Busted (Barnes Brothers #3)

by Shiloh Walker

  It had taken her forever to get her life somewhat normal. She wouldn’t mess it up now.

  “So are you working or what?”

  “Would you let it go?” She glared at Kiara and herded her out the door, locking it behind her. They’d almost made it to Kiara’s car when a quick shout had them looking back.

  “That your roommate?” Kiara asked as Hannah came jogging down the stairs, holding the cordless in her hand.

  “Yeah.”

  “Ress, if you cancel on me again, I’m never talking to you again,” Kiara said, a sulk threading its way in her voice.

  “I’m not cancelling.” She wanted to go see a damn movie with her cousin.

  Hannah was closer now and caught the last half of the conversation, her eyebrows going up. She paused, looking back and forth. “It’s . . . your boss,” she said after a pause. “They had a no-show and need you to come in. They’ll pay double tonight.”

  “No.” She glared at Hannah and gestured to Kiara. “Let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

  “But . . .”

  “No.” She gave Hannah a hard look and hurried around the car. Kiara gave her an odd look as she slammed the door.

  “You really got to tell me what kind of job this is—a place that pays double if you come in? I need that kind of job.”

  * * *

  It was almost two in the morning before she made it home.

  The memory of her movie date with her cousin wasn’t much more than a memory—that had been over a month ago and everything since then had been a blur of classes, dinners, parties—and very little sleep.

  Maybe the dinners and parties would sound fun to some.

  But when she had to do a cocktail party at three and then a dinner party that lasted until midnight, followed by a brunch that started at nine, on top of keeping up with her class load . . .

  Sometimes she wished she’d never told Hannah she’d talk to her friend, Sharon.

  “. . . that easy.”

  That voice made her pause.

  Sharon.

  Speak of the devil.

  She paused in the hallway, head cocked as she listened in.

  The next voice had her shoving a door open and she gaped at the young woman sitting across from Sharon Hightower—the woman responsible for the money she now had in her bank account.

  She didn’t know who was more surprised—herself, or her cousin.

  Kiara recovered first, smiling widely at her. “Hey, Ress!”

  “Kiara.” She set her jaw. “What are you doing here?”

  Kiara stood up, nervously smoothing down a red dress that looked suspiciously familiar. It looked almost dead like the one she owned. “I came by to see if you wanted to grab dinner, but you weren’t here and . . .” She shrugged, tried for a smile. “I started talking to Hannah.”

  She turned her attention to Hannah and the pretty blonde smiled. “She’s pretty, Ress. She asked some questions and I answered, then she wanted to know more so I asked Sharon over.”

  “Yeah. And she’s smart and she doesn’t need to do this.” Fury pulsed inside her. Fury—and fear.

  “Oh, come on . . .” Sharon spoke to Ressa for the first time, a pleasant smile on her face. “It’s harmless. Look at what it’s done for you.”

  * * *

  If she was as smart as she liked to think, Ressa would have punched Sharon Hightower in her pretty, perfect nose.

  But she hadn’t.

  Sighing, she snuggled deeper into her pillow, still clutching her phone like a talisman. Now . . .

  The knock on the door caught her off guard.

  Swallowing, she looked down at the workout gear she had on, her heart slamming hard against her ribs. Her head spun, bile churning its way up her throat, compliments of the memory of that night. She’d thought if she pounded away her grievances on the treadmill, she’d feel better, but no luck.

  There was another knock, harder this time and she swore, rising from her bed and moving toward the stairs. Whoever that was, he was going to wake Neeci up—

  He.

  Her heart lurched up into her throat.

  Even though her gut told her who it was, wariness had her approaching the door slowly, and she clutched her phone tighter as she paused a few feet away.

  It was past ten now. Fears from childhood, old but not forgotten, rose up. A girl didn’t grow up the way she had without learning more than a little caution.

  From several feet away, she called out, “Who is it?”

  And at the same time, she moved to the antique table near the door and grabbed one of the ugly metal sculptures that Bruce had loved to collect. She always made fun of them, teased her stepfather about them, but after he died, getting rid of them had seemed impossible. Now, the solid weight of it felt good in her hand.

  The sound of Trey’s voice made her heart race all that much harder. “It’s me.”

  “Trey . . .” Her mouth went dry. Bracing one hand on the door, she leaned in, staring through the Judas hole centered on her door. He had his head bowed and it looked like he mirrored her pose, one hand braced on the door while he waited. Waited for what?

  Dread twisted, shifted.

  Aw, now . . . what is this shit? Don’t I have enough going on?

  Hard times, girl, they will make you or they will break you . . . the echo of Mama Ang’s voice came up from the recesses of her mind, and she squared her shoulders before she reached out to unlock the door.

  Face expressionless, she opened it, pondering the bottle of wine she had in the fridge. She couldn’t think of too many things that would have him on her doorstep this late.

  Looked like the twin brother had gone and ratted her out.

  The son of a bitch.

  * * *

  Trey had planned to say something. Anything, really.

  But as the door slowly opened to reveal her standing there in clothes that skimmed her thighs and hips, a tank that drooped over one shoulder, leaving luscious skin and all those fucking sexy tattoos bared, every thought he had drained away.

  Should they talk?

  Yeah.

  She seemed concerned about whatever secrets her past held. He had some shadows of his own—shadows that had haunted and strained his life for nearly six years. Should he explain those?

  Oh, hell, yeah.

  But all he could think about was the sad, somber look in her eyes.

  What’s hurt you?

  He wanted to ask—no, demand. Then he wanted to kiss the misery away and make it all better.

  One hand clenched into a fist as he let his gaze roam lower, over the gray tank, the tattoos he’d kissed his way across, the curve of her breasts.

  His gaze caught and lingered over the heavy-looking metal sculpture she held in one hand.

  “You always answer the door with pieces of art in your hand?” he asked.

  She glanced down, a frown drawing her mouth tight.

  “Ah . . . no.” She shook her head and turned away, putting it down on a table a few feet away. “Come on in.”

  He came inside, easing the door shut, studying the tension that held every line of her body tight.

  She still stood with her back to him and he was a breath away from going to her when she spoke. The tight sound of her voice froze him in his tracks.

  “Is everything okay? You’re out kind of late.”

  “No.” You tell me, he thought. But then he decided to let it go. For now. Reaching up, he trailed a finger down her nape, watched as she shivered. “Everything’s not okay. It’s been four days since I saw you. Four days since I kissed you. And way too long since I made love to you.”

  He heard the soft catch of her breath and that was all he needed to lean forward and press his lips to her neck, brushing aside the thick tail of her hair where it rested against her skin.

  She practically melted against him, some of that tension draining out of her body. Sliding his arms around her, he pulled her back against him. Lust bit into him as her butt
pressed up against his cock, but he gritted his teeth, forced himself to think past the need.

  “Ressa,” he murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  Her voice was unsteady as she answered. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong.”

  She was lying. He knew it.

  As she turned in his arms, he studied her face, saw the darkness in her gaze, the misery. “Talk to me,” he said, rubbing his lips against hers. “You look like your world is coming apart.”

  “No.” She curled her arms around his neck, leaning against him. “I just . . .”

  She leaned in, licked his lips.

  Groaning, he gripped her hips, tried to ease back. “Ressa, wait . . .”

  “No. You’re right. It’s been too long. I need you.”

  He clung to sanity by his fingernails. “Where’s Neeci?”

  “In her bed. Asleep. Nothing wakes that child once she’s down,” Ressa said, pressing her mouth to his neck. He felt the hot brush of her lips against his skin. She spoke again, and this time, her words were a plea. “Make love to me. I need this.”

  He couldn’t have denied her anything in that moment.

  “Your room . . . Where is your room?”

  She waved toward the stairs and the two of them half staggered, half ran toward them. Halfway up, he took her down and pressed her to the steps, feasting on her mouth and shuddering at the taste, the feel of her. Thoughts of regret, fear, hesitation faded away. Thoughts of control faded away.

  He cupped her hips in his hands, her skin burning hot through the thin material. Against his chest, her breasts went flat and that was good, but not enough. He caught the tank top she wore and started to drag it up.

  She caught his wrist.

  “Upstairs.” She bit his lower lip and then said it again, the demand heavy in her voice. “Upstairs . . . now.”

  He caught her around the waist, and rose, one hand around the bannister. He felt half drunk—drunk on her. Pinning her against the railing, he said, “Upstairs.”

  Then he returned the favor and bit her lip, reveling in the feel of her reaction, a full body shudder.

  It seemed forever before they finally reached the top of the stairs, even longer before they stumbled into the room Ressa pointed out. Finally—

  Trey spun, trapping her against the door. A startled gasp erupted from her as he caught the band of her sport bra in his hands. He would have torn it away from her if he could and he was cursing by the time he was able to toss it to the floor.

  Her full breasts swung free and he caught them in his hands, hunger a spike in his brain. He teased dark brown nipples, already drawn tight.

  “Kiss me,” she demanded, locking her fingers around his neck.

  He didn’t even have a chance to follow that hungry order because she tugged his mouth to hers, kissing him with a greedy need all but put him on his knees. Tongue and teeth clashed. Her breasts pressed flat against him and it was a sweet, sweet torture . . . but still not enough. He broke the kiss to tear his own shirt away and then grunted in pleasure at the feel of their upper bodies pressed bare to each other.

  She rubbed herself against him and he shuddered, feeling the drag of her nipples over his skin. Ressa moaned out his name and it sent a tremor racing through him. His fingers tightened on her and he had to force himself to be gentle, but even as he tried to do that, she sank her teeth into his lip, hard enough to bring pain. He did the same and she moaned into his mouth and arched her hips to his.

  Desperate for more, for all, he shoved his hands inside the waistband of her tight workout pants, working himself against the heat between her thighs, but still—not enough.

  She whimpered as he went to his knees, jerking her pants down. When they tangled at her calves, he stopped and leaned in, pressing his face to her cleft. Soft curls hid her from him, but that didn’t deter him. He flicked his tongue against her clit and when she bucked against him, satisfaction ripped at him.

  The scent of her rushed up to flood the air and he thought he just might go mad for the want of her. He stripped the pants away and used his hands to tug at her ankles until she widened her legs.

  “I need to taste you,” he muttered. Taste. Have. Love . . .

  Love . . .

  The thought should frighten him.

  Everything in this moment should frighten him—or at least worry him, because he felt too out of control, scrabbling for any remnant of it. But all that mattered was having her. Branding himself on her . . . and having her brand herself on him.

  Leaning in, he licked her, using his tongue to open her before going deeper, hungry strokes that had her rocking against his face.

  She panted out his name, her hands clutching the back of his head. “Please . . . I want . . . I need . . .”

  When she tried to pull at his shoulders, he caught one wrist, guided it away.

  “Stop,” he muttered. “I need this. I need to taste you . . . your pussy, fuck . . .”

  A broken sound left her throat and he looked up, saw her eyes flare wide and then she tugged him back. “Do it then. Put your mouth on me.”

  She was slick and hot, and getting hotter, slicker with every minute as he licked at her. He shifted to close his mouth around her clit, sucking at it gently, then harder as her nails bit into his shoulders and her broken moans turned to breathy, desperate cries.

  Sliding his hand between her legs, he tucked two fingers against her entrance, felt her tense. Then, slowly, he screwed them in.

  She tightened around him and he felt her muscles grip and clutch and grab—

  He paused, taking a moment to lick at her clit before he looked up. “When you start to come, I’m going to stop. I’m going to be inside you.”

  “Damn right,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

  His cock pulsed, throbbed, demanding he be inside her now.

  But . . . no. Not yet.

  Another taste. Another slow stroke of his fingers inside her. She moaned, her sheath tightening—

  Again.

  Again—

  She bucked and he felt it coming on. Shoving to his feet, he pulled out one of the condoms he’d brought with him. She moaned, her hips rolling in a circle like she already had him inside her. His fingers trembled as he tore the foil open and they trembled even more when he fumbled with his jeans.

  “Hurry,” she whispered.

  He looked up at her, saw how her eyes had all but gone blind.

  I’m not taking my time.

  Condom on, he leaned in, pressed two fingers against her and rubbed. “Are you still there?”

  She bucked against his hand. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

  He did one slow circle around her clit as he answered. “Yes. I want you as crazy as you’ve made me, as hungry, as mindless.”

  For a moment, she just stared at him and then a Mona Lisa smile curved her lips. “Well, then fuck me already, because I’m going out of my mind.”

  He caught her legs behind the knees, lifted her, her back braced against the door. Without another word, without even another breath, he pushed inside, shuddering as she wrapped around him, drawing him deeper, deeper . . .

  * * *

  Ressa gasped as he stroked deep inside. Filling her . . . her body, her heart, her soul.

  Even as her heart and soul felt like they’d shatter.

  No man ever had consumed her as totally as he had. It scared her, too, because she knew what that meant. He owned so much of her, without even asking, and that meant he could break her—without even trying.

  That terror had her shoving her hands into his hair, drawing his mouth to hers. Desperation had her rocking to meet every thrust, kissing him like she feared this might be the last time, the very last.

  I don’t want to lose you . . .

  The thought of it terrified her.

  His teeth nipped her lower lip right before he tore his mouth away and buried his face in her hair. His hips surged against hers, swiveled. Deep inside
, she felt his cock swell, the head of it rubbing against her in a way that left her feeling like she’d somehow explode, even as her skin started to feel too tight, too hot. There wasn’t enough room inside her to contain this—

  She slammed her head against the door, barely noticing the pain as sensation swamped her. “I . . . damn it, it’s too . . .” Her lids drifted down and she tried to gather up the pieces of herself that tried to scatter.

  Trey reached up, cradling the back of her head. “Stay with me,” he ordered, his voice harsh, rough. “Look at me.”

  She stared into eyes so blue, it hurt to look at them. He rubbed his mouth against hers, whispered, “I need you.”

  Too much. A sob welled inside her as he slowed his thrusts, that driving hunger falling away into devastating gentleness. No, no, no . . . the hunger was better, easier to lose herself to . . .

  Trey flicked his tongue along her lips and she opened for him. He shifted position on her body, gathering her in closer, lifting her higher, and she shuddered as he started to drag his body back and forth against her clitoris with every stroke.

  A scream built inside her and she swallowed it down, digging her nails into his skin instead, clutching at his hips with her knees. The swollen head of his cock pulsed as he twisted and pushed into her again, harder, deeper, but so devastatingly slow—

  She shattered with the next stroke and he went mad, as though he’d been waiting for just that before he let go. As she gasped and shuddered under the force of her orgasm, he snarled, his body going tight, muscles rippling as he thrust deep, once, twice—then again, again . . . harder each time until he shoved her, unbelievably, into another, more powerful orgasm.

  He growled her name just before his mouth caught hers in a deep, drugging kiss.

  * * *

  He would move.

  At some point.

  Back braced against the door, Ressa lying half sprawled, half draped over him, Trey knew he couldn’t stay on that miserable, hard floor for too long, but for that moment, he was just fine. More relaxed than he could remember feeling in too long, and if he had his way, he’d talk her into letting him stay for a while, and he might end up even more relaxed.

  Ressa was limp in his arms. Turning his head, he pressed a kiss to her neck.