Brutal Sin

by Eden Summers

  “Tell me you want this.” He nuzzled her neck. “Admit you’re deliberately pushing because you want me to fight back.”

  Her heart pounded in her throat. Breathing became an arduous challenge. Her body reacted to him like paper to a flame. She was scorched. Burning. Her edges singed from his affects.

  She fought against him, ashamed and achingly aroused as she tried to wrestle her wrists from his grip.

  “Good girl.” The arrogance tainting his voice made her pussy clench. “I love being right. It makes my dick hard.” He proved his point by grinding his cock against her ass.

  His large, erect cock.

  Damn him. The last thing this accomplished man needed was the asset to back up his ego.

  “You’re an asshole.” She bucked her hips, and his grip tightened to the point of heavenly pain.

  “I’m also better than you. At this, I’ll always be better than you.” He nudged her forward, leading her to the lockers. “Put your palms on the metal.”

  He released her, trapping her between two immovable objects, one devilishly warm, the other chillingly cold. He kept her on her toes. Where had this man come from, and how did he get a cheat sheet on her body?

  No. It wasn’t her body. It was her mind. He was fucking her from the inside out, his words entrancing her with arousal, his confidence inspiring arrhythmia-inducing hope.

  “Put them on the locker, Ella.”

  She bit her lip and raised her hands, freezing them in place against the metal. There was a heartbeat of silence, the quiet almost deafening when mixed with the rush of blood in her ears.

  He lifted her skirt, the hem scratching sensitive skin like sandpaper instead of elegant fabric. Every inch of her responded in erotic fascination—her nipples tightened, her breasts ached, even the hair on the back of her neck rose, eager and greedy for more.

  The sensations were foreign. Years had passed since her body had reacted this way. A lifetime.

  The smooth graze of his fingers cut across the curve of her bottom, then lower, between her thighs. Slow and torturous.

  “You’re soaked.” His teeth grazed along her shoulder, inspiring a shudder. “But how can that be, sweetheart? I thought you were an ice princess.” He nudged aside the crotch of her panties, the slightest brush of her sex sending a wave of pleasure from her core outward. “Turns out you’re just as eager for my dick as everyone else.”

  A hiss of breath escaped her lips. She wanted to hate him. To despise his skill.

  The exact opposite happened.

  She was indebted to him, her orgasm so frighteningly close she was actually fighting it.

  “On second thought, you don’t even need my dick, do you?” His derisive chuckle peppered her skin. “I bet I could get you off with one finger.”

  She closed her eyes, unwilling to admit it would take a lot less.

  “Should I prove it?”

  A lone fingertip parted her folds, sliding with ease through her arousal. He learned her, trailing inside and out. Back and forth. Around and around. Never penetrating. Only teasing her to the point of silenced hysteria.

  He didn’t rush, didn’t falter in his blissful assault. He was too good, too skilled, and not merely with his touch. His precision came from strategy—a game plan she appreciated whole-heartedly if the lust and adrenaline flooding her veins was anything to go by.

  “Enough with the questions.” She bucked against him, fighting the mental connection and focusing on the physical. Instantly, she was pushed against the lockers with a responding jerk of his hips. She needed him to do it again, this time with his cock inside her. Over and over. “You talk too much.”

  “Then I’ll stop.”

  Panic flooded her veins. Shit. She wanted his voice. Needed it. The threatening drawl was the cause of her bliss, and she knew he was arrogant enough to withhold it from her. “I take that back. Keep talking… I-I need you to keep talking.”

  “No, you don’t,” he whispered into her hair, each word softer than the last.

  “I do.” She waited long moments, her hips circling to follow the trail of his fingertip. “Please.”

  Christ, she was begging for sound. Pleading for him.

  He didn’t respond. Not with words. Only movements. His finger continued to glide around her sex, outlining her pussy lips, then straight down to her core. He circled her opening, painfully slow, deliciously teasing.

  She whimpered. Mentally begged.

  He felt so good, but she needed the mental stimulation. The dirty words were necessary to get her off.

  “Talk to me.” She shoved back against his chest. And again, when he didn’t answer. “You won’t make me come like this.”

  That finger kept circling, turning her into a liar with the efficient way her orgasm hovered. She shot a pleading glance over her shoulder and their gazes connected in an instant. His confidence washed through her. There was no denying she was in skilled hands. Everything about him hit the right mark.

  His touch.

  His focus.

  His understanding.

  He was listening.

  Finally, someone was listening. Not to her words, but to her.

  Pressure slid over her clit, his thumb, the tight press holding the bundle of nerves hostage. A gasp escaped her, and he raised a checkmate brow in response.

  Damn him. She turned away, closed her eyes, and rested her forehead against the locker.

  His other hand trailed a path around her body, starting at her hip. He drifted over her stomach, through her cleavage, along her sternum to the base of her throat.

  Her skin erupted in goose bumps; her lungs tightened. She tilted her head back, offering herself to his mercy. But he didn’t take it. He didn’t encase her throat in his grip as she wished. Instead, he wove his hand around her neck and fisted her ponytail, pulling tight.

  She whimpered.

  This man wasn’t merely reading her cues and responding, he was taking them a step further. Pushing her. Giving her something she didn’t expect.

  “Talk to me.”

  He refused. The only sound came from the upstairs door opening, the blast of dance music filtering in, before an abrupt disconnect. Footfalls and light chatter echoed forth as he pleasured her. People were approaching, and he showed no intent to stop.

  “Whoa.” A man’s voice carried from the door. “Now this is what I call a proper greeting.”

  A woman laughed, friendly and light.

  Bryan didn’t falter. Didn’t even pause. He kept her hair in his grip, his finger still teasing her pussy. “Evening,” he drawled in greeting. “Look, honey, we’ve got visitors.”

  She groaned at the gift of his voice.

  Could he tell she enjoyed an audience? She didn’t know how or why, but this man had already learned so much about her.

  “I said look.”

  Her nipples tingled at his command, and she sucked in a breath to counteract the shock. His words made her sizzle. No. She had to keep reminding herself it wasn’t the words, it was the conviction in his tone. The pure authority. He spoke with no fear of her rejection. He issued directives he knew she wanted to follow.

  “Come on now,” he purred. “Play nice.”

  She whimpered and opened her eyes to see the couple standing a few feet away. The middle-aged woman bit her lip as she nestled close to her companion with a mammoth-sized erection tenting his pants.

  Oh, sweet heavens.

  Her pussy fluttered, her core clamped down. She panted, no longer capable of speech. The man stared at her, his gaze intent, his appreciation clear while Bryan’s lone finger continued to torment her pussy entrance.

  “Say hello.” There was another tug to her hair, the slight pinch only increasing her pleasure. “Don’t be shy.”

  She moaned and refused with a shake of her head.

  Bryan’s breathy snicker caused a shudder to flow down her spine. He was loving this, thriving on her defiance.

  “Now you’re just being rude.�
�� His beard grazed the skin of her shoulder, and he tilted her head higher.

  “Fuck you,” she muttered under her breath.

  Fuck me.

  Fuck everything.

  She became mindless with the hunger for penetration. All she needed was…something. Anything.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He ground his cock into her ass and sank his finger deep into her heat. “You’d fucking love it. Coming all over my dick. Milking me with this tight pussy.”

  She didn’t want to show him how right he was, but her body refused the order. She shuddered, a mere breath away from orgasm. He was so fucking good. Too fucking good.

  Her core throbbed, over and over, igniting a release she couldn’t abate.

  “Christ.” The word was a breathy exhale. It was relief and pleasure and torture. Closure and rapture and desolation.

  Pure, carnal release.

  She clawed at the locker and failed to keep herself upright as her pussy contracted, tighter and tighter, clinging to the single digit sheathed inside her. She sank one inch, two, only to be pressed harder against the cold metal, his body helping her stand. Her core spasmed on a continuous loop, one convulsion after another as she panted and gasped for air.

  “That’s it,” he coaxed. “Show me how good I am.”

  She ground her teeth in defiance, but it was too late. He’d already won. The height of orgasm had been and gone, each contraction now shorter than the last.

  Everything became heavy—her arms, her legs, her chest. Relief turned into an uncomfortable tightening beneath her ribs. She’d waited so long. Hope had been fleeting. Now… now, this smug ass of a man had reignited her libido, and she couldn’t be happier.

  She turned to face him and tried to ignore the rapid rise of his appeal. They’d been left alone, their audience nowhere in sight as she struggled to regain normal breathing.

  “I guess my work here is done.” He winked, his fingers fleeing her panties. “And you thought I wouldn’t get a quick thrill or a boost to my ego. Turns out I got both.”

  She let him revel in his victory, wishing the blissful hum of her body wasn’t adding fuel to his blazing bonfire of arrogance. He was a jerk. No doubt about it. But Jesus fucking Christ, he was an accomplished jerk.

  Her knees buckled and she slid down the cool metal of the lockers, landing in a heap on the floor. Relief overwhelmed her, making her gasps for air turn into gulps for mental stability.

  “I’ll see you around, Ella.” He backtracked, his heated gaze making her self-conscious about her disheveled state before he turned and strode from the room.

  She couldn’t even find the breath to correct her name. It didn’t matter, anyway. He was gone, the upstairs door to the nightclub soon opening and closing with a burst of loud music.

  Questions and eager observations filled her adrenaline-fueled mind as she relived what had just happened. He’d opened his own forum in her brain, a mass of squealing groupies pointing out his achievements like they were worthy of Olympic gold.

  He hadn’t even sought relief. Hadn’t even mentioned reciprocation despite the hard, thick length of his erection that had been an unmistakable presence at her ass.

  “You good?”

  Pamela blinked from her trance and focused on Shay in the doorway.

  “Yeah.” She cleared the gravel from her throat. “Better than good.”

  The bartender sauntered forward, her smile wide. “He did great, didn’t he?”

  Pamela laughed. She couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t describe it. She didn’t think she even wanted to, because the idea of complimenting the arrogant ass was a despised prospect. Then again, he kind of deserved all the praise bubbling in her rapidly flowing bloodstream. She never would’ve thought an orgasm with minimal penetration was possible. Not even when Lucas had been alive.

  All Bryan had needed was one finger.

  One. Damn. Finger.

  “I’m glad.” Shay held out a hand and pulled Pamela to her shaky feet. “Does this mean you won’t be canceling your membership?”

  She blinked, too shell-shocked to know the right answer. “It means there’s hope. And that’s enough for now.”

  Chapter Four

  Two weeks later

  The shuffle of footsteps at the open office door demanded attention Bryan wasn’t enthusiastic to give. “Did you want something?” He met Leo’s stare as his friend leaned against the doorframe.” Or are you happy to stand there and admire me in silence?”

  “What are you up to tonight?”

  Bryan raised a brow. “Probably a whole heap of none-of-your-fucking-business. Why?”

  “Shay asked if you had plans to play in the Vault.”

  Great. Another woman to add to the list. “Tell Shay to get a life. I don’t want her vetting questions from the vultures down there.”

  “Christ, you’re in a mood. Again.”

  Bryan sank back in his chair with a huff. He was in a mood. This was his night to work the restaurant, and with Taste of Sin now closed, he should already be downstairs relaxing with a beer and a woman. Instead, he battled with annoyance.

  He’d finally nutted out the particulars for the development night he would soon run in the Vault. Meticulous detail had gone into the first email to club patrons advising them of what to expect and what they could learn. Yes, he’d expected questions, and yes, there had been many, but all of them had revolved around his sex life and who he’d be fucking in the near future.

  “I made the mistake of leaving my phone number on the email I sent to Vault members. Now I’ve got women hounding my ass. I’ve had two text me in the last five minutes, asking when I’m coming downstairs.”

  “Holy shit,” Leo exaggerated a whisper. “You poor, defenseless bastard.”

  Bryan scowled.

  “Most men would kill for your position. But not you. For such a hard ass, you really are a pussy when women show any interest.”

  Yes, he was. A remorseless bachelor for life. He refused to be tied to anyone. Not even temporarily. And if running from commitment-starved women made him a pussy, he’d be happy to wear the title like a badge of honor. “I’m not most men.”

  “Clearly. But you do realize they’d back off if you settled down with a regular hook-up? If you remain single, they’re always going to look for an opportunity.”

  “I’m not going to let one woman latch her claws for the sake of keeping the rest at bay. They should all know the drill by now. If not, I’ll have to give them a reminder.”

  “Well, it better be friendly. They’ll be dripping in their panties if you pull the usual Brute routine.” Leo gave a half-hearted laugh. “I don’t know how you do it, but they eat up your bad attitude like a vanilla fudge sundae.”

  That was the vicious cycle. He didn’t do nice. Never had. So, whenever he opened his mouth, the females lapped at his hostile sterility. “Do me a favor and don’t mention my routine and vanilla in the same sentence. We both know that’s more your style.”

  “You know what else is my style?” Leo countered. “Committing myself to one woman, so the rest know I’m off-limits.”

  “Everyone knows you’re off-limits because Shay threatens to slash them with a broken bottle if they get within two feet.”

  “Yep.” Leo grinned. “She’s a keeper.” He pushed from the doorframe, making way for the person who entered.

  Shit. Janeane. She was one of the text-message hounds. Long brown hair, dark hazel eyes, a body made for sin, and a determination for commitment that made his skin crawl.

  “Looks like you’ve got a visitor,” Leo drawled. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “You need to hang around.” Bryan narrowed his gaze on his business partner, relaying an unmistakable message. “We still have things to discuss.”

  His friend grinned in return. “I’d love to, buddy, but I’m going to be busy helping my girlfriend get a life. We’ll catch up later.” Leo gave a salute in farewell, then disappeared down the hall
.

  Fucker.

  “He was in a hurry.” Janeane sauntered toward the desk, her hips moving with an exaggerated sway. “How you doin’, Brute?”

  “Fine.” He gripped the armrests on his chair, holding his temper at bay. “You?”

  “Good.”

  He understood the look she gave him. It was siphoning. She was trying to get more sex out of him and wouldn’t succeed. He’d already slept with her once. That was the extent of their tally—past, present, and future. “What are you doing up here?”

  “I thought we could discuss your upcoming development class. Do you still want me to be your assistant?”

  He thought it over. After her text messages, and now the visit into the staff area of the club, he knew he should find someone else. But who? She was a carbon copy of every other woman in the Vault. Once he slept with them, his sperm became a potent commitment supplement making them rabid for more.

  He really needed to figure out how to get that shit fixed.

  “It’s not an assistant, as such.” He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, a picture of disinterest. “I only need someone to demonstrate on.”

  “Then I’m your girl.”

  Of course, she was.

  “But I’d prefer to practice first.” She raised the hem of her skirt and started lowering her underwear.

  “No need.” He pushed to his feet and strode around the desk. “I want the session unscripted.”

  She batted her lashes and dropped her G-string to the floor. “No problem. Tonight can be just for fun.”

  “Not interested.”

  She slid forward and placed her hands on his chest. “Are you sure?” Her nails grazed a trail down his pecs, over his stomach, to his crotch. “I bet I can convince you.”

  He’d happily take that wager. He’d even stake his house on it. “You won’t win.” He eyed her with apathy, knowing his flaccid cock was incapable of resurrection under her grip. He wasn’t interested. At all. And if she needed to grope him to get the picture, so be it.

  “You’re not in the mood tonight?” She pouted. “What’s wrong?”

  “You know I’m not a repeat offender, Janeane. We won’t sleep together again.”