Kiss The Villain: Chapter 15

The last thing I wanted was for my moms to meet Carson.

That was literally the last thing I’d ever wish for.

But then again, I never thought he’d actually show up, especially after playing hard to get. But he thrives on the push-and-pull nonsense, so I should’ve seen it coming.

My second miscalculation was not changing the code as soon as my moms showed up. They’re not supposed to know where I live right now, but, of course, the bastard Jethro gave them the address.

“What? They were worried sick, and Jina threatened to kill me,” was all he said in his defense.

So now, I have three dangerous variables in my house. My moms aren’t dangerous, not by a long shot, but the real danger lies in their encounter with Carson.

‘You sure you don’t want to lie down, hon?” Mom rubs the back of my hand as we sit together at the table.

Although she’s been through a lot, she’s still beautiful in a delicate way. Her face is small, her movements soft, and she always wears her hair in this elegant bun with a couple of strands escaping.

But as she looks at me, a deep frown forms on her forehead, and her eyes are slightly red. As soon as they arrived, she hugged me and cried for what felt like an hour. Mom Jina tried to hold it together, but then she was hugging us, too, tears streaming down her face.

I can’t stand seeing them cry. I’ll be the first to admit that I have little to no capacity for interpersonal emotions, but I’ve always seen my moms in a different light.

Maybe it’s because of the protective streak I’ve developed after everything I’ve witnessed. Maybe because they’ve already suffered more than anyone should, and I hate to see them in pain again.

That’s why I keep them completely out of my business.

My gaze shifts to Mom Jina, who’s scolding her amateur sous-chef. Carson just grins and apologizes, letting her sharp words slide right off him. I can’t help but watch the dimples that crease his cheeks, making him look so young and charming, almost…normal.

Almost.

If I didn’t know him, I’d probably think he was the most well-mannered kid. But then again, I really don’t like thinking of him as a kid.

That’s just disturbing, to say the least.

“Hon, are you listening?” Mom squeezes my hand.

“Yes?”

She smiles knowingly.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she speaks with cryptic glee. “I was just asking if you need more rest, but you seem energized.”

Pissed off, more like. I want Carson gone, but I doubt I’d manage that now that he wormed his way into what would’ve been a quiet evening otherwise. Mom seems halfway in his pocket already.

He does have the knack to mess with my system to no end.

I face her and lower my voice. “No personal information revealed tonight, Mom. Promise me.”

“Why?” she whispers back. “Is he that important?”

“It’s because he’s not important that he doesn’t need to know anything. I’m serious, Mom. Nothing. He’s an outsider.”

“If you say so.” She laughs along, seeming too giddy for someone who said they’d die if something happened to me not half an hour ago.

“What are you laughing about?” Carson is carrying two dishes, smiling like the ray of fucking sunshine he’s not. “Can I join?”

“Oh, certainly.” Mom gets busy as they both set the table.

When I try to help Mom Jina, she just scolds me in Korean and basically tells me to sit the fuck down and not aggravate my injury.

Well, they think it’s an injury. In fact, I’ve been helping the motherfucker I grew up with, Julian, do his stupid medical experimentation in exchange for him helping to cover my tracks with my brother, Grant.

I still have to meet Grant once in a while, but at least he won’t show up and sabotage what I have here. Using my body as collateral means nothing. My physical form is only a weapon I wield to get where needed and another device of power.

Considering my upbringing, physical pain never fazed me and never will.

My moms think I got into an accident, thanks to Jethro, who at least kept his mouth shut for once.

Soon enough, we’re all sitting around the table staring at enough food to feed an army. Mom made Korean-style roast chicken and fusion salads incorporating kimchi, then added dozens of her side dishes that she brought over and stocked my fridge with—while shaking her head at my ‘bad eating habits.’

Apparently that’s because I don’t cook, and she hates that. Mom Jina thinks any food that’s not homemade is unhealthy and shouldn’t be consumed.

“Eat a lot.” She stuffs my bowl of rice full of chicken and kimchi, then does the same to Mom. “You, too.”

“Thank you for the food, sweetie.” Mom rubs her hand on the table.

I’m glad they both seem happy. Took them a long time to come this far.

Mom Jina was there since before I was born. In fact, she was there as her best friend when Mom nearly died from domestic abuse. They grew up together but separated around college. That’s when Mom had an arranged marriage with dear old Dad as his second wife.

My moms reunited around then, and Mom Jina fought for Mom’s freedom. They both did. Against Dad, and the people controlling my dad, and even that motherfucker Grant.

Even though Mom is his stepmom, she treated him well after his own mom took a rope to her throat because she couldn’t handle being with Dad anymore.

Honestly, if Mom hadn’t met Mom Jina again, she would’ve had the same fate as Grant’s mom.

She went through almost ten years of emotional and physical abuse, but she eventually managed to escape.

Which is why I’ll never drag them into the mess again.

“The food is amazing,” Carson says, and his voice sends both apprehension and appreciation through me.

I like how it’s deep but not too low, and now that he’s speaking cordially and being on his best behavior, he sounds smooth and hot.

No idea why I find him hot, but I do. His voice, his face, his body. It’s all so perfectly proportionate and tantalizing that I want to own every inch of him.

Lock him in a cage so only I can look at him.

My cock twitches and I lift another spoon of rice to ignore it. We’re literally in my parents’ presence, but all I keep thinking about is burying my dick in Carson.

Of all people, and even all men, it’s fucking Carson.

“I love kimchi.” He grins. “I first tried Korean food a couple of years ago at my cousin’s insistence, and I’ve been a fan ever since.”

“That shows good taste,” Mom Jina says with a note of approval.

I give her a look. Seriously, I expect her not to fall for his grandiose charms.

She clears her throat. “So, Gareth, how are you doing in school?”

“Top of my class, ma’am. 4.7 GPA.”

“That’s amazing,” Mom marvels. “You’re like a genius.”

“Not bad,” my other mom says. She has a weakness for studious people, and something tells me she likes the asshole now.

Fuck me sideways.

“Not amazing enough since I’m still not Professor Lockwood’s favorite.” He flashes them a small pout, acting like the most pitiful little monster on earth.

I scoop a spoonful of rice with chicken, my eyes on his pale green ones. “You’ll have to work harder for that, Carson.”

He narrows those eyes but only for a second before he takes a piece of cucumber and munches on it. Hard.

I know he’s trying to make me think he’ll bite my dick or something equally obnoxious, but it’s only managing to stimulate my cock into a state of arousal.

What a flirt.

“Oh, he must be your favorite,” Mom says. “He’s so well-mannered and loveable.”

“It’s okay. I think he just needs time,” Carson replies with a boyish smile.

Letting my lips curve with a grin, I say, “I think you’re the one who’s been stalling for time.”

He purses his lips and my grin widens. Why does messing with him bring me so much joy? I love his reactions around me and how he can’t really control them.

“Or maybe you already have another favorite,” Carson shoots back. “You can share with the table, Professor.”

I’d say Jones, but then I’d be putting a target on her back. I joke about it, but Carson is a little psycho—a young one, at that—so he gets impulsive, and I don’t want to be the reason behind the murder of a top student.

My gaze remains on him as I take a sip of wine. “I’m just waiting for you to do better and be my favorite.”

“Challenge accepted.” Fire ignites in the depths of his eyes, and it’s almost a crime how bright they are.

“You guys seem so close,” Mom says with the same knowing look from earlier.

“He’s just a student,” I say.

“We’re not,” Carson says at the same time, then smiles at Mom. “He’s kind of a dictator, actually. It’s hard to imagine how he never got your guys’ cool temper.”

“That’s because we didn’t really raise him.” Mom’s fingers tremble around her spoon. “Well, not all the time, anyway. He was brought up by his dad.”

Her expression sours, and Mom Jina strokes her hand gently.

“I’m sorry for bringing up something that upsets you,” Carson says. “He’s still lucky to have you.”

“We’re lucky to have him.” Mom side-hugs me. “Don’t worry us again. I know accidents happen, but be careful.”

“I will.”

“It was an accident?” Carson narrows his eyes. “I thought you were sick.”

“Oh, it was this bad accident. Thank God the car took the hit and he only suffered from bruises and stuff, but it was scary as hell and we rushed here immediately.” Mom, the resident oversharer, ladies and gentlemen. And this is after I practically begged her not to say anything.

“That must’ve been a shock.” He shows my mom his most sympathetic look, but then he glares at me for a fraction of a second. “We were also so worried.”

If I went by his tone alone, I would believe him, but then again, why would I want to believe him?

“I didn’t know Professor Lockwood drives,” he veers the conversation again. “He usually walks to campus.”

“Just because you don’t see me drive doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes,” I say before my moms share any unnecessary details.

Like I’ve been in the States, not in Switzerland like I told him. Partly to be Julian’s lab rat and to take care of the Grant problem, even temporarily.

Carson gives me a mysterious look, but then he tactfully changes the subject. He talks about his family and his mom and how close he is to his dad and grandfather. He puts all his qualities at the forefront, shamelessly using his golden boy persona to charm his audience.

I’m immune to that, but I can’t help listening to him talk. His cool voice and delivery are top notch, and he’d make an excellent attorney—but he won’t hear that from me.

Mom is definitely under his spell while Mom Jina tries and fails not to like him. She even starts putting food in his bowl, which is a clear indicator of her feelings.

If she feeds you, she cares about you.

Once Carson senses they’ve warmed up to him, he switches tactics and starts asking about me.

“I’ve been curious, actually.” He takes a sip of water. “When did Professor Lockwood’s love for law start?”

“College years, wasn’t it?” Mom says.

Carson tops off her glass of wine. “I can picture him being the best in his class.”

“Of course he was,” Mom Jina says proudly. “No one could beat my boy.”

“That’s impressive. Maybe the reason he chose teaching law instead of practicing it is because he wants to help others achieve that,” he says with a smile.

“Practicing?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, Mom. I don’t do that much anymore, remember?” I keep my cool, because I should’ve seen the little prick’s tricks from a mile away. He’s been asking seemingly harmless questions but digging deeper every time.

I really underestimated his ability to charm people.

So I expertly change the subject, but he somehow returns to his line of questioning. It’s a seemingly endless tug-of-war until the end of dinner.

He jumps to help Mom, making her smile wide when he compliments her red scarf.

“That boy of yours better watch it and stop flirting with my wife,” Mom Jina mutters under her breath in Korean as she takes a sip of wine.

“He’s not a boy of mine, Mom,” I say in the same language, which makes Carson gawk at me before he focuses back on something Mom says.

“You want me to think he’s just a student?” She gives me a look that says, I was in the room when you were born, boy, don’t be trying to be a smart-ass.

“What else could he be?”

“A little boyfriend.”

“I’m not gay. You know that.”

“Gay or straight or bi, who cares? Feelings have no sexuality.”

I drop my glass on the table and try not to appear pissed off. “I absolutely have no feelings for him. The fuck, Mom? Aside from being a guy, he’s a kid. Like, over-eleven-years-younger-than-me kid.”

“He’s old enough, and feelings have no age limit.”

“I said. There are no feelings.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I haven’t seen you this carefree in a long time, and you look at him differently. Even more fondly than you used to look at⁠—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Mom. Just don’t.”

“Are you scared of the sentence itself or what it means?” When I say nothing, she sighs, stands up, and hugs my head to her chest. “I don’t know what you’re doing or what you’re hoping to achieve, but maybe it’s time to let go, my boy.”

I can’t.

Not now when I’m close to the finish line.

My eyes meet Carson’s, and he stares for a second, seeming mesmerized by the scene.

I already have everything going to plan, so why on earth does the idea of not having him at that finish line squeeze the fuck out of my chest?