”

  He laughs, this time tilting his head back, and thoughts dance in my head to what it would be like smacking him upside the head in this very moment. “Baby, we are not friends, and we are most definitely not friends with benefits. You’re my nemesis, who I always get panty-less. Now,” he mutters, gripping the front of my dress and tearing it off. “Drop them.”

  Pushing my thoughts to the back of my head, I step out of my thong, kicking it away. He steps back, and I see his head tilt in the shadows.

  “Fine,” I mutter. “But no one is to know, and also, I’m not very good at this, because I tend to—”

  “Stop fucking talking.” His mouth smashes down onto mine. I groan softly, tilting my head to give his tongue more access. He works with his belt between us, yanking it off and dropping it to the ground with a clink. Bringing his hand up to my throat, he clenches roughly before slowly gliding down the front of me, squeezing one of my nipples between his fingers.

  “Mmm,” I moan into his mouth.

  “Fucking missed this mouth,” he mutters against my lips before dropping to his knees.

  Clutching his hair into my fists, I yank his head up to look at me from down below. “First of all, no one will know about us, and secondly, you will not fuck anyone else. Comprende?” I hiss, my eyebrows quirked, even though I know he can’t see me. I tug at his hair again. “If you can’t agree to not sleeping with someone else while we’re fucking, Bishop, you can leave right now and I’ll take care of myself for tonight,” I warn.

  His slick tongue presses against the inside of my thigh. “Yeah, babe, pretty sure I can do that, since I don’t go sinking my dick into any fucking gap.”

  I tilt my head back. “I hate you.”

  He licks me all the way up to the junction of my thighs and then bites down on the tender flesh. “Ditto, baby.” He flicks my clit softly and my heart launches in my chest, my core tensing and my knees almost buckling. “Stay up!” he orders, pulling away from me with bite in his tone. He comes back to me and wraps his delicious lips around my clit, bending down more as his tongue slides deep inside of me.

  “Oh fuck!” I pant, gripping his hair again and trying to fight the need to fall to the ground.

  He drags his tongue up to my clit, circling again before one of his fingers slips inside of me, and then another joins in.

  “Bishop,” I moan, as his pace picks up and his finger curls to hit the spot in me that has only ever been hit by him. Usually, I’m a clit orgasm kinda girl, but since Bishop, I’ve found out just how pleasurable it can be through penetration and when you fuck someone who knows what the hell they’re doing. I arch my back, pressing myself into his mouth. “Shit,” I whimper.

  “Yeah, baby, let go.” He groans against my clit. His arm brushes against my ankles as he pumps himself, and with that thought in my head, I explode around and on his tongue, my body jolting and my brain swimming in a deep, dark, misty haze of euphoria. With one last long lick down my slit, he stands, his finger diving back into my channel. He withdrawals and brings his finger to my mouth. I open—unwillingly, mind you—and he slips his finger into my mouth. I circle it, sucking off the sweet taste of my pleasure.

  “That... is proof you lied to me, kitty,” he growls, pulling his fingers out of my mouth.

  “What are you going to do about it?” I taunt him, smirking.

  Silence.

  Then he wraps my hair around his fist and tugs my hair so hard I swear I feel strands being ripped from my scalp. Pulling my bottom lip into his mouth, he bites down on it roughly, until the tang of blood trickles down the back of my throat. “Now? Now, I’m going to play with you.”

  I smirk up at him, and his grip intensifies. I hiss through the snapping of my hair. “I’m not a toy, Bishop.”

  “Wrong answer, Madison, because you are my toy, and the last toy I had?” His other hand latches around my throat like a choker as his mouth skims over mine again, sailing over his bite mark. “Broke.”

  Khales?

  Too horny to ask questions, I run my hand over his hard chest, every defined ab jolting under the soft palm of my hand. “I don’t like being a toy.”

  “Tough shit.” He twists me around by my hair, and I obey, because he has my fucking hair, before shoving me down onto the mattress on the floor. My hands come out to steady myself, and I arch my back, pressing into him. His fingers dig into my hip bones as he runs his hand down from the back of my neck. “Fuck, you’ve got a sexy fucking spine.”

  “What?” I whisper, looking over my shoulder, but he pushes on my head until my face is buried in the soft blankets and my ass is elevated high into the air.

  “I wonder,” he whispers, pressing one finger inside of me before his mouth comes to my pussy from behind. “What it would be like to take it apart.”

  I pause, my breath stilling. What the hell does that mean? And why don’t I care? I grind into his mouth, ignoring the fact that my butt is probably right there in his face, but he doesn’t mind. Drawing his tongue out, he licks over my slit, over the opening of my pussy, and then comes to the crack of my ass, licking over my exit. Holy fucking shit!

  “Yeah,” he murmurs, coming back up. “I’d fucking snap you, kitty.” Then his hand lands on my ass cheek with a stinging slap. I scream out, because it’s fucking sore. “And I look forward to watching you break in my very hands.” Then he presses himself inside me until he tears through my tight entrance, the rim of his cock grazing over every inch of my wet walls. He pumps me once.

  And then again.

  Every single time, the head of his cock rubs deliciously against the most sensitive part of my pussy.

  “And what if I let you?” I whisper into the blanket, drunk by his assault, hazy from his need. He pushes again, and then pulls out of me, flipping me over onto my back. I look up at him as he crawls over my body, his head tilted.

  “Then I gave you too much credit,” he mutters. Shit. Did her hear me? “You’re stupider than I thought.”

  Crawling off the mattress on the floor, I swipe my sweaty hair off my sticky forehead and look over my shoulder. Bishop looks at me from his position, sprawled out on the bed, his body on full display for me. Every muscle beneath his beautiful olive skin defined, but not so he’s bulky. “Are you going to go all weird on me?” I ask, our eyes entranced together, locked in some epic stare-down, and the only thing going to lose are the butterflies entrapped in my gut. He continues to stare at me with a blank expression, while his index finger works his upper lip. His eyes are dark and brooding, just like him. Intimidating yet captivating. When our eyes connect, it’s like he’s shoved me through the gates of hell and locked them behind himself. I’m so totally screwed with him. I’ve never been able to separate sex from feelings, so why did I think I could do it with the one guy who evoked feelings in me the first time I saw him?

  He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t go weird.”

  I quirk my eyebrow. “Sure about that? Mr. Went All Weird On Me After the First Time?”

  His jaw tics, his eyes remaining as cold as stone. Sensing the tense silence, I get to my feet, fully naked, and drop down, picking up a new dress. I shimmy into it, not needing a bra or panties, or maybe just wanting to get out of this room, because it’s claustrophobic. Fluffing my hair up, I pull my Keds on.

  “Where are you going?” he asks through a raspy voice.

  “To get drunk.” And then I pull open the tent flap and march toward the bonfire and all the drunk screams. Regardless if I know I haven’t b
een able to separate sex from attachment, I still want to try. And considering that when it comes to Bishop, I’m stubborn, I’m hoping that will win out and I won’t let my pride get hurt by showing him I have feelings for him. Which I don’t right now, unless you count hate as a feeling, but I know the possibility is there. It’s always there with me.

  Just as I approach the keg, Tillie walks up to me—or stumbles, rather. “I’m too drunk.” Her eyes are crossed, her words slurred.

  I laugh. “I see that. Do I need to take you to bed?”

  She shakes her head. “No.” Burp. “No. But I made a mistake.”

  Filling up my cup, I watch as the foam wraps around the rim of my red cup.

  “Okay, what have you done?” I smirk around my cup, lifting the disgusting beer to my mouth. Nate walks toward us and wraps his arm around Tillie’s waist.

  “Tada!” she announces, stretching her arm wide toward Nate. “Introducing: my mistake.” Oh no.

  My smile falls instantly. “Nate!” I hiss. “She’s drunk!”

  He shrugs. “Needed something to take my mind off my stabby stepsister, you know, since you don’t give it up.”

  “Give what up?” My eyes slant. He pushes Tillie away and stalks toward me. “Nate? What the fuck are you doing?”

  Caging me against a tree, he tilts his head, studying me. “There’s so much you don’t know, sis,” he snaps. “You’re fucking deluded if you think you can make it out of this with your life.” He bends down, running his lips over the crook of my neck. “You’re going to die.”

  It feels as though a knife launched into my throat, and I swallow past it before shoving him away. “Leave me alone.”

  “Naw,” he murmurs lazily, coming back to me and wrapping his hands around the backs of my thighs, lifting me up. He slams me against the tree trunk again, and I mentally slap myself for wearing no panties. “You and I both know you don’t mean that.” He lips skim over mine, but I move my face away from him.

  “No, I mean it. Let me down, Nate. You’re obviously high. Let me go.” I can see it in how dilated his pupils are that he’s on some heavy shit.

  “Nate!” Bishop barks from behind us.