by Piper Lawson
I don’t let him.
Whatever we’ve become in these short weeks is real.
The moment of danger, of remembering that all I am could be gone in a moment…
I don’t want to lose it without experiencing this.
I rub my shuddering body against his.
The words I can’t say are clutched in my grasping hands, clinging to my desperate lips.
I’ve never begged Harrison for anything, but now, I am. I’m demanding and pleading in the same breath.
The moment he takes control, my heart skips in warning, in anticipation.
His tongue thrusts inside my mouth.
He grabs my hips, hauling me closer. His groan reverberates through my body, his need colliding with mine.
I want him in me everywhere with the same driving possession.
I grab his hair to change the angle between us, seeking relief even as he chases more friction.
When his hands slide up my legs, no longer inspecting but appreciating, memorizing, the hunger inside me grows into something alive and throbbing.
The ice falls from my fingers to the floor.
The only relief we’ll find tonight is the kind we can give each other.
My hands run down his untucked shirt before sneaking beneath to caress the hard lines of his abs. Harrison groans, pressing his hips closer.
“So many buttons,” I mutter as I try to work off his shirt.
I need to prove that I’m bent, not broken.
He shoves my hands away and rips the garment down the front.
The sudden conviction in him has me questioning whether unleashing all of this man was a good idea.
Harrison King could ruin me as easily as he could restore me.
This isn’t sweet—it’s a race to the bottom.
He backs me into the wall, his hands racing over my breasts, my pebbled nipples, my trembling stomach.
His fingers settle between my thighs, rubbing through the wet panel of lace.
My face hurts, my body shivers, but those capable fingers stroking my skin make me ache—for more, for him.
He drags my panties down, the lace digging into my hips as I squirm to help him.
“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs once they’re gone and he pulls back to look at me.
Appreciation isn’t what I need from him.
I reach for his belt, fumbling until it falls loose. I drag the zipper down over his straining length.
He’s a storm I can’t control—but, I realize, he’s one I can choose.
I might not know where I’ll land, but I can decide to step out into the winds.
So I do.
When my hand closes around him, my throat dries.
He’s hard and strong and male. As long as I imagined from feeling him against me on the yacht and even thicker.
Knowing that arousal beading at the tip is for me, that the tension in every inch of his glorious body and the fierce possession in his eyes is mine alone, makes me tremble.
For the first time outside of a DJ booth, I feel powerful.
I barely get a few strokes in before he reaches for the bedside table on a hiss, returning to rip at a package and toss the wrapper to the floor.
When he rolls the condom down, my throat constricts as if I can already feel his length filling me.
I want it so badly.
He lifts me against the wall, encouraging me to hook my legs around him.
When I shift, my head hits the edge of a picture frame.
I wince, sucking in a breath and flinching at the sharp pain.
Harrison bats at it with one hand. The picture slides down the wall and hits the floor with a thud.
He grabs my hip, his thumb rubbing a slow circle.
It’s the only warning I get before he thrusts inside me.
I cry out as my body stretches to accommodate his size.
Fuck, he’s deep enough it hurts. My back arches in protest, my nails digging into his arms hard enough to leave marks.
“God, you’re slick.” The tortured pleasure in his voice, knowing he’s as agonized as I am, makes the discomfort bearable.
He withdraws, a slow drag that leaves me aching, then shifts back in on a groan.
I swallow hard. This time, the discomfort abates enough that I’m focused on the tug of need deep in my stomach.
His jaw works, and I don’t know if it’s from the effort of what we’re doing or the effort of holding back.
The third time, the wave of pleasure catches me off guard as he fills me.
He bends his head to bite the curve of my breast, and my body clenches around him.
Wallpaper scratches my back.
Sweat has my fingers slipping on his.
My legs ache from clinging to his hips.
The more I writhe, the tighter he holds me. His lips skim my neck, my jaw, my ear.
I was already close to shattering tonight, and I thought this was what I needed.
But it’s not. It’s more.
He’s over me, inside me, around me, part of me. This man I thought was the last person I’d ever trust.
I can’t think about what happened earlier. Every punishing stroke of his hips chases away my fear, his regret.
It’s another few strokes before I arch, my climax starting at my core and rippling outward, making me shudder with every movement of his gorgeous body. He moves through it, hips thrusting faster, deeper.
The pace is relentless until the moment he freezes over me, going still. His jaw clenches in anguish as his release rips through him.
I’m in awe. It’s as if I’m seeing him for the first time.
When he shifts forward, his lips brushing my ear as he groans, “Fuck, Raegan,” I wrap my limbs around him to hold him there.
After, he pulls down the covers and tucks me into bed before heading for the bathroom. I hear the sound of the sink, water running, then nothing.
I stare at the ceiling, my heart echoing in the darkness.
I feel...alive.
Instead of healing me, what we did made a new edge, bright and gleaming and raw.
The difference is this edge is exhilarating. Full of possibility.
And I’m not alone.
When he returns, reaching for his discarded clothes, the feeling deflates.
“You’re leaving?” I ask quietly.
“I have to talk to the police. Leni texted to say it can’t wait until morning.” He dresses quickly and competently, knotting his tie and adjusting it. Every motion is as smooth and natural as how he moved inside me moments ago. “I’ll be back before you wake.”
The wave of anxiety sneaks up on me, settles into a vicious knot in my chest. I press a fist to my ribs under the sheets and silently count each shallow breath. “Promise?”
His gaze flicks to mine.
I’m not the woman who needs anyone’s assurance. But now, in the dark, after what happened tonight... I’m not ready to be alone.
Whatever he sees on my face has him crossing to me, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.
“I promise.”
Then he’s gone.
21
Rae
I’ve had a lot of sleepless nights. I was prepared for this to be among the worst.
But when I roll from my back onto my side, the first thing I notice is warm, golden light.
The soreness creeping into my awareness is the second. The spot between my thighs aches, but so does my face.
I blink my eyes open to see pale curtains waving in the breeze from the half-opened window, beckoning me into the world.
The scent of Harrison King lingering on the pillows makes me want to press my face into the covers.
But he’s not here.
I sit up. There’s no clock, but judging by the light, it’s late. I reach for my phone on the bedside table to see if he’s texted.
He hasn’t.
But there’s another slate of messages.
Callie: WTF is going on?
Followed by a
link.
Confusion crowds into the worry as I click the link she sent, waiting for the article to load.
Feminist DJ Caught with Businessman She Trolled: Was It All a PR Stunt?
It’s by the reporter I met in person here in Ibiza. I barely have time to process that before the photos load.
The first is of me in the booth at the club last night. It’s my wig, along with my gold dress, and I look powerful. It’s the kind of shot clubs want for their promotions, that makes people groan they missed out on the hottest party and line up for next week’s tickets.
The second photo is darker and harder to make out.
A woman, seated on something dark and out of frame, her dress high enough to expose her legs. Legs wrapped around a man in an untucked dress shirt, his dirty-blond hair and sharp bone structure visible in profile.
His hand is fisted in her hair, the other on her hip beneath the edge of the gold dress, just visible beneath the jacket wrapped around her shoulders.
They could be fucking. He could be deep inside her the moment this image was taken, his grip on her helping him chase his release.
Except they’re not, because they’re us. Harrison and me in a moment I never imagined being captured by another person. But the photo was taken last night at the club.
As I read the article, my breath comes so shallowly I might as well not be breathing at all.
The text cites an incident at his LA club this week. Plus, a list of issues at his other properties.
My lips tremble.
He said it was getting better.
And I trusted him.
Every line of the article guts me more than the last. It doesn’t outright call me a slut—which would’ve pissed me off but not hurt. Instead, I’m a hypocrite. I called out the man running the show only to cave to him, let him control me, at the first opportunity.
That’s not what this was.
Unable to stomach any more, my face throbbing in earnest now, I click out of the story.
The final text message rips my heart in half.
Callie: Tell me you’re not with that man. Did he hurt you? Pressure you?
I shut off the phone and head to the closet and grab one of Harrison’s dress shirts, slipping it on.
I slowly turn the door handle and step silently into the hallway.
There are noises downstairs, and suck in a breath. “Harrison?”
Natalia appears at the doorway of the kitchen, looking worried. “Señorita. Toro went to take him from the police station hours ago.”
“Take him where?”
She dries her hands on a towel. “I don’t know.”
“But he’s all right?”
“I believe so.”
He’s fine.
The knot in my chest eases, only to retighten.
He’s fine, and he didn’t return.
I head for my room, where I stare at the article again.
My throat aches. The stinging spots on my cheeks are tears.
I reach for the untouched bottle of pills on my dresser, fumbling with the lid. I take one dry.
The article wasn’t entirely correct… but it wasn’t all wrong either. Last night might not have been a PR stunt, but I did get caught up in something I was too naïve to handle.
I believed what I wanted to believe. I trusted a man I had no business trusting. Got comfortable in a place I never should have stayed.
I call him again.
He picks up on the third ring.
“Hello—”
“Harrison, I need you.” I choke out the words, but his voice continues.
It’s voicemail.
“You’ve reached Harrison King. I recommend you don’t leave a message. If I need you, I will find you.”
If I need you, I will find you.
He clearly doesn’t, because he’s not here.
22
Harrison
By the time I’m finished with the police, I want nothing more than my home and the woman waiting for me there.
Rae and I have things to discuss, things we didn’t get to last night.
Still, I have to make one stop on the way. There’s something I haven’t been able to shake, something made more real by Mischa’s appearance last night—an act not of calculation but of desperation.
“If you’re following up about your suggestion of a DJ, I’ve considered it. She’s not ready.”
Christian’s voice comes from the doorway of his study.
I snap shut the book I was pretending to read.
“She is. She filled Debajo for the first time in years.”
“Debajo is not La Mer.”
“No. It’s harder. It was empty. Desolate.” And it came with me. “Give her the chance. I promise she won’t disappoint you.”
“You would risk your reputation in this?”
“Yes.”
“Then have her meet me this afternoon. We can discuss it.”
Grim satisfaction grips me. I have no doubt Rae will convince him.
“I’m surprised you’re not with her now.”
Seeing Mischa looming over her at Debajo set a cold fury loose in me I haven’t felt since my parents died.
I wanted to kill him.
But I wanted to save her more.
The irony didn’t escape me, because it was my fault she was hurt. Mischa heard me admit to Christian that… what? I care for her?
He overestimated what I meant and went after her.
Or he didn’t overestimate it.
All I knew was I needed to get her home, to make sure she was safe and comfortable.
But when I took her upstairs, the girl from the club slowly melted away, replaced with the woman I’ve come to admire and appreciate and fucking hunger for.
I had no right to ask her for anything, but her raw response ripped away what was left of my control.
“I’ll be with her soon,” I promise Christian, picturing her asleep in my bed now.
I’ll make it up to her—last night, and everything else I’ve done.
Including how I claimed her against the wall in a furious, graceless rush.
There are countless ways I’ve imagined being with her, a thousand temptations to explore together that would take more than a single night, not to mention a single hour, to enjoy.
Her term at Debajo is concluded. On paper, we might be finished.
In reality…
We’re far from it. And now I have a reason to keep her here while we figure that out.
I start for the door, but Christian’s voice interrupts me. “Is that what you came to say?”
I pause. “If things escalate with Mischa,” I say, “know that I wasn’t the one who initiated. Since school, we’ve kept things civilized. But I want La Mer. And if he won’t play by the rules, I can’t promise to.”
“Breaking the rules. You come by it honestly.”
I frown, ripples of discontent making me turn back. “Tell me what you meant about my father yesterday.”
The older man crosses to the windows, peering out into the bright morning. “He’s not the paragon of virtue you seem to think.”
“My parents were above reproach. The second they learned about the drugs and other activities the Ivanov family was running behind the scenes, they wanted out. They would’ve died rather than supporting that kind of evil.”
In the end, they did.
But Christian’s silence is unsettling.
“You idolized them,” he says at last. “It’s dangerous to paint anyone as more than human. Particularly those we love.”
I don’t have the time to argue with him now, or to play games.
“If I promise to prove you wrong about my parents, promise me you won’t sell the club to anyone else in the interim,” I say. “You’re a patient man. Give me the benefit of the same.”
This deal is everything. I will him to agree.
“You have three months,” he says, sighing.
I stride out of his house
and out to the waiting limo.
The ride back feels interminable. I glance at my phone, seeing the barrage of missed calls as a result of turning alerts off for the morning to deal with more important things than business.
They don’t matter.
I picture Rae’s face when I tell her about Christian’s offer to meet. This could be the single most important show of her career. It won’t make up for last night, but it’s a start.
The second we pull up to my villa, Natalia is out front, wringing her hands.
“Señor King.” She crosses to the car, her expression a mask of distress.
“What is it?” I think the worst. Rae. She’s hurt, or sick, or…
I shove past her and stomp inside, looking all around.
Nothing is out of the ordinary.
There’s not a single item of Rae’s clothing on a table or chair.
My chest twinges. A warning.
I take the stairs two at a time to my room. The bed is empty, the sheets rumpled.
I pace down the hall to the room at the other end, bypassing every other door as if they don’t exist.
Hers is ajar, and that small crack of light fills me with trepidation.
I open the door, and my heart stops. There’re no messes, no clothes. No computer. No bottle of pills.
The closet is empty, save the dress and shoes I bought her to attend Christian’s party.
Impossible.
The woman I slept with last night. The one I sacrificed for, the one I denied the man who owns the club I want more than anything else in the world for…
She’s fucking gone.
Thank you for reading BEAUTIFUL ENEMY! I hope you loved Harrison and Rae’s love story as much as I do. Their story will continue in the Enemies trilogy with BEAUTIFUL SINS…
I swore I’d cut Harrison King out of my life, and my bed, forever. The second my contract with the ruthless billionaire who owned me was up… I ran.
I didn’t know that decision would only twist the web around us tighter.
Now, he’s back, and the sins of his past threaten to destroy us both. He still thirsts for power and vengeance. But his secrets run deeper than I knew, and underneath, there’s a breathtaking man I’ve only glimpsed.
