Sweet Ruin

by Nazarea Andrews

  I smirk. "You’re thinking too much, English." I glance over at Megan, who is watching with wide eyes, a flush in her cheeks.

  "Come here," I murmur.

  She's across the room before the words are out, her breasts pressed against me as I kiss her. There is no finesse in the kiss—it's all raw hunger and teeth and lips that don't line up, and her breathless gasp stealing all rational thought. I nudge her back until she collides with Asher. He sits on the bed, scooting back, and I nod. "Straddle him, sweetheart. Let him have you."

  Her eyes go wide, and she flinches as his fingers graze the crease of her ass. "I'm not—"

  "You aren't ready for that. But I want to kiss you while he fucks you. So you'll do this."

  She takes a deep breath.

  Asher

  It's awkward as hell—and she looks nervous through the haze of desire. I sit up, leaving nibbling kisses on her spine as I tug her hips so she's hovering over me. Strong hands wrap around my dick, and I thrust into the grip without thought. Luca laughs, and then I can't hear that, can't hear anything, nothing but Megan's soft whimper, and the silky heat of her wrapping around me. I drop back on the bed, my hands holding her hips too hard, and try not to move as she slides down, until I'm buried balls deep in her.

  I want to shout in triumph. I want to thrust into her until we're both screaming. I want to see the look on Luca's face. I shove all of that aside and squeeze her hips. "Move, Meggy," I say harshly. "Ride me, love."

  It takes a few minutes, a few agonizing slips along my cock, before she finds the rhythm she wants, a shallow rise and fall, her hips working in tiny circles that has me riding the edge. She's gasping, these sexy little noises that are driving me fucking crazy, and falls forward, still working her hips, still chasing that edge.

  Luca catches her, kissing her and holding her up as I fuck her. His fingers play over her clit, and she moans, a long drawn out noise that is almost a sob. I shift, my fingers brushing over the curve of her ass, and she tenses a little.

  "Relax, love," Luca murmurs, and she sighs as his finger play with her and his lips close over her nipple. One hand leaves my legs, where she's braced herself, and comes up around his neck.

  She's lost in the kiss, her movements becoming more and more frantic, and I brush a finger over the small pucker of her ass, giving just a tiny bit of pressure. She whimpers, and I thrust hard into her pussy as I push past the tight ring of muscles.

  She screams, her body going limp and boneless as the orgasm hits her. She grinds down on me, and Luca props her up as the orgasm devastates her. I shove into her again, the sensations sweeping over me until I can't think can't breath can't stop it as I shout, my hand clamped on her hip, holding her tight to me as I follow her over the edge.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Luca

  I step out of the car, and Megan circles to stand between Asher and me as we stare at the house.

  “So. Big House. It’s an apt name.”

  “This is where Atti and Nik had their reception,” Megan says. “It was a popular place for all of us, in school. Until Grayson died—things changed after that. Scout went downhill pretty fast.”

  Asher snickers. “His brother’s name is Scout?”

  “Sister. His little sister. Okay—y’all ready? They know we’re here.”

  I straighten, and Asher’s face takes on that studiously bored expression as Megan leads us across the driveway and up the front porch steps.

  The door opens before she can knock, and a tall man in a suit, with dark hair and pale blue eyes, steps onto the porch. His gaze is cool as it skates over the two of us, and chills a bit when it settles on Megan. “What are you doing here?”

  I stiffen—the question is hostile to the point of being rude, and who the fuck does he think he is, to talk to her like that?

  “Nice to see you, too, Dane,” Megan says tartly. That’s the tone she uses when she’s facing off with Kevin, and that annoys me more—because he has her that on edge.

  “It’s never nice to see the Beauchamp women.”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Asher snaps, stepping forward. Dane spares him a disinterested look then glances back at Megan.

  “I don’t care why you’re here or that Atti is happy to see you—if you fuck this up for him, I will make sure you and your harpy of a sister will never be happy in this city again.”

  Her face is white, from shock or anger, I’m not sure which. He straightens away from her as I draw her back into my arms. Blue eyes study me, for the first time seeming to actually notice me.

  “I’m not back to stay, Dane. I don’t want Branton, and I don’t have any desire to hurt Atti—I think Nik did enough there, don’t you? I just need my client to talk to him. You can quit protecting him.”

  He smiles coolly. “You know better. Which of these is your client?”

  Asher steps forward. “I am. Asher Knox.”

  That gets a reaction—Dane blinks, startled, his gaze snapping from Megan to Asher, the hostility draining away to be replaced with shock. “Seriously? Meggy is your agent?”

  “Don’t sound so shocked, Dane,” she says dryly.

  “Don’t call her that,” I murmur, and his gaze turns shrewdly assessing.

  Then he looks back at Megan. “If Scout starts lusting after these two, you get to explain to my girlfriend why they’re not touchable.”

  Shock stutters across Megan’s face. “You’re with Scout?”

  He laughs, a rich rumble, and pushes past us. “Yep. She’ll want to have dinner. I’ll let her know you’re in town.”

  “Will you be nice?” she mutters, not quite soft enough. Behind us, the Jeep parked to the side of the massive drive way rumbles to life.

  “Who the hell was that?” I ask, and I’m surprised I managed to keep my tone civil.

  “Dane. Atti’s best friend and surrogate brother. And apparently he’s dating Scout. He’s a bit protective. It’s got less to do with me than my sister.”

  I don’t say what I’m thinking. I just squeeze her hand as Asher presses against her back.

  She knocks once then walks into the house. It’s a warm house, clean and sparsely decorated, but done with the warm touches of a family. And it smells amazing, like spices and chocolate still warm from the oven. I can hear two voices, one a low timbre, the other a higher-pitched laughter.

  “Atticus?” Megan calls. There’s a heartbeat of silence, and then a man a few years older—late twenties, maybe—appears at the end of the hall, his green eyes sparkling behind a pair of glasses, hair messy. He’s wearing jeans low on his waist, an old band t-shirt, and bare feet.

  His smile is wide and genuine, and Megan steps away from us for the first time since last night, almost running into the man’s arms.

  Atticus Grimes is younger—and better looking—than I expected. I don’t know what to do with this.

  “Megan, you look fantastic! Have you been home yet?”

  “No, we just got in last night—besides, going home this time might be awkward, you know?” She turns and gestures at us.

  Atticus’ eyes go wide, and startled. “You’re Asher Knox.”

  English nods abruptly, and the disconcerting gaze swings to me. “And you?”

  “Luca James.”

  Confusion crosses his face briefly. No one ever knows the names of male models. It’s the curse of our profession.

  “I see why you don’t want to take them home.”

  I stiffen and snap, “Why the fuck not?”

  Atti smirks. “Because Nik would eat you alive. Or at the very least, she’d try.”

  Oh.

  “Come in, sit down. Megan, we need to talk.”

  She smiles, a forced expression that almost hurts to look at. “Fine. After lunch?”

  We follow Atti into the other room and are greeted by a blonde.

  Not just a blonde, but a gorgeous one. She’s wearing tight jeans and a sweater, her hair pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck. With
her big blue eyes and classic good looks, she could give any working actress a run for her money.

  “Holy shit, is that Asher Knox?” the girl squeaks, her voice full of disbelief.

  I roll a look at him. “Is it always like this?”

  “Get used to it,” he mutters. He smiles at the girl, who flushes as if realizing that she spoke aloud.

  “Sorry,” she blurts. “I’m Avery. Atti’s fiancée.”

  Megan smiles. “So you weren’t joking. You actually got engaged.”

  He nods, wrapping an arm around Avery’s waist. “You know as well as I do, the marriage ended long before Nik agreed to sign the papers.”

  “I know of all people to jump back into marriage, you are the last one I expected it from. But then, Dane is dating Scout. Apparently the world is not a place I recognize anymore.”

  Avery’s gaze sweeps to Megan, and I see a shadow pass over her face, as if she’s not quite happy to see Megan. Atti shrugs. “Everything changes, Megan. You left to prove that.”

  I squeeze Megan’s hand, a gesture Atticus picks up on, his eyes narrowing minutely.

  “Well, come in and sit down,” Avery says, her voice nervous, and I let go of Megan, following her into the heart of the house.

  Asher

  Atticus is disgustingly likable. I listen, not commenting, through a lunch of pasta and chicken tossed in garlic and tomato sauce, served with a thick, warm soup. Avery is quiet, watching us from where she sits at Atti’s side, and I see the curious glances he gives her, like he can’t quite believe she is being so shy. Megan holds up her end of the conversation, asking all the appropriate questions about life in a small town.

  “I’ve been gone for a few months—but Randall has kept me informed. And as much as we might say differently, the things that make the city tick never change. Classes continue. People fuck. We drink and fight and forgive. That’s a small town.”

  “I know,” she murmurs, toying with her fork. “It’s why I left.”

  “But you’re back now. For good?” Avery asks, her voice strong for the first time since we sat down.

  “No. Asher and Luca are working on Black Tides. We came to consult.”

  Atti’s eyes swing to me, sharply assessing. “That movie about Jean Lafitte?”

  I nod, and he frowns. “You don’t look anything like Jean.”

  “That’s what costume and makeup are for,” Megan says, her tone just a little exasperated. “Can you help or not?”

  Avery snorts and stands. “I’m getting cake. Megan, do you want any? You just let Atti loose on his favorite subject—we’ll be waiting on these three for a while.”

  She looks a little startled and glances over at us. I nod briefly at her, encouraging her to get to know the quiet girl.

  Then I motion to Luca, and we follow Atti down the hall to a spacious bedroom that’s been converted into a home office. He grins as we sit down, and from the eager light in his eyes, I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking for his help.

  Three hours later, I’m convinced this was the worst idea I’ve ever had. My head is spinning, and Atti shows no signs of flagging. From the front of the house, the door slaps shut, and Avery shouts Atti’s name. A few seconds later, she appears in the doorway, her hair damp from rain and an incredulous look on her face.

  “You have not been in here since I left.”

  Atti blinks at her and shrugs. “Oh my god, Atticus. It’s been, like, two hours! Did you even call Scout and tell her that I’m cooking tonight?”

  “Um.”

  She mutters a curse, spinning away to stalk through the house. I stretch, jostling Luca.

  “Excuse me for a second,” Atti says. He stands and hurries after his grumpy fiancée.

  “Where is Megan?” Luca asks, sleepily. He’s awake, but I can understand the exhaustion.

  “Probably thought Atti chopped up our bodies and fed them to the gators and is happily on her way back to California.”

  He laughs, and I stand. My back pops, and I stifle a groan.

  We’re in the hallway when Luca stops me, and I hear them talking.

  Luca

  Megan’s voice is off—thick with sleep and something I’m not sure I can assess. Not without seeing her, and she’s firmly out of sight.

  “I like them. Good guys,” Atticus says. “I don’t think they heard anything after the first ten minutes, but it was polite to listen anyway.”

  “Atti, you kept them locked up for two hours!”

  He laughs, and then, “How long have you been with them?”

  “I met Luca when I got to LA. He was my roommate. Asher’s been a client—”

  “I meant, with them.”

  There’s a moment of silence, and then, her voice, stiff and colder than I’ve ever heard it. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  My stomach hallows out, and I take a step back. No. She didn’t—she misunderstood. Asher’s hands catch me, supporting me as my world, the neatly ordered plan I’ve put together, the dreams of a life outside the shadow cast by Dylan, gets tossed out the fucking window.

  “Asher and Luca are friends—clients, and good friends. But I’m not with them.”

  “But, you guys seem so close,” Avery protests.

  “Not that kind of close,” she says, disdainfully.

  I want to run. I want to scream. I want to demand an explanation, a reason she would say that about us. Logic says she’s protecting herself—and us. A triad isn’t the most conventional of relationships, and it’s still new enough that can I really blame her for denying us?

  Yes. I can and I do. She didn’t even hesitate. There was no judgment in Atti’s voice—and she still denied us like we were nothing.

  “Let’s go,” Asher says softly. His grip on my hip tightens, just a little, enough that I’m shaken from my daze and forced to look at him. His eyes are worried and demanding. I nod at the questions lingering there and force a tired smile. “Fine, English. I’m fine.”

  He leans down, kissing me quickly, and we walk out of the hallway.

  Atticus and Avery are standing in the kitchen, and Megan is by the bar, looking like she just rolled off the couch, uncomfortable as hell.

  Her gaze darts to us, and I see a hint of pleading in her gaze. “We need to go,” is all I say.

  She nods and turns to smile at Atticus. “Thank so much for your time. I’m sure it was more than enough.”

  Avery snorts. English is together enough to shake Atti’s hand, and then we’re out the door and I can catch my breath, just a little. Megan looks startled as I push past her and slide into the back seat. Asher gives her a slightly apologetic look and ducks in behind me.

  We’re halfway back to the hotel before Megan kills the radio and frowns at us in the rearview mirror. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I snap, and she laughs. She laughs.

  Asher squeezes my knee, but doesn’t address Meg’s question. She huffs. “I can’t fix it if you won’t talk to me,” she says.

  “Sweetheart, you couldn’t fix this if I did talk,” I snap.

  She goes still, her eyes wide and hurt. How dare she? What fucking right does she have to be hurt? None. None at all.

  “What the hell do you think this is, Megan? Do you think I walked away from Hollywood to chase you here for a coupla fucks? A chance to have Knox suck my dick?”

  She flinches, and Asher speaks up. “Easy, Luc.”

  “Fuck that,” I snarl. “You heard her. We both heard her, man. She said we’re nothing. Friends.” I lean forward, my lips right at Megan’s ear, and hiss, “I don’t fuck my friends the way I did you.”

  “What the hell did you want me to say,” she demands, her voice shaking. “Tell him I’m with you both? Because, you know, that would be killer publicity.”

  “He’s your fucking brother-in-law, Megan,” I shout, unable to keep it in anymore. “If you can’t trust him, who can you trust? Or do you think we’ll be able to keep it a se
cret forever? Do you plan to be seen on Knox’s arm and come home to both of us? Do you really think we can keep it from the entire press when we go home?”

  She doesn’t say anything, and I know. A sick feeling grips my stomach. I sit back, trying not to think about it. Trying to ignore the fact that this thing, this wonderful new, fragile thing will be gone.

  I will lose them both.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Megan.

  Luca is walking like he’s injured, and Asher is hovering over him like a sexy, overgrown mother hen.

  Really, who would have thought Asher Knox, Hollywood heartthrob, would turn out to be such a sweet softie?

  “Luca,” I say, softly, as the elevator chimes. The doors to my floor open, and I step out.

  They don’t follow me.

  My stomach swoops, and I can feel tears pricking at the back of my eyelids. I knew, I knew I would lose them. But I’m not ready to. Not yet. Not like this, with him so angry.

  For a wild moment, I want to take it all back, and I want to throw my phone down—and then I remember that this is the best case scenario. There is no way to walk away from this without them furious.

  So I take a step, and another, until the elevator swishes shut behind me, and I’m at my hotel room door. Until I’m inside, and the darkness that was so welcoming, the bed that was so warm—is no comfort at all.

  I wake up alone. They haven’t crept in and filled the empty spaces around me. After the time on the road, it feels odd, being so utterly alone.

  A light blinks in the dark room, and my phone vibrates again, a harsh noise that jars me to wakefulness.

  I glance at the text message.

  I’m too sober and too sad to deal with Kevin right now. I groan and silence the phone.

  Why did I agree to this—why did I offer it, in the first place? Because it was the only way to keep my job, and that job was the only thing I had to prove that I wasn’t a huge fuck up.