by Piper Lawson
The fuck?
My fingers slip inside her heat.
First one, then a second.
My cock chafes against the zipper of my trousers. “The next day.”
I could be free of these trousers in a minute. Inside her in two. Making her scream my name loudly enough her smug roommate can hear.
But I want to show her she means more to me than sex. I want her to trust me, to know that I want more of her. I want all of her.
“I’m busy this week,” she pants, gripping my wrist as I slowly pump her with my fingers. “Working on this set.”
She’s letting me in physically but pushing me away emotionally.
I can’t use my normal approach of pinning her down. Brute force does nothing with this woman. She turns to vapor.
It takes everything in me to withdraw my hand, leaving behind her sweet, tight heat. “I’m going to add you to my calendar. You look at it and let me know when you’re available.”
If it takes her more than three damn days, I’ll be back over here. But I don’t say that.
Raegan blinks in surprise, shoving at a chunk of hair that’s fallen out of her ponytail. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I know exactly what I’m missing.” I suck her off my fingers, and her jaw drops. “And what I got tonight is worth even more.”
My balls ache the entire way home.
11
Rae
“I Can’t Feel My Face” streams out of my headphones, but it’s my feet that’ve gone numb. Ernie’s been lying on them for an hour while I sit on Beck’s patio and work on my set for Long Beach.
I drum my fingers on the arm of the chaise, reviewing the set list.
When I approached them with the midsummer “zombie beach” theme a couple months ago, they were down with it. Though I’m still waiting on a final equipment confirmation, it’s going to be great.
It has to be because Victoria said she’d come, and this is my chance to prove I deserve a spot at Wild Fest.
I gently move Ernie onto the patio despite his whine of protest. The track changes, and I shut my eyes to listen.
The dog licks my bare calves, and I hold out the headphones. “It’s really fucking good, right?”
He sniffs them gingerly, his wet nose flaring.
“Don’t tell Beck I was swearing around you. He thinks you’re too impressionable.”
Light glints off the diamonds set into each earpiece, the band connecting them. They’re always with me now.
And so, it seems, is the man who gave them to me.
Harrison took me for dinner on the beach two nights ago. We ate tacos and talked about stupid bullshit that somehow felt important because of the man I shared it with. Seeing the billionaire relax enough to sit on the sand and laugh affected me. It made me think about how things could be, if I let them.
He’s the one pushing us forward, pushing us closer. He peels back parts of me, even without words.
It’s disconcerting.
By the time we were done with our food, I was having a really good time. Plus, I was looking forward to seeing him put his beautiful body to better use. When he drove me back to Beck’s and told me good night, I nearly died.
I don’t know if the way he fingered me in the car made it better or worse.
After cursing him in the foyer, I finally gave in, went upstairs, and made myself come twice, imagining his dirty mouth on me, his fingers inside me.
No matter what I felt while we were eating tacos and talking about his childhood antics, I’m not handing my heart to a man whose primary directive is to claim and conquer.
I grab a snack and return to the chaise as an email pops up. I read it twice.
Re: Next Weekend’s Show
We apologize for the delay in responding to your request. It is no longer in our mutual interest to retain you for the engagement. Of course, we don’t expect the deposit to be returned to us.
We look forward to collaborating in the future.
The club where I was booked to do my Zombeach just bailed on me.
This is not a small problem. It’s a huge one.
I check their feed, and they’ve already swapped out my name for someone else’s on the poster. Disbelief rises up. What the actual fuck?
I put all that effort into getting Victoria to this show, and I’ve been working on the set for two days straight.
I could curl up in a corner and squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the waves of emotion to rack me.
I could see Beck at the lot. He’d cheer me up, tell me not to sweat it.
Or I could call Annie in New York, who’d no doubt encourage me to make them see my side of things with some impassioned plea.
I don’t want either.
This is Harrison’s fault.
He insisted on giving me access to his calendar, which I haven’t enabled on my phone. Now, I click into my calendar on my phone and check the box that syncs Harrison’s calendar.
Events start to populate, dozens this week alone. There are meetings and calls and dinners and invitations at all hours of the day and night. Some of them even overlap.
I had no idea how busy running his empire really is. But it looks like he has a break in thirty minutes.
All I need is to see him. I want to chew him out. To say this is all his damn fault and my life was better before he entered it.
So, I drive to his penthouse, and the concierge lets me up.
“Harrison?” I call into the condo when I step inside.
There’s no answer, and I stalk toward the office. “I’m not here for sex,” I warn.
When I round the door, I pull up as I see two other men in suits inside, in addition to the man I’m here to see.
Three startled gazes fly to me, including one that’s amused as it is surprised.
Shit.
“I didn’t mean…” I hold up my phone. “I thought you had a break between meetings.”
“Raegan. Wait.” Harrison comes after me, catching up to me before I reach the elevator in the hall. “What’s wrong?”
His gray suit is perfectly pressed, his jaw freshly shaved. He’s as composed as I am wrecked, and the contrast has never felt so obvious as it does in this moment.
“The show I was supposed to play in Long Beach next weekend. They canceled it. Someone from Wild Fest was coming and…”
His probing gaze is compassionate. Genuinely caring. “Don’t move.”
He goes back into the penthouse before retuning with a sheaf of papers he hands to me.
“What are these?” I ask, flipping through the pages.
“A list of clubs with contact information. These are my competition. They’re not all as shortsighted as the one you spoke with today.”
I didn’t come here for him to fix it. I came here to yell at him, but I can’t. Now that I’m here, that’s not what I want at all.
My chest tightens, and I step closer, folding the list in half and tucking it into my bag. The backs of my eyes burn.
“It’s not fair.” I sound like a kid but can’t bring myself to care.
“No. It’s fucking not.”
He threads his fingers into my hair at the nape of my neck—to comfort, not to arouse. When he pulls me to his chest, I don’t resist.
His arms go around me, and I can’t deny how good it feels to be held by him.
Maybe I didn’t come to yell at him. Maybe what wanted even more was to look him in the eye and have him tell me I matter and all the reasons we shouldn’t be together don’t matter.
“Come inside,” he murmurs against the top of my head. “My meeting ran late. I’ll end it now.”
“You don’t have to. Your calendar is full, and—”
“It’s only business.” His mouth brushes over mine. Soft, not clinging.
“Never be ashamed to ask for what you want. If I can give it to you, it’s yours.”
“She’s not answering,” Harrison mutters from where his head’s stuck in t
he cabinet. Phone glued to his ear, he searches out the perfect pan.
“Let me look online. There’s got to be a good paella recipe.”
“It’s not the same. Natalia used to make it for us as boys. Ash loved it as much as I did, even helped make it.” Harrison rises from his crouched position, bumping his head on the counter on the way. “Fuck.”
I head to the freezer and pull out some ice, wrapping it in a towel.
He accepts it with a grimace. “I’m a dangerous man.”
“It’s occasionally sexy. Why don’t you wear casual clothes?”
“I used to, but my father told me before I went to boarding school as a teenager, ‘If they’re going to catch you with your pants down, at least ensure your cufflinks are fastened.’”
I turn that over. “Well, no one is going to see you here. At least lose the dress shirt.”
He peels it off, leaving an undershirt beneath. “Better?”
Now I’m staring. “You could put something else on.”
“No. No, I think you’re right. You should take something off too.”
“Strip cooking isn’t a thing.”
“Just because it hasn’t made it to America…”
“Oh. It’s all over GBBO?” I roll my eyes and tug off my jeans. My underwear is a pair of plain black bikinis since I didn’t plan on being here, so I’m basically still covered everywhere that counts. “There.”
Harrison’s gaze tracks unapologetically south, skimming the curves of my legs before lingering at the apex of my thighs.
“Where were we?” he murmurs.
“Tracking down Natalia’s paella recipe.”
I snap my fingers in front of his face, and his amused gaze flicks up to meet mine.
“Ah. It may be a lost cause. We could move to another of my preferred activities when I’ve had a terrible day.”
“Jerking off?”
“An excellent idea. But not where I was going. Sometimes I take Barney out. He reminds me things are simpler in his world.”
“He’s in Ibiza?” A nod. “He must miss you.”
“Toro and Natalia take good care of him when I travel.”
“We could borrow Beck’s dog. But let’s not give up on comfort food yet.” I pull out my phone, then hit a FaceTime contact I haven’t used in months.
I’m not seriously expecting an answer, so when Sebastian appears on the screen, the movement of a city street behind him, I’m delighted.
“Hey, Ash,” I say.
“Raegan. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Harrison’s brows shoot up. “Why do you have my brother’s number?” he mouths. He looks like a jealous teen, and I wave him off.
I say, “This a good time?”
“Sure, I’m heading home from practice.”
“We’re trying to make Natalia’s paella.”
He grins. “You with Harry? Or is this an attempt to impress some new boyfriend?”
Harrison grabs the phone from my hand. “I’m here, you prick. Now talk chorizo.”
“Thought you’d never ask.” His handsome face scrunches up, then he comes out with the ingredients.
I make notes on a piece of paper. We’re going to have to go out and get these or have them delivered. There’s tension between the two men, which I want to know more about.
“We watched your game the other day,” I say.
“Match,” they correct in unison.
“Right. It looked good. Does that mean things are going better?”
He freezes as if caught out. “Work in progress. I should let you get back to your activities.”
After we hang up, I probe Harrison. “What’s with the tension?”
“Since our parents died, he doesn’t see me the same way he used to. He knows it’s my fault they’re not around.”
“He got you a dog after you broke up with your fiancée. That means he cares.”
“Or he wanted to punish me. He doesn’t think I have a soul,” Harrison says darkly. “He figured a dog would out me.”
“And you proved him wrong.”
His slow smile has my heart skipping.
“You don’t talk about your family,” he comments.
“A lot of people I trusted let me down when I needed them.”
He brushes a hand through my hair. “Tell me what happened.”
“Hard pass. You’re not my therapist.”
I try to make it sound light, but he doesn’t smile.
“Listen,” I go on, turning to pace the room, “despite the whole ‘crashing your workday’ thing, I’m not spending time with you because I need a well-tailored shoulder to cry on.”
When I turn back to him, he’s already closed the distance between us.
“There are moments in our lives that defy description. Sometimes we cause them and sometimes we don’t. But they are painful and incomprehensible, and pretending they’re not doesn’t make us more human. I need people around me. Leni, and Toro, and Natalia, and even Ash. You need to let someone in.”
The openness in his voice and his face is undeniable. He’s lived through his share of shit, but even if I wanted to invite him into mine, he can’t possibly understand.
“Well, this army of one thing has been working out for me so far.” I force my attention to the shopping list. “Should we go out and get these?”
It’s an obvious subject change, and I think he’s going to argue.
“Let’s have them delivered.”
He places the order with the concierge, who promises to have all we need delivered in an hour. When Harrison tugs me toward the doors to the deck, I follow.
On a chaise, he tucks me between his legs. “What are you going to do about Wild Fest?”
“Well, I have to tell Victoria the gig’s off. But I saw on their page they have a dark horse spot. Basically, fan votes,” I go on at his questioning look.
“Are you in the running?”
I pull it up on my phone and make a face. “Twenty-fifth. There’s one spot.” I frown. “I’m playing in Miami on Thursday. If I can get enough fans to share the show, it’ll be a boost.”
“I’m visiting my club there Friday, plus I could use the change of scenery. Give Leni a few days to work on this warehouse without me. Suppose I could head over early.”
“You’d come to my show? At someone else’s club?” I ask, surprised. Every part of me hums with anticipation. The idea of him watching me is thrilling.
“You going to ask me?”
My lips twitch, and I fight the impulse to smile, squaring my shoulders. “Come to my show, asshole.”
“Fuck, you’re irresistible.”
But when he drags me against him, I can’t help laughing.
12
Rae
Havana Nights looms on Collins Avenue in Miami, an art deco monument. I’m at the bar early to set up.
I need this gig in order to make my case for Wild Fest. Most of all, I need the line of partiers to vote for me. Normally, I wouldn’t ask for that kind of help, but I’m desperate. So, I hired someone to make graphics encouraging my fans to vote.
The club is full, Harrison talking to the owner and some patrons in one of the VIP booths. Of course he made himself at home.
The crowd is mostly people who want to escape for the night. I give them every ounce of my focus, sweat and attention.
I catch Harrison’s eye once, and I’m rewarded with a long, smoldering look of appreciation that adds to the high of being onstage.
When he finally turns away to speak with someone, I notice another man in the adjacent VIP booth watching me over the rim of his drink. Unlike his buddies, he hasn’t averted his eyes once in the last two songs.
I play my mind out. At the end of my set, I sneak a look at the voting for Wild Fest on my phone as I duck offstage.
Twenty-third. It’s a minor blip. But people can vote more than once. Ten times in a twenty-four-hour period, technically. Which means every person in line for selfies is that
much more important.
“Two minutes,” I shout to security before ducking out back.
I need to catch my breath before heading back in.
The alley is a reprieve—no cooler than inside, but I inhale deeply anyway.
I’m going over what went down in my mind, reliving it with a breathless smile in this moment of privacy until movement at the mouth of the alley draws my attention.
A large, dark form.
Harrison.
I start to call out, but as he comes closer, I realize it’s not Harrison.
This man’s coarse where Harrison is sleek, jerky where he’s smooth.
“I was watching you in there. Making everyone want you.”
He wedges up against me, and I can’t breathe. My heart explodes.
“I thought you were someone else,” I manage.
“Come on. You want this.”
Really fucking don’t.
There’s a chance to lunge under his arm and run for the street, but I’m a second late and his hand goes around my throat and cuts off my air.
I grab for his wrist, fingernails digging into his skin. He flinches but doesn’t let go.
An icy sheet of fear slices me in two.
It’s not like what happened with Mischa. I was freaked but knew someone was only a breath away.
This is dark. No one is here.
The sounds of the party are distant, and no matter how strong I am on the inside, all that matters is this man’s grip.
“Miss?” security calls into the alley from way too far away.
I can’t speak, can’t breathe. I wave my hands, trying to signal.
“Hey!”
The man pulls back, and I shove at him and duck away, staggering down the alley toward the club entrance.
My surroundings are a blur. I trip inside, looking both ways, and find my way back to the green room.
I press my head between my knees and gulp air.
I need space.
“Raegan. Are you all right?”
Harrison’s voice comes from above me, but I don’t look up.
“What the hell happened?” he barks but not at me.