Beautiful Sins (The Enemies Trilogy Book 2)

by Piper Lawson

  “Fuck, Raegan. Your dirty mouth is so fucking sweet.”

  He wants to take control. His hand fists in my hair, pushing me down, and I shove him away. Eventually his touch comes back, cupping my face, fingers threading into my hair, thumb brushing my hollowed cheek as I suck him.

  Having this kind of power is like the feeling of playing to a huge crowd, only this is better.

  “You’re preening,” he rasps when I pull off him to catch my breath.

  “I deserve it.”

  He drags me to the carpet.

  He’s filthy rich, but right now, he’s just filthy.

  His hands stroke down my body as if he’s memorizing every inch before his mouth comes back to claim mine. It’s brutal, punishing me for every day we’ve been apart.

  His grip finds my throat, and a ribbon of fear snakes through me. But it’s overtaken by pleasure as he works a finger inside me. I can’t do anything but arch my back and take him deeper.

  “So wet.”

  It’s a curse and praise at once.

  He drags his cock over my mound, a cruel tease.

  I feel as if I’ve never had him inside me. But before he can make good on his implied promise, he parts my legs and shifts down my body.

  “First, you’ll beg.”

  That dirty mouth settles between my legs. If you can call it settling, because he’s restless, his tongue and lips moving together to drive me wild with need.

  A slow, leisurely lick.

  A hard suck.

  A rhythm more compelling and brutal than anything I’ve ever laid down on a track.

  My fingers grasp at the carpet, his hair, whatever I can find. “Oh shit.”

  I could tell him how I usually get myself off, but I can’t even think. There’s no way to tell him what to change because I wouldn’t know how to ask for this if I tried.

  He plays my body as though he was born to. Not because the first time he touches me is perfect, but because he takes every shiver of my body, every hitch of my breath, every incoherent murmur from my lips, and uses it against me.

  The man is a fucking doomsday machine set out to destroy me, to teach my body to ruin itself.

  “Tell me you missed me.” His lips vibrate against my skin.

  “Your smug elitist mouth? Not likely.”

  His fingers twist inside me and I gasp, yanking on his hair. He holds me in place.

  “My smug elitist mouth is going to make you scream.”

  When I come, it’s a record-setting explosion, even for LA. The aftershocks rack me for seconds, minutes, hard enough my toes ache.

  He appears over me, hair mussed, and suddenly he looks ten years younger by virtue of the cocky expression.

  I manage to prop myself up on my elbows. “That all you’ve got?”

  His low chuckle is sexy as hell. “On the contrary. Just getting started.”

  He grabs something from his pants pocket, then graces me with those intense blue eyes while he rolls on the condom.

  How I ever thought those eyes were cold I don’t know. They’re white-hot.

  He positions himself at my slit, the head of him bumping where I’m wet and making me ache. He sinks into me, an impossibly thick inch at a time.

  So full.

  I’m full of him, everywhere. My body, my head, my senses. There’s no denying it.

  Every instinct to struggle against the invasion ends with my fingers clenching, my body clenching, as he slides deeper.

  When his cock hits resistance, I gasp in relief.

  The last time we did this, we were swept up by the emotion of the night and needing escape and comfort.

  This is intentional.

  I told him we had no contract now, but it’s not true. We signed on an implicit line tonight, possibly from the moment he sat down at that table.

  A promise we’d play this out tonight with clear eyes and clear heads. And this time, neither of us is running.

  His groan ends on a hiss, and I realize he’s struggling with control as much as I am.

  “Feel how deep I am,” he rasps in my ear. “Memorize it. Every second I’m not inside you, you’ll wish I was.”

  Those words send blood pounding through my veins.

  “I’m going to cover every damn inch of this body before we’re through. But first…” The flash of cockiness in his eyes is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. “You’ll come for me.”

  I wrap my legs around his hips, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp and his jaw tighten.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I pant. “I understand endurance is harder at your age—”

  “Just for that, you’ll count. Every fucking stroke.” He shoves me back, his chest brushing mine so there’s no question I’m staying down.

  I’d laugh if I wasn’t so caught up. I count the first stroke in my head, almost losing track at the firm thrust of him stretching me, the sight of him, a powerful and determined flex of muscle and man over me.

  The next second, my butt is on fire, and I yelp. “The fuck?”

  His eyes flash with satisfaction. “Count. Out loud.”

  “Two,” I pant, my voice wavering at the edges. The angle is different this time, hitting me where I’m aching, and the knowing look on his face says he knows.

  Still, there’s no way I’ll…

  “Fuck… three…”

  My back arches up off the carpet, unbidden.

  Harrison’s lazy mouth is in direct contrast with the rest of him, descending to leave a trail of heat up my throat.

  Unreal.

  “Five…”

  More, overtaking me.

  I’m at twelve when he presses on my clit and I clench around him.

  “That’s cheating,” I mumble as the orgasm crashes through me.

  He moves through my climax, harder and faster and relentless. Until his body stills inside me and his muscles seize.

  The heavy exhale is torn from deep inside him, his shoulders flexing and eyes squeezing shut.

  It’s a thing of beauty, watching this tightly laced man fall apart. I can’t help tightening around him as he spills himself inside me.

  When Harrison collapses over me, he’s still in me.

  “No fucking clue why people would want to come at the same time.” His dry accent is so close to my ear he might be in my head. “I prefer to watch you.”

  When his head lifts, he’s grinning. My heart skips. He’s breathtaking like this. Happy and gorgeous and relaxed, and it reminds me of the strange closeness I felt while we were in Ibiza.

  An alarm goes off, and I lift my head in confusion.

  My phone.

  “I have a show,” I state.

  “You have a show,” he agrees.

  When he says it, the meaning sinks in. “Fuck, Harrison, I have a show.”

  I shift out from under him, shoving both hands through my hair. I start to stand, but there’s a hand in my face.

  He’s already up, helping me.

  My phone buzzes, and I find it lying on the floor next to my clothes.

  Beck: Heads up that I have a girl staying over tonight. In case you two run into each other naked in the kitchen.

  I’m barely done reading when I notice Harrison reading over my shoulder.

  “You never slept with him.”

  “Is privacy dead?” I complain, lowering the phone to my side.

  But he stares me down.

  “Beck’s really into this girl,” I admit as I grab my dress and tug it on.

  “Stay over. Come back after your show.”

  That feels like too much of him—a dangerous amount.

  “No.”

  “You’re punishing me for leaving you that night.”

  Surprise has me jerking toward him. He’s only wearing black boxer briefs, his gorgeous body moving easily as he slips on his shirt and fastens the handful of buttons from the bottom.

  “You were with me long enough to make me come,” I say.

  Whe
re is my damn underwear?

  Harrison holds up my panties, and I cross to grab them out of his hand.

  He holds on. “Just not long enough to make you stay.”

  I pull harder, and this time, he lets go.

  8

  Harrison

  Texts are meant to be responded to promptly.

  They’re not an email or a goddamned letter.

  But when I text Raegan the next day at noon to say, “I trust you slept well…”

  There’s no answer.

  I wanted her to come back after her set last night. We would’ve made it two steps in the door before I pressed her up against the wall and her hands were under my shirt. We would have fucked in the living room—again—before she crashed.

  But I got out of bed alone this morning, except for memories that made my cock twitch against my leg. I headed for the shower, jerked off for momentary relief.

  I’m not finished with her, not by a long shot.

  I’ve never wanted a woman who challenged me on every level. Normally I date beautiful women interested in enjoying life and being enjoyed. Raegan’s anything but that.

  In the kitchen, I take a moment to miss my housekeeper’s cooking before reaching for the fridge door handle. Since I arrived, I haven’t opened it once. The hotel chef brings my food himself, and I eat most of it around work—in my office here or at the warehouse with Leni.

  Now, I scan the fully stocked shelves.

  Juice. Milk. Fresh vegetables, precut. Even chicken.

  The pantry contains everything from nut butter to protein powder.

  Who knew?

  I settle on coffee with the French press I had delivered since I was last here.

  If only my problems could vanish as easily as the woman whose scent still lingers in my condo.

  The new club, for one.

  Leni and the team are full-on into a major renovation, and I need to get the zoning approval so we can open on schedule. The more research I do, the more convinced I am that this is the right time for this operation. It could add significantly to Echo Entertainment’s bottom line and its reputation.

  I take my coffee and phone out to the wraparound patio overlooking LA and the ocean beyond, hitting voicemail.

  “Boss, it’s Leni. I’ve managed to broker deals for most of the materials we need on short order. But some of the sound equipment is backordered and might push the club opening. Unless we can figure out another solution—”

  I hit End, cursing.

  And this isn’t the only venue in my empire.

  I’ve heard almost nothing from Mischa since he invaded Debajo and I slammed a fist into his face. With anyone else, that would be comforting. With him, it’s concerning because it means he’s working under the radar.

  I have to win La Mer, and the stakes have never been higher. If I don’t succeed, I will have disappointed my parents, failed before the man responsible for their downfall.

  Which is why I take the offensive position when I dial a contact.

  “Christian.”

  “Good morning, Harrison. I understand you’ve left us.”

  “For America, not for the dead,” I say dryly. The old man does like his drama. “Acquiring La Mer is still my number one priority. To that end, I’ve committed to a robust investigation to alleviate any concerns about the legitimacy of my parents’ activities.”

  “You’re in Los Angeles. It doesn’t seem like a priority.”

  “On the contrary. I’m sparing no expense.” I shift, scanning the horizon. I haven’t heard anything conclusive from my investigator yet, but he emailed me a status update with some of the areas he’s chasing down. “What I don’t know is why it’s so important to you.”

  Christian sighs. “There was a deal that went wrong. A property I was going into along with Mischa Ivanov’s company—only your father pulled out. The reason was obvious—it would’ve interfered with the drug trade. But it lost me millions, cost me an entire month with my family. I missed my eldest daughter’s graduation picking up the pieces, and that left a bad taste in my mouth. I need to know who made the call, your father or Mischa’s.”

  “And you think learning whether my father was aware of the drug activity will give you that answer.”

  “Yes.”

  I frown, pacing the patio. “You’ve granted me two months. I will get to the bottom of this.”

  “The terms are changing. Mischa raised his offer yesterday by a million.”

  The blood in my veins heats. “My offer was more than fair, and it’s untainted. Do you want Ivanov’s way of doing business as a stain on your soul? A father, a grandfather, has no reason to carry that burden.”

  “You have thirty days. Provide me the assurances we discussed and the club is yours.”

  “What does Ivanov think of this?” I challenge. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

  Christian clicks off without answering.

  9

  Rae

  When your requests don’t get a response, it’s a good idea to escalate.

  Sure, doing that with Echo Entertainment and Harrison King landed me an unplanned gig with an unwanted billionaire that sent my world spinning, but that was an anomaly.

  Once I saw a social post announcing two new headliners at Wild Fest when I got out of bed at noon after last night’s show, I knew I was running out of time.

  Despite my verbal jousting matches with Harrison to date, I’m not good with confrontation. But I tracked down one of the Wild Fest organizers and am following her down Santa Monica.

  I catch up to Victoria Ames at a stoplight where she’s riffling through her handbag, cursing. She knocks it to the ground, and I bend to help pick up the contents.

  “Thanks. I have a meeting in an hour, and this wasn’t on my schedule.”

  “Victoria? Don’t freak out,” I go on when she stiffens. “I’m Little Queen. I was talking with the cofounders about playing Wild Fest but haven’t heard from them in awhile.”

  She relaxes a degree. “I know who you are.”

  I hold out a lipstick, the two pieces of which have come apart. She frowns.

  “Five-second rule?” I suggest.

  Her mouth twitches, but she takes the tube from me and recaps it. “Everyone wants to play this festival. We have the best acts in the world lined up. Why are you the right fit?”

  “Come to a gig I’m playing in town next weekend and I’ll show you.”

  “Post the details on your social and I’ll take a look,” she counters.

  “I’ll send them to you.” I pull up the graphic and DM it to her account that I found earlier. I call after her, “You notice anything about the headliners you’ve announced so far?”

  She slows her steps but keeps walking. “They’re all top-100 DJs?”

  “They all have dicks!”

  I shout it loud enough the entire block looks over.

  “A donut break was a good idea,” Callie says as we head out the door of the place a few blocks from the charity, our small paper bags in hand, later that afternoon.

  “I was in the neighborhood.”

  “This is LA. No one’s ever in the neighborhood.”

  “I had a meeting about this huge festival, Wild Fest, at Santa Monica and Sepulveda.”

  “What’s there?”

  “Nothing, I mean actually on the street corner. I chased down one of the organizers and made her talk to me.”

  She laughs. “And how did it go?”

  “I think she’s going to come to my gig in Long Beach next weekend. Which reminds me, I need to confirm specs with them.” I frown and make a mental note because I haven’t heard from them since returning from Ibiza.

  “Well, if Wild Fest doesn’t want you, they’re nuts. Do you remember when we were in high school? The first gig you played?”

  “You held my hand.”

  “Literally.” Callie’s lips twitch. “You were shaking.”

  I’d been mixing my own music for a year when I got
the chance to play a party. A friend of a friend—at least a friend of one of the girls who had been my friend at the time.

  It had been dark, and I was alone in the back.

  Until I took over the booth.

  There I could be anyone. I didn’t need to justify myself or defend my feelings. All I had to do was play.

  “I’m surprised you chased that woman down. You must be desperate. Lurking is more your style than full-on attack.”

  “Maybe my style is changing.” I’m changing, I realize as I cut her a look. “I’m opening a club for Harrison King.”

  My cousin’s smile falls away. “What?”

  “It’s in Burbank. He’s not a bad guy, Callie.”

  “He’s a billionaire who lives in the tabloids. Yes, LA is full of people like that. But not ones we hang out with. At least, not who we hung out with growing up,” she amends.

  “Harrison’s intense. He pushes, and with anyone else, I’d tell them to fuck right off. The reason it works is I don’t have to live in the past with him.”

  “Because he doesn’t know your past?” she counters.

  “Because I don’t have to get into that shit. We can have fun.”

  “Fun?” She arches a brow as I grab her arm.

  “Yes. He’s fun.”

  She rolls her eyes, and I laugh.

  “You mean the sex is fun.”

  I pull my donut from the bag, swipe a finger through the icing, and lick it off. “The sex doesn’t suck.”

  Last night at his place was beyond hot. The first time we were together in Ibiza, the sex was desperate and hurried. This time, I got a taste for how he’d be in bed if we were together.

  Not that we made it to the bed.

  He demanded I fall in line the way he does when we’re clothed. The difference is when we’re naked, I’m tempted to give that power up to him. Probably because I know I’ll benefit from it in the form of orgasms I could never give myself.

  I’ve never wanted to trust a man with my body or my heart.

  That’s why when he texted me a few hours ago, I didn’t rush to reply. It’s not about pretending I’m unavailable. It’s about reminding myself I’m not available, in the sense that I’m not going to start jumping every time my phone goes off thinking it’s him like a teenager with a crush. I want more, but there’s a big difference between wanting to christen every surface of his penthouse condo and letting him into my deep, dark secrets.