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  And she’s whimpering, her breath catching, rubbing against the wall, her nipples tight little peaks.

  A thought, the only rational thing she can summon, crosses her mind—is this what EJ feels, when Jacobs fucks her?

  He slams into her as the thought slams into her and she screams again, sagging against the wall as her orgasm crashes against her and her cunt clenches. Jacob curses and jerks free, and he’s coming, all over her back, his fingers circling and pressing against her clit as she moans and rides out the strongest orgasm she’s ever had.

  When she can breathe again, she straightens slowly. Jacobs leaves as silently as he came, and she’s left alone, with the aftershocks of pleasure and EJ looming too large in her mind.

  Chapter 10

  She's fucking him. The thought repeats in EJ's mind as she reaches under the bar and comes up with a bottle of Patron. When she straightens, Josh is standing on the other side of Jacobs’ expensive, oak bar, with its shiny fucking curves and ostentatious length.

  The damn thing is a statement piece, just like everything else in this fucking museum he calls a house. "You gonna drink that or throttle it?" Josh says, nodding at the bottle she's still clutching.

  EJ glares and he smirks at her. For a moment, she wonders if he's an idiot, or if he's deliberately provoking her.

  He's Jacobs’ business partner. Whatever else that might mean, she's not so stupid as to believe that he's anything but brilliant.

  And gorgeous.

  "Let me," he says, watching her and he circles the bar, until they're standing too close together. She should back up, give a little ground. But she doesn't want to do that.

  She wants to claw Jacobs’ fucking eyes out for touching Charlie.

  "Shots," she murmurs, and his lips curve into a grin so boyish and mischievous it's out of place.

  He helped them dispose of a body tonight, kept her drinking and off the ledge of a panic attack. Anyone who can do that shouldn't also look like a bashful, frat boy.

  "How do you know Jacobs?" she asks, abruptly.

  Josh shrugs, reaching past her. A knife is sitting on the bar and he picks it up, lining up a lime and cutting with slow, careful strokes. She watches him for a moment. Until he finishes slicing and reaches for the tequila.

  "He's friends with my boss." he says, finally. "You?"

  "I sell blow for him and we fuck occasionally," she says flatly.

  Whatever reaction she's expecting, it isn’t the slightly bitter laugh that he gives as he lifts a shot in mock salute. "Those relationships are the ones that fuck us up the most."

  She watches as he sprinkles a line of salt, licks it and throws back the shot. His expression never changes as he sucks on the lime, and he never once looks away from her.

  For a heartbeat, with his baby blues trained on her, and her heartbeat pounding too loud in her ears, she forgets what’s happening. That Jacobs vanished as soon as she arrived in the bar, and that right now, he’s buried inside Charlie.

  Josh taps her on the cheek, a soft touch that is startling in its intimacy, and she jerks back a half step. Meets his eyes. “Stop thinking,” he says quietly.

  He offers the shot, and salt, patiently. She ignores the salt and takes the shot straight, and he laughs a little at the face she makes.

  “Did your boss ever fuck your best friend?” she asks, and his eyes go wide. Angry, for just a moment before he goes blank.

  Stupid, stupid question. She hasn’t had nearly enough to drink to justify stupid shit like this.

  Josh licks his lips and pours another round of shots. When she takes hers, he shoves her, until her body hits the wall and his lips cover hers, rough and demanding. She gasps, and the tequila spills out, running down her chin and into his mouth and down her chest.

  It’s hot and dirty and demanding, and it almost drowns out the shrill scream of pleasure that echoes through the house.

  So that, she thinks, is what Charlie sounds like, when she comes.

  Josh nips at her lips, one hand coming up to cup her chin. He licks into her mouth, all salt and lime and the slow aftertaste of mint.

  “Spilled something,” he murmurs, and she blinks at him. He gives her that grin again, the one that is too much frat boy, but this time she sees something darker in his gaze that makes her shiver.

  He ducks his head, licking the path of tequila down her throat, biting lightly when she squirms. He lifts his head long enough to yank her shirt over her head, and she’s standing there in a red lace bra and a short black skirt, and his eyes go lazy for a moment before he lifts her by the hips. Her hands clutch his shoulders as he drops her onto the bar, and Josh grunts a little when her nails dig in, and then she moans when his mouth covers her breast through the lace. It’s hot and wet and not nearly enough and her hands are in his hair.

  He bats her hands away and yanks the bra cup down, latching onto her nipple with soft lips and rough teeth and she shudders. “More,” she hisses.

  Reaches for him again.

  Josh catches her hands in his and yanks them behind her back. With one hand he holds them pinned there and grins at her. “Don’t be so fucking bossy,” he mutters before he pours a shot of tequila into her mouth. She groans as he kisses her, swallowing down the noise and the liquor. He keeps one hand gripping her hands, holding her still, and the other slides under her skirt. He brushes against the wet silk panties, and his smirk turns sly and mocking.

  She bites her lip and does everything to keep from thrusting against him, aching for that delicious friction. Another scream comes from upstairs, and she hisses in frustration and displeasure, and then almost screams when he shoves two fingers into her, so deep she thinks for an instant his clenched fist will leave bruises on her, and then his thumb finds her clit and she rocks into him as his fingers rub against her and his lips are on her again, tongue circling her nipple.

  She closes her eyes as the pressure, the sensation of it all builds, coiling tight in her. She can still hear Charlie’s screams. Josh bites down and she shouts, a hoarse, unintelligible noise, as she comes, shuddering hard, her cunt spasming around his fingers.

  He curses, and yanks her off the bar. Josh releases her and EJ fumbles for his pants, freeing his cock. She has a split second to admire it—all long and thick and slightly curved—before he spins her. She curses when her back slams into the wall, and stars spin for a moment, and then she screams as he shoves into her. His fingers are in her mouth and her eyes fly wide when she tastes herself on them.

  His are dark, and hungry, and his body is still and heavy against hers.

  Without thinking, she licks, and a slow smile, so sharp it almost hurts, curves his lips. And then he fucks her, heavy, punishing thrusts that has her on her tiptoes, her body slamming into the wall with every thrust. She pushes against him, meeting each push and whining in protest when he pulls back. He’s everywhere, the scent of tequila and mint and herself, pleasure obscuring everything. She feels it when he starts to lose control, feels the tension string tighter, and his head comes down to her shoulder as he fucks her. He’s silent. So fucking silent, and intent. She rakes her nails over Josh’s back and sees him.

  Jacobs.

  Watching from the doorway. His hair is wet and he is barefoot, bare-chested, and shocked.

  Josh bites her then, his cock fucking into her, and the rush of pain and pleasure and Jacobs’ shocked fury are too much. She whimpers and shudders, and stares at him as she comes, wet heat running down her thighs as Josh fucks her and groans his own release.

  For a long time, they stay still—her pressed to the wall, Josh buried inside her, Jacobs too still in the doorway. And then he vanishes and Josh rouses himself enough to pull out. Wet warmth spills down her thighs, and she relishes it.

  Just like she loves the ache in her back.

  As she smirks and pulls her skirt down, covering the sticky mess, it occurs to her that she’s never seen Jacobs shocked before.

  Chapter 11

  A knock on her
door makes her jump, and the nail polish bobbles, smearing scarlet across her middle finger.

  "Fuck," she mutters and reaches for the nail polish remover as she calls out, "Come in."

  Charlie wonders who it is—Jacobs and EJ have both ignored her completely since the shower this morning. She expected as much from Jacobs—she has no illusions about his romantic side.

  There is more concern about EJ's silence, which has stretched out too long and is now a tension that worries under her skin like a splinter.

  The door pushes open, and her breath rushes from her too fast. “We’re going out,” Jacobs says. “Be ready to leave in an hour.”

  She stares after him for a long moment, but he doesn’t add anything else, and he leaves as quickly and unremarkably as he came.

  Seems to be a MO with him.

  She swallows that unpleasant truth and slides off the bed. Whatever else is going on, she’s going out.

  And she’ll look damn good while she does.

  *

  She chooses a mini dress in sky blue, a sheer lace overlay covering a thin slip that hugs every curve. It’s an impossibly short, one shoulder thing with a plain, low neckline and a single sleeve that wraps her arm all the way to the wrist. Her hair is a loose French braid pulled over one shoulder, and she’s forgone jewelry.

  When she comes downstairs, Jacobs watches her, with the kind of lazy interest that makes her pulse pound and her throat dry.

  EJ is leaning against the wall next to him in scarlet heels and a little black dress, her hair hanging long and curly and free. She's smiling, a small, self-satisfied thing, that makes Charlie vaguely nervous.

  "Where are we going?" she asks, ignoring the flutter of nerves and the insane desire to apologize to EJ. Jacobs give a slow smile, and straightens away from the wall. "Come," he says.

  A fission of fear breaks and she hesitates. EJ stands and loops an arm through Charlie's. "Relax, babe. He won't kill us in the bayou."

  Jacobs grins back at them from the doorway. In a black suit, black button down, and red tie, he looks even more fuckable than he had in the shower this morning. "Sure about that, Ella," he murmurs, and Ella's steps hitch, just enough that he notices and laughs.

  The laughs is what finally puts her at ease. Charlie relaxes and EJ leans into her as they wait on the porch for Jacobs to lock up the house, before they follow him around the wraparound to a small outbuilding that serves as a garage. Inside, he pulls a canvas cover from an emerald green ’69 Chevy Nova. It’s got a creamy white interior, chrome accents, and it’s gorgeous.

  EJ whistles softly. "Damn, Anthony. She looks fantastic."

  There's a softness to her tone that startles Charlie and pulls a warm look from Jacobs as he stares at the car, a pleased expression on his face.

  "Thanks," he says. "Come on, we're late."

  She can feel the surprise ripple through EJ, tense at her side for a moment before the other girl shrugs, and pulls open the door. Charlie slides into the tiny back seat, and inhales. It smells like leather and southern heat and Jacobs, and she runs a finger over the butter soft leather.

  EJ is quiet as he turns the engine over, and Charlie relaxes back against the soft interior, and listens to the soft murmur of the radio as he pulls out of the house on the edge of the bayou and heads into the city.

  *

  Ella Jane knows exactly where they're going. She'd been watching Jacobs when Charlie asked her question, and had seen the flash of amused pride. Sometimes, she hated Jacobs for how much he underestimated her. But tonight isn't the time to worry about that, so she shoves the thought aside and holds the silence he always prefers, and taps a finger on her thigh in silence.

  Charlie is a tense presence behind her, all quiet stares and anxious twitches. There is a tiny part of her that wants to reassure her friend that this is normal. That Jacobs fucking her is just another play in their endless game--but a bigger part, the part that made her someone to be feared when she was growing up, relishes her friend's unease.

  Charlie is so rarely thrown off her game. Even now, with a body count and hiding from the family that dotes on her, she's been in her element, fucking her way through the prettier frat boys in the city, and holding Jacobs’ interest.

  Being off balance for five fucking minutes won't hurt her.

  The restaurant is quiet--almost too quiet, given that it's a Friday night. She eyes it as Jacobs slides the Nova into an alley alongside it.

  The bartender is sitting on the stoop, smoking with Josh, and his eyes flick over them, widening slightly when EJ and Charlie emerge at Jacobs’ side.

  "Go inside," Jacobs says, stepping between EJ and Josh, and a smirk, tiny and self-satisfied, slips across her lips. Without a word, she turns on her heel and pulls Charlie with her to the entrance of the bar.

  "Let's let the boys talk, darling," she says.

  The bartender's grin is still there, and it reads just as warm, if a little worried. "You girls are still here," he says, reaching for a bottle. "It's a vodka tonic and whiskey sour, right?"

  Charlie nods, and props her elbows on the counter, leaning forward slightly. "You sound surprised."

  "Pretty good at reading people, sweetheart," he says, adding a lime wedge to the vodka tonic. He slides it across the bar to EJ and shrugs. "You two are keeping heavier company than I expected, that's all." His smile turns worried for an instant, and then he laughs. "But, hell. Maybe it makes all the sense in the world."

  He doesn't say anything more than that as he finishes the drink, and slides it to Charlie. She reaches for her wallet, a halfhearted gesture, and he shakes his head, "On the house, gorgeous."

  "Noah!" a voice shouts from the back of the restaurant, and his head lifts, tilting to the side. "Be right back."

  Then he’s gone and the girls are left with their drinks, and the awkwardness that is everything that happened last night. Charlie swirls her drink, the ice clinking and says, quietly, “Are you mad?”

  For the space of a heartbeat, EJ considers playing dumb. She’s good at it, after a lifetime of practice. But then Charlie meets her gaze, bright eyes demanding, and she shrugs.

  “Why would I be mad that you fucked him, Charlie?”

  She flinches, and takes a hasty swallow of her drink. “You won’t tell me shit about him, and you called him to help with Tre, and—“

  “Shut the fuck up,” EJ hisses, throwing a quick, worried look around. She grabs Charlie by the arm, yanking her friend closer as she hisses in her ear. “Don’t mention that. Ever. It’s over, and it’s going to stay over and if you bring it up where he can hear you, he might decide you’re next just so it doesn’t blow back on him. The bastard is ruthless.”

  Charlie’s eyes go wide, and she nods, watching EJ carefully until she sits back. With a sigh, she shoves her curls over her shoulder and reaches for her drink.

  “Just—be careful. Now isn’t the time to start being stupid.”

  There’s a long pause, and then, quietly, “Are you scared of him?”

  “Yes,” she answers without hesitation, and Charlie inhales sharply. She twists, and smirks at her friend. “Why does that surprise you?”

  “Because—you. Him.” She flounders, “Why the hell would you fuck him if you’re scared of him?”

  So many reasons. For a second, all of it is on the tip of her tongue, and she wants to tell Charlie everything that is the history between her and Jacobs.

  Instead she shoves down the urge and grins at her friend. Shrugs. “You fucked him. He’s a-fucking-mazing in bed. That’s reason enough, isn’t it?” She nudges Charlie with one toe. “Come on. Admit it.”

  A flush colors her cheeks, and Charlie nods. “Yeah. He was amazing. I haven’t come that hard in years.”

  “Tre didn’t do it for you?”

  Charlie shrugs one shoulder. “He was fucking other women. A couple paralegals at the firm. Hard to get into shit when you know he’s been cheating.” She breaks off, and her eyes widen.

  “
Don’t,” EJ says. “Jacobs is the one who fucked up. We aren’t together—but he knows how I feel about him fucking with my friends. I’m not pissed at you. So don’t, ok? Let’s just forget it and enjoy tonight.”

  Charlie nods slowly, and EJ leans over the bar, grabbing a bottle of vodka and pouring some into her almost empty glass.

  “And that, my gorgeous girl, means we’re going to get fucking wasted,” EJ lifts a glass and grins.

  Charlie smirks, and raises her glass to clink them together. “Sounds perfect.”

  Chapter 12

  There is something warm and hard pressed against her and her head pounds.

  She squint and winces, her eyes closing tight against the too bright sun streaming in.

  The warm pressure against her back moves, pulling her farther back into it.

  "It's too early to wake up, Ellie.” It’s the Ellie. What he always called her when he let his guard down. Despite all of her anger and the pounding in her head. Despite the reasons why she should push him away and all the ways she fears him, hearing Jacobs’ voice, sleep rough and warm in her ear, makes her melt against him.

  She squirms around, putting her back to the sun and blinking at him. It never does any good for her to see him like this. Sleep rumpled, a peaceful look on his face, stubble on his jaw that she wants to rub against. Without letting herself think about it, she reaches for him, burrowing into his chest, holding onto his shoulder. He pulls her closer with one arm, tossing a leg over her hips. Soft lips brush against her hair and she has to blink hard to push down the idiotic tears that want for rise.

  She inhales the scent that clings to him and wrinkles her nose at the smell of smoke and stale alcohol. Slowly, the night filters back.