Swink

by Adriana Locke

  Swink

  Copyright © 2017 Adriana Locke

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover Art:

  Kari March, Kari March Designs

  www.karimarchdesigns.com

  Cover Photos:

  Adobe Stock

  Editing:

  Lisa Christman, Adept Edits

  Interior Design & Formatting:

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  www.typeAformatting.com

  THE EXCEPTION SERIES

  (each novel can be read as a standalone)

  The Exception (book 1)

  The Connection, a novella (book 1.5)

  The Perception (book 2)

  The Exception Series Box Set

  THE LANDRY FAMILY SERIES

  (each novel can be read as a standalone)

  Sway (book 1)

  Swing (book 2)

  Switch (book 3)

  Swear (book 4)

  Swink (book 5)

  THE GIBSON BOYS SERIES

  Coming Soon!

  STANDALONE NOVELS

  Sacrifice

  Wherever It Leads

  Written in the Scars

  Battle of the Sexes

  Lucky Number Eleven (coming September 7, 2017)

  More Than I Could (coming fall 2017)

  Subscribe to Adriana’s Release Day Email list and receive an email from the author every time she publishes a book.

  Follow Adriana on Goodreads to stay up-to-date on all things bookish.

  

  Contents

  SWINK

  Also by Adriana Locke

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from SWAY ~ Available Now

  Excerpt from THE EXCEPTION ~ Available Now

  About The Author

  Acknowledgements

  To everyone that has the courage to love

  who you love, even when people tell you not to.

  And to Tiffany. For you.

  Dominic

  I’M THAT GUY.

  Camilla Landry rustles against me, the silky fabric of her overpriced lingerie slipping along my bruised rib. The porcelain perfection of her skin is even more innocent against the colorful ink dotting my own. It’s demure meets damaged, pampered meets punctured.

  So, yeah, it’s obvious I’m that guy. Dominic Hughes. Her attempt at rebellion. Her bid to see what the other side of the tracks feels like. I’m okay with being used, because from where I’m sitting, the other side of the tracks has never looked so good.

  She lifts her head, her baby blue eyes finding the darker blues of my own. “What time is it, Dom?”

  “Not sure. Around five, probably.”

  “I should get up and get ready to go.”

  “Yeah, you better. You’d hate to be late. Daddy wouldn’t like that,” I tease.

  “It’s not just my dad,” she moans, smacking my stomach as she rises. “It’s Ford’s dinner party.”

  I start to give her shit, but the sight of her body dissolves the words before they can leave my mouth. She bends her five-two frame to pick up the panties I flung a few hours ago, her blonde hair hitting the curve of her hip.

  She moves with ease, the result of finishing school and a stint in ballet that she claims to have hated. Even with her hair a mess from being wrapped around my fist and her cheeks flushed from the orgasms I expertly delivered, she still appears absolutely put together. Unaffected. Maybe even slightly aloof. That is, until she turns her head and catches me looking at her.

  Just like the first time I saw her nearly a year ago, as soon as our eyes lock, everything changes. Her eyes hood, her lips parting ever-so-slightly. She bends again, slowly this time, her gaze never leaving mine.

  With one arched brow, she scoops a pair of pink heels from the floor. The globes of her ass pop in the air and give me a glimpse of the sweet spot I enjoyed for the last couple of hours.

  “Keep that shit up and you won’t be going anywhere,” I warn, not totally kidding.

  “I have no idea what you’re taking about. I’m just getting dressed.” She turns away, her bare ass facing me, giving me a front row seat as she slips the lace up her legs.

  The bedsprings groan as I leap off the bed and grab her around the waist before she can react with anything but a yelp. “Dom!” she giggles, her feet coming up off the floor as I lift her up and against me. Her chest rises and falls, the air rushing in and out of her lungs as she awaits my next move.

  “You wanna fuck with me?” I whisper in her ear. Her body melts into mine as a spray of goosebumps spatters her skin. “I’m not sure how much more cock you can take today, pretty girl.”

  Letting her feet drop to the floor, I keep one arm wrapped tightly around her waist as I lean my body, nearly a foot taller, down with hers. My lips hover over the shell of her ear. The warmth of my breath against her skin causes her breathing to become even more rapid.

  My free hand runs roughly down her body, starting just beneath her perky, full breasts and down the arch of her stomach to the tip of her pussy.

  Her cheek is soft against my chest as she releases a loose, heavy breath.

  “What do you want, Cam?”

  “You.”

  The word is just one syllable, a barely audible rush of air. Yet, it’s enough of a bucket of cold water, a dose of reality, to make me press a kiss to the back of her neck before stepping away.

  “You better get dressed,” I gruff, smacking her on the ass.

  She glares at me over her shoulder. “I hate when you do this.”

  “Do what?”

  There’s no answer, but there doesn’t have to be. Her point is clear and noted. For the record, I hate when I do this too. But it has to be done.

  The bed squeaks again as I climb to the center and drop onto my side, wincing from the minor shot of pain in my rib. Propping my head up with one hand, I watch her sweep around the room, readying herself to leave.

  I’d have no problem watching her move around my space all night. I’d actually love it, if I didn’t have to feel the awkwardness that comes with her departure. I could just let it be, let her give me a weird look and walk out and leave it at that. Truth be told, I’ve let that happen with more girls than I care to count . . . but not with Camilla.

  Every time she leaves could be the last. And also unlike the girls before her, and most likely the girls that will come after, it would bother me to think the last time
she was here ended on a sour note.

  I’m a diversion in her life. I get it. So ideally she’ll look back on it someday with nothing more than a smile and wet panties.

  “So where are you going again?” I ask in a pathetic attempt to make small talk.

  “To one of my brother’s dinner parties,” she says, buttoning up her shirt. “Ford and Ellie have some news about their baby, and they’ve invited us all over for dinner. Well, we’re actually going to the Farm because Ellie realized how much of a production it is to have a dinner party with the entire Landry brood. So she caved and let Mom get catering from Hillary’s House and we’re just doing it at the family property.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “You lie.”

  “Fine. It sounds boring as fuck,” I grin.

  “Trust me, it’ll be anything but boring. When my four brothers and twin sister get together, it’s always interesting.”

  “There’s nothing remotely interesting about watching a bunch of yuppies have a dinner party,” I point out. “And who calls it a ‘dinner party,’ anyway?”

  “Normal people.”

  “Wrong answer, Ms. Landry. Yuppies. Yuppies call it a ‘dinner party.’”

  “Fine,” she sighs, twisting her hair into a knot on the top of her head. “What would you call it?”

  “Dinner with people. A barbecue. Supper. Dessert, if you’re on the menu,” I tease.

  “You’re impossible,” she laughs, coming to the edge of the bed. “What are you doing tonight while I’m suppering with people?”

  Rolling onto my back, I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. The light from the broken window causes a spray of color to dance across her features. Lifting my hand, I brush a lock of hair off her face, letting the pad of my thumb sweep against her forehead

  “I’m meeting Bond at the gym in a little bit,” I say carefully. “He’s going to work out with me for a while.”

  “For the fight?”

  “For the fight.”

  She sits on the edge of the mattress, but doesn’t face me. She looks towards the doorway but her stare seems to go much farther. Her head is someplace else. Probably somewhere trying to decide whether or not to resurrect the argument we have every time my fights come up in conversation.

  “I don’t know why you do this, Dom,” she says softly. “It’s stupid.”

  “It’s not stupid.” I pull myself so I’m right behind her. I rest my hand on her shoulder. It covers her easily, her shoulders as narrow and delicate as the rest of her. “It’s easy money. It’s a couple of fights a year that land me a few grand. Besides, I like it.”

  “How can you like getting your head beat in for any amount of money?”

  “I don’t. That’s why I don’t let it happen.”

  “You say it like it’s a fact,” she says, twisting to look at me. “Like there’s a chance you won’t get hit.”

  “Oh, I’ll get hit. I’ll just hit him harder,” I smirk.

  She begins to protest, but I cover her mouth with mine. It takes a couple of seconds for her to give in and kiss me back. Her lips are soft and sweet, letting mine take the lead and guide her like one of those yoga sequences she does in the morning. When I finally pull back, I still see the fight in her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I hint.

  “Yes,” she sighs, kissing me once more before standing. “I smell like you.”

  “If I’ve done my job you do.”

  “I’m going to have to go home and shower before I head to the Farm.”

  “There’s a shower down the hallway, you know. But if you go getting naked—”

  “I’ll never leave,” she finishes, giving me a little grin. “Call me later?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kissing the tips of her fingers, she lays her hand towards me and blows. It’s typical Cam—adorable on one hand, suggestively sexy on the other.

  She doesn’t look back as she leaves. As I hear the front door shut, a certain feeling settles over me, one that tells me this won’t be the last time I see her.

  I flop back on the bed with a smile of my own.

  Camilla

  I DROP MY PURSE ON the sofa as quietly as I can, but it doesn’t matter.

  The Farm, which is actually an old plantation-style house on a few acres of land that my family has had for decades, is bustling with activity. The noise level makes one thing clear: my entire family is here. There are laughs ringing through the air, the sound of the television on some sports channel, and footsteps coming from every direction. As much as I hated leaving Dominic earlier, I love walking into this just as much.

  My twin sister, Sienna, is sitting on a stool at the kitchen island watching our mother get things organized. The rest of the family dots the living room that’s open to the kitchen. My brothers Barrett, Graham, Ford, and Lincoln are all discussing some business matter with our father. Lincoln holds his new son, Ryan, while his wife, Danielle, smiles adoringly through the window from the back porch.

  Next to her outside is Barrett’s wife, Alison, Ford’s wife, Ellie, and Graham’s girlfriend, Mallory. Mal is telling some story and Ellie is laughing, one hand on her pregnant belly.

  A grin stretches across my face as I take them all in. Even though I’m the youngest, even younger than Sienna by two minutes, and am treated as such by everyone, there’s nothing that makes me happier than being surrounded by them.

  As I try to figure out how to assimilate and not draw attention to the fact I’m late—something the Landry’s don’t tolerate well—Barrett’s son, Huxley, comes around the corner.

  “Your dad was looking for you a few minutes ago,” he whispers conspiratorially. “I told him I was pretty sure I saw you earlier.”

  “Thanks, Hux,” I say, hitting the brim of his purple baseball cap.

  My brother, Barrett, officially adopted Huxley a few weeks ago when he married Huxley’s mother, Alison. I didn’t really know the eleven-year-old very well until that night. When I woke up in the middle of the night for a drink, I found him at the kitchen island with a plate of cookies, glass of milk, and a lot of questions on his mind. We bonded over those cookies, both not completely sure—in our own ways—what the future held for us. We each knew what we wanted. The problem is, neither of us felt like we had any power over it. We were at the mercy of other people’s decisions.

  “Camilla Jane,” my father’s voice booms through the room. “Are you just getting here?”

  “I’ve been here a while,” I say, ignoring Huxley’s red cheeks beside me. “I had a call I had to take outside.”

  Dad looks at me like he doesn’t quite believe my story, but is redirected by something Ford says. When I look at my brother, he mouths “You’re welcome.”

  While Sienna is closest to Lincoln, the youngest out of the boys, I’m closer with Ford. He and I both favor Mom a little more than Dad. We have a more compassionate side, and are maybe slightly less ambitious than our overachieving siblings. He’s definitely the one I can go to for advice and won’t just write me off as a pain in the butt.

  “Let’s go find your mama,” Lincoln says to baby Ryan. He lifts off the couch and follows me as I head to the kitchen. “You have a hickey on your neck.”

  “What?” I almost yell, clapping a hand to the base of my throat. My mind immediately goes back to Dom as I try to figure out when he did it.

  Lincoln’s laugh comes immediately. “I’m kidding. But a call? Really, Cam? Your lying game blows.”

  “I hate you,” I say, trying to laugh but still feeling the panic. “That wasn’t funny.”

  “No, it was. It was also very telling.”

  “Don’t, Linc,” I warn. “Don’t go there.”

  “We’re going to meet him sooner or later, you know.”

  “Maybe not,” I shrug, ignoring his protest as I climb onto a stool beside my sister. “Hey, Sister. Hi, Mom.”

  “Hello, Camilla,” Mom says from th
e sink. “Nice of you to bless us with your presence.”

  “I was . . .” I start to give her the same story, but her quirked brow stops me. “I’m starving. When are we eating?”

  Wiping her hands on a white towel, she faces me. Her eyes twinkle in a way that only happens when all of her kids, and now grandkids, are home. She’s in her element, and by the way she’s almost hopping on the balls of her feet, very excited to hear Ford and Ellie’s news. “Let me grab Ellie and see if she’s ready.”

  “Don’t pressure her, Mom,” Sienna laughs.

  “I won’t. I mean, I’ll try not to.”

  As she heads out the sliding glass door, Sienna looks at me. “I take it you had a good day.”

  “I did, thank you very much.”

  “Should I ask?”

  “Do you need to?”

  She grins, swirling a straw in the tea in front of her. “No. You have that freshly-fucked look on your face. It’s pretty, actually. Reminds me of the new blush I just bought.”

  “I’d rather get my blush from Dom.”

  “I can’t say I blame you,” she laughs. “How are things going with him?”

  “They’re going . . .”

  “Ellie was hoping you’d bring him tonight,” Sienna say, choosing her words carefully.

  I slump in my chair. “You know I can’t bring him here.”

  “If you’re going to keep seeing him, Cam, you’re going to have to bring him around. You can’t keep these parts of your life separate forever.”

  “And subject him to them?” I say, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder towards our brothers. “Who would rip into him first?”

  “I think Dom can handle himself. Besides,” she says, shoving the glass away, “haven’t you met his family?”

  “No. I mean, I’ve met Nate and Ryder, but that’s it.” I look at the marble counter, the gold flecks sparkling. “I don’t know for sure how much family he has, really,” I admit.

  Sienna leans across the chair, her arms resting on the countertop. Her eyes, the exact same color blue as mine, narrow.

  “It’s not a normal relationship,” I offer before she can start asking questions. “You know this.”