by Piper Lawson
His scent is like the ocean surrounding us—mysterious, undeniable, overwhelming.
“Sounds like running a business.” His voice is full of humor as he strokes my arm lightly.
“I can change frequencies to change the feel of something too.”
When I lift my arm, his touch lands on my side.
I suck in a breath. It’s more intimate now.
Instead of hesitating, he strokes down farther.
“Every amateur with a computer thinks he can make music,” I quip, but when his fingers slip down my stomach, I have to swallow my groan.
His breath is warm on my temple. “I could.”
“Oh really? You’re a prodigy?” It’s a joke, but when the loop starts again on my computer, his fingers move with it.
I bite my lip as I try to focus, but his touch is lighting fires between my thighs. He nudges the waistband of my shorts, revealing the edge of dark lace beneath.
His exhale is hunger and satisfaction at once as he strokes a finger where my panties meet my skin.
“Did I mention I like these?” The low pitch of his voice is pure seduction.
“You might’ve hinted at it.”
My heart thuds harder, all from the slow touch of his fingers. From knowing he’s looking at the lace I put on. Knowing I put it on for him.
“I’ve watched you give in when you play, but I never see you give in anywhere else. I want to see it.” Harrison’s chest vibrates under me. “I want to feel it.”
His touch slips lower, where I’m already wet.
I arch up off the lounger, but his other arm bands around me to hold me to his chest, the impressive hardness probing my lower back.
I’m a knot of pure need, every part of me reduced to the spot where his fingers touch me. The connection feeds the part of me starved for attention, affection.
“Oh my God,” I mumble.
It’s the most exquisite feeling. He knows what he’s doing to me. It’s deliberate and every bit as sexy as his shallow hiss of breath at my ear.
I want to turn over and look in those cool, blue eyes, see if they’re shattered with heat. I want to kiss him, to press every inch of me against him, to feel as if we’re coming together and I’m not at a disadvantage anymore. But I’m trapped between his hands and body, and when I move an inch, the computer slips.
I grab for it.
This was supposed to be a demonstration.
I try to refocus on what I was saying, but his finger moves lower, sliding through my wetness, and I inhale sharply.
“I’ve never understood why a producer invests so much time getting the parameters just right,” he murmurs. “Humans can handle limited sensory input. Like right now, you can feel my breath on the side of your face. But when I do this…” Harrison adds the heel of his hand to the mix, rubbing against my swollen clit. It’s dissonant and raw and euphoric at once.
“You lose track of everything except where I’m touching you.” His rasp in my ear makes me clench, aching to have him fill me.
It’s not the kind of safe pleasure I give myself. It’s strange and overpowering.
My nails dig into his thigh, and when he slips a finger lower still, teasing my entrance, I shiver.
“Tell me how it feels.”
“Big,” I confess.
I meant the feelings, not his finger, though that is too, but he chuckles softly.
“Beautiful girl. If this is big, you have no idea what you’re in for.”
The insistent outline pressing me from behind is a reminder he’s right.
“You’ll have to pace yourself. You’re not in your twenties anymore,” I chide, reminding him of the conversation earlier.
His groan is full of promise. “You’re fucking right I’m not. The things I’ll show you.”
My blood heats more, and even the ocean breeze isn’t enough to cool my damp forehead. “You think you can teach me about sex?”
“No. I think I can teach you about yourself.”
He adds another finger to the first, pressing so deep my mouth falls open, my thighs squeezing and my heels scrambling for leverage beneath the blanket on the chaise.
But before I can respond, a light goes on farther down the boat.
And it’s moving toward us.
My throat closes.
“Someone’s coming.” I grab Harrison’s arm in warning.
“Yes. You.”
The one thing crazier than letting Harrison King finger-fuck me on his rented yacht is having someone catch us.
The crew member pauses a dozen feet away. “Mr. King. Ms. Madani. Would you like anything to eat or drink before we retire?”
I shift, trying to straighten both of us, but my companion doesn’t budge. Including the parts of him inside me. I feel every inch of his fingers as he holds me in place like a butterfly pinned to cloth.
“We’re fine.” Harrison’s even reply suggests he does this all the time.
His front presses against my back. I can feel the impossibly thick outline of his erection, his heart thudding through our clothes and skin.
She smiles. “All right. Have a wonderful evening.”
His mouth is at my ear the second she departs, his voice heated. “You think men like me rent forty-five-meter yachts to not fuck on them?”
I reach back with one hand to grab his hair. “Charter.”
His exhale is half laugh and half groan as his thumb drags a slow circle over my clit and he works my entrance with both fingers.
Oh my God.
I’ve seen Harrison playful before, and it’s fascinating. But now, he’s playing with me. My body is a game, and only he knows the rules. He’s teaching them to me one skilled move at a time.
It feels way too damn good.
The orgasm sneaks up on me, a wave I’m thoroughly unprepared for. My toes squeeze under the blanket as I clench around him, my back arching. He growls his satisfaction against my cheek, his other hand cupping my breast, his thumb absently rubbing my nipple. I gasp as he draws out my pleasure almost painfully.
Each wave grips me in turn.
I’m so consumed with sensation I don’t notice the computer slide off my lap.
“Motherfucker!” I jerk upright at the sickening sound of it hitting the deck. Horror slices through the bliss as I tumble off the lounger onto my knees to retrieve it before looking at him with accusing eyes. “This better not be broken.” At least it’s backed up.
Harrison’s voice is languid. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
“You can’t fix my problems with money, King.”
“Watch me, Queen.”
The expression on his handsome face makes my heart skip. Lust, satisfaction, and an emotion more than both. He’s cocky, but beneath the surface is a genuine will to please me, a simple gratitude for this moment.
“That was... unexpected.”
His slow grin is wicked in the dark. “Really? Because I’ve been picturing nothing else for weeks.”
Harrison takes the computer from me and sets it gently on the end of the lounger. “Time for your real gift.”
I turn to stare at him. “You’re shitting me.”
He rises and disappears belowdecks, returning a minute later with a box a little smaller than my computer, wrapped in velvet and a gold ribbon.
“Open it.”
He draws me between his thighs again and tucks the blanket in around us as I tug at the ribbon until it gives way. The velvet wrapping is a bag, and I unfold it and slide out the box inside.
He waits patiently while I open it.
In the low lighting, the black Sennheiser logo is just visible against the impossibly shiny silver of the headphones, but it’s the sparkling letters across the earpieces that grab my attention.
“I called the CEO and had him make them for you,” Harrison says under his breath.
“Little Queen,” I murmur, tracing the word on each side with a fingertip. Each letter is spelled out in a dozen tiny gems. “In crystals?”
&
nbsp; “No.”
Harrison’s abs clench under me, and I lift my gaze to his, disbelieving.
“Tell me you didn’t get me diamond headphones.”
His eyes aren’t cold tonight. They’re warm like the sea, teeming with life and possibility.
“You’re the real thing. Don’t fucking forget it.”
My chest aches.
I’m on a yacht celebrating with friends who flew halfway around the world to be with me, and it’s all thanks to a billionaire I should hate. Except he’s not the man he lets the public believe he is, and he just gave me the most incredible headphones and the most incredible orgasm.
But it’s his words that affect me more than anything we’ve done.
“Did you make a wish on your birthday candle?” he prompts when I’m silent.
I hook the headphones around my neck because I can’t stand to put them down. “I haven’t believed in that since I was a kid.”
He pulls my back to his front, and I relax into him, lifting my chin to stare at the stars overhead.
“Then it’s time to start again,” he decides, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
Maybe he’s right.
Before I fall asleep, I send up a wish.
19
Harrison
“You were a difficult man to contact this weekend,” Christian says from the end of the dinner table.
“I spent a few days on a yacht.”
There are hints a man is mortal if you know where to look.
Tonight, the sirvia is overcooked.
When I bite into the fish, I know there’s a crack in Christian Geroux’s facade.
This weekend, I felt the cracks in myself with Rae. Spending time with her and her friends, I found myself caring less about my need to conquer and claim every property Mischa has so much as glanced at and more about her.
“I didn’t realize you were a seaman.” Mischa, opposite me, digs into his fish as if it’s still alive and he wishes it was.
Like me, he’s in a suit, his a gray so dark it’s nearly black. His pocket square is red. A signature. I heard a tailor once tried to influence his style. The man died of a heart attack the next week.
“He hates being on the water,” my ex weighs in from next to Mischa.
It’s the world’s most fucked-up dinner. Mischa, my ex, Christian, his wife, and their youngest daughter Sylvie.
We’re here to talk business, ostensibly to finalize plans for La Mer. But Christian’s not ready to divest or divulge anything until after dinner and drinks.
“So, what made you do it?” Christian muses. “I thought Harrison King did only what he wished.”
I reach for my vino blanco, but someone else answers first.
“A woman.”
We turn toward Sylvie.
“It’s the only reason other than business that a man does what he does not want to do,” she goes on. “Even business is in service of his ultimate pleasure.”
Perhaps she’s not as naïve as I figured.
“Pursuing a woman is in service of a man’s ultimate pleasure too.” Mischa grins at my ex, who allows it, but she cuts a look at me the moment he drops her eyes.
I couldn’t care less about them tonight. For the past two days, I’ve let myself live in an alternate world. Seasickness aside, it was enthralling. Spending time with Rae’s group—most of them successful, all of them hardworking and earnest.
Rae was at the heart of it all.
Those dark eyes loaded with willfulness. Her soft curves making my hands burn to touch her.
That night on the deck, her jealousy over Sylvie was laughable.
It also made me hard as steel.
When Rae settled between my thighs, I couldn’t help myself. My hands trailed down between her legs, needing to know if she felt the scorching intensity I did.
The damp heaven I found there was the sweetest fucking temptation. The way she let me touch her, then rubbed against me for more.
It’s not only the promise of sex that captures me. It’s the way she challenges me. I can show her things, but she’s no wallflower. Every time I push her, she shoves back harder.
Most women want what I can give them—the trappings of my world.
Rae doesn’t want them.
I can’t buy her affection. Instead, I’m toiling for every inch of trust she parcels out in a muttered admission or an allowed touch.
I don’t know who hurt her in her life before she took my stage.
When I find out, I will bury them.
My parents were good people who provided everything for me and Ash. I’ll never be a saint, but thanks to their influence, I look after my own. A small group that expanded to include Rae while I wasn’t looking.
Her final show is coming up, and I’m not ready for it.
I don’t want her to go.
“At the risk of sounding patriarchal,” Christian says, his voice dragging me back, “the men will now talk business in the library.”
Our plates are cleared, my ex murmuring her appreciation. “The sirvia was excellent.”
Fucking liar.
Mischa and I follow Christian to the library, where we take seats.
Christian doesn’t waste time with more small talk. “La Mer is the jewel in my collection. Forty years ago, I would have dreamed about having two businessmen such as yourselves vying for it. Alas, men become greedy, and I am but a man. So, with two such suitors, I must weigh the relative offers.”
He shifts back in his leather chair. Despite the words, he enjoys holding court.
“There are day-to-day concerns with a club of this size. For instance, millions in revenues. I have a request of you both first. Consider it a practical test.”
I shift forward.
“We lost a performer due to unforeseen circumstances and must find someone suitable to put in his place. The long weekend.”
“The big producers have been booked for months. Years.” But my mind is already scanning through possibilities. Between Leni and me, we could probably call in a favor.
“I’ll find the perfect act.” Mischa’s teeth are bared in my direction, but not in a grin. He’d like to hurt me right now, but we’re not boys in school anymore. Even if he wanted to make this physical, he wouldn’t dare. It’s an unspoken rule that we fight our war with money and strategy, not with blades or blood.
Christian strokes his chin. “I would like to speak to each of you in turn about your vision for my venue. Mischa first. Harrison,” he goes on before I can argue, “allow my daughter to refresh your drink while you wait.”
I rise, fastening my jacket with one hand. Each stride toward the door is tight with frustration.
Sylvie greets me in the hallway with a tentative smile. “I’ll get you a drink from the kitchen.”
I follow her there and help by retrieving the bottle she wants from a shelf. The moment I set it on the counter, her mouth is on mine.
She’s innocent and determined, and I hold her arms gently as I push her away. “I can’t.”
Her expression caves. “You don’t find me attractive.”
“It’s not that. There’s someone else.”
The light in her eyes dies.
I pour a drink and hand it to her. “Perhaps you could use this more than me.”
She accepts it with a tiny nod.
I was going to pump her for information, but the sadness on her face makes me reconsider.
When did I go soft? I wonder as she heads toward the patio.
“Lovers’ quarrel?” A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts. “What a shame. You’d be perfect together.”
I turn to see my ex hovering in the hall.
Her blue cocktail dress compliments curves I once memorized. Now, Eva is a piece of art that doesn’t resonate—the objective quality is irrefutable, yet she leaves me cold and unmoved.
“I’d run right over her.”
“Precisely. You need a woman who lets you be the man you are.”
<
br /> “Like you did?” I’m surprised to hear there’s no bitterness in my voice.
She frowns. “A woman who wants all of you will never have you. You are on this earth with a purpose, and you will die to fulfill it. You would never die for me.”
I smirk. “Who would’ve bought you jewelry if I had?”
“A woman who demands more from you… you’d wear one another down.”
I turn that over. “Perhaps that’s the point. Sanding one another’s roughest edges doesn’t make you weaker—it makes you better.”
The door of the study cracks down the hall, and I turn my back on Eva’s stunned expression.
“Mr. King?” Christian beckons, and I trade places with a smug-looking Mischa.
I ignore the seat my host offers, instead resting an elbow on the back of the armchair. “I have a DJ for La Mer. She’s young, but she’s talented. Capable. Charismatic.”
I tell him about Rae’s success filling the club while he listens thoughtfully.
“You are quite taken with her.”
“I’m confident she’ll be an asset to the stage.” I pause, unable to read him. “You want to hear my vision for the club? Here it is—”
“Marry Sylvie and the club is yours.”
I’m stunned silent. Of the things I expected he’d ask in exchange for his club, this isn’t one of them.
Christian continues. “Not immediately, of course. Court her. Take what time you need. What time you both need. I worked hard on my business and my family. This club is like another of my children. I want to see it in the right hands.”
Sylvie’s attempts at seduction in the kitchen were sweet, if wholly misguided. But the man before me is serious.
I don’t point out the archaic nature of what he’s proposing—his child for his club. Clearly whatever her father said to her made her think I would be an attractive partner. And she’s not alone in that.
Women take a look at me and decide who and what I am, whether it’s money, an attractive package, a ticket to the right social circles.
I never had a problem with it.
I spent months engaged to a woman more caustic than Sylvie could ever be, one with ambitions that clashed with mine, though she hid them well. Christian’s daughter would be more loyal, and amenable.
