by Eden Summers
Her palm paused on his cock, her brows knit tight. “But the class you’re teaching…”
“Is a one-off. It’s business. If you want to fuck, go downstairs and find someone else.”
Her hand fell away. “I thought—”
“You thought wrong.” He didn’t want an affiliation with any woman. And he definitely didn’t want her to latch her claws any deeper into the assumption that they had something between them. “I suggest you go back downstairs and find a guy who can treat you right.”
Her lips kicked in another vain attempt at seduction. “I think we both know that’s not how I want to be treated.”
Jesus Christ. For the love of promiscuity. He raked a rough hand over his beard, his fingers digging deep when his phone beeped again. This shit had to stop.
Janeane licked her lips, ignorant to the underlying tension in the room. “Come on, Brute. Do what you want with me.”
He cocked a brow. “You sure that’s what you want?”
“You know it is.” Her eyes brightened.
“Okay, then.” He gently grabbed her wrist and led her into the hall. “I’ll see you later.”
Her mouth gaped as he dropped his hold and inched back to slam the door in her face. Perfect. Peace and fucking quiet.
“Brute.” She banged on the door.
“For fuck’s sake.” He clenched his teeth. What did he have to do to stop these women from praising the ground he walked on? It was no secret he treated them with contempt. Apart from telling them to fuck off, he’d exhausted all other forms of rejection. But still, they came at him like defensive linebackers on a quarterback. “Unless you’re looking for your underwear, you need to leave.”
She huffed. “Fine. Keep them as a souvenir.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He picked the scant piece of material off the floor and threw it in the trash. He didn’t need a reminder. She had his fucking phone number and he was sure she wouldn’t let him forget.
“Bye, Brute.”
He closed his eyes with a sigh. “Bye, Janeane.”
Peaceful silence followed, and he welcomed it with building annoyance. The Vault was supposed to be his sanctuary. His domain. He owned the ground it was built on. Literally. He’d spent years cultivating the perfect environment for his gratification, only now, fucking had become a chore. There was no thrill. No chase. Most importantly, there was no respect.
Sex outside of the club wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t date, and he refused to waste time searching for women morally capable of enjoying an uninhibited one-night stand. He didn’t have the patience or the motivation. Instead, he’d had to settle on growing the list of rejected women inside the Vault. The ones who kept coming back for more. Over and over. Without remorse or dejection.
That shit wasn’t admirable. And it definitely wasn’t attractive. The more a woman chased him, the less respect he gave her in an effort to put her off his scent. Even then, his form of rejection seemed to smell like the latest best-selling fragrance to hit the market.
He couldn’t fucking win.
“This is bullshit.” He yanked open the filing cabinet and sorted unorganized invoices to distract himself from where he wanted to be. Where he should be.
Another slicing beep sounded from his phone, and he slammed the cabinet shut in frustration. He pulled the cell from his pocket, the grind of his teeth harsh enough to cause damage. He’d turn the fucking thing off until morning. Then he’d get the number changed.
He was poised to shut down the device when it started to vibrate, the screen changing with an incoming call from an unknown number. His teeth should’ve cracked under the weight of his rage.
“If this is another woman…” He pressed connect, his nostrils flaring as he placed the device at his ear. “What?”
There was a beat of silence. A delicious beat where he hoped he’d given the caller enough reason to change their mind about asking him to hook up. Or fuck. Or whatever version of a proposition they wanted to use.
“Bryan?”
Yep. Another fucking woman. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Tera.”
Tera?
He frowned. He only knew one woman by that name, and he had less enthusiasm to speak to her than he did with the scavengers at the Vault.
“Bryan?” Her voice was timid, less forthright than he remembered.
He ran a hand over his mouth and contemplated hanging up. “Yeah.”
“It’s your cousin, Tera.” She paused, probably expecting him to spread a welcome mat. The poor thing would be waiting a while. “Is this a good time to talk?”
He scoffed. How the fuck did he answer that? Was now a good time? Really? Was now, more than ten years after being cut from the family, a good time to talk?
“Sure.” He didn’t hide his animosity. “I’ve been hanging out for the perfect opportunity to catch up. Who knew it would be a random Saturday night, a lifetime after you all turned your backs on me?”
“Bryan…”
“Don’t fucking Bryan me. Tell me why you called so we can get this over with.”
She sighed. “I called to ask you to come home.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Not even if your mom is sick?”
The rage disappeared. The bitterness, too. The world stopped. The sound of the club and the echo of his heartbeat pausing along with it. He thought this day would never come. That his family would always treat him like a pariah—unworthy of their attention. After a childhood chasing parents who tried to ignore his existence, he had finally been acknowledged.
“Bryan, are you still there?”
“I’m here.” He leaned against the filing cabinet, contemplating the need to hang up. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to care.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but she has terminal cancer.”
Fuck. He’d wondered if this outcome would ever eventuate from his mother. Not the karma that reared its head in the form of a disease with a death sentence. He’d always wondered about the regret—the moment she would realize she had a list of sins she needed to absolve before she passed into whatever holy land she thought was waiting for her.
“She’s been fighting for a while now. I’m just not sure how much she has left in her.”
A while. He really shouldn’t be surprised. “If she wants to see me, she can call herself.”
“She doesn’t even know I’ve called.” The words hung like a noose awaiting an unwilling neck. “Nobody does.”
In other words—they still didn’t care about him. Nobody did.
He gave a derisive laugh. The possibility of death hadn’t even inspired affection in his mom. Why, after all this time, did he expect something different from the stone-cold bitch?
“Thanks for the call, Tera.”
“Are you going to come home?” she asked in a rush.
“Tampa was never my home. My parents made sure of that.” He cleared his throat and tried to clear his mind of the past at the same time. “It’s best for everyone involved if you lose this number.”
He waited for an acknowledgment of his request—the slight hitch in her breath—before he disconnected the call and pocketed his cell.
He didn’t have a home. Didn’t need or want one.
He had a refuge, though, and it was time he reclaimed it.
Chapter Five
Pamela handed her identification to the security guard at the parking lot entrance to the Vault. She was buzzing, every inch of her alive with possibility.
The last two weeks had been spent reliving what had happened the last time the secret part of the club was in session. The awakening. The pleasure. The pure ease with which she’d come undone under a skillful hand.
“Have a good night.” The guard returned her ID and indicated for her to go ahead with a jerk of his chin.
“Thank you.” She hitched her handbag higher on her shoulder and approached the darkened stairwell. The sound of moans and grunts became lou
der the farther she descended, until she was at the bottom step, peeking inside the Vault.
For once, she smiled as she strode by the bar, no longer frustrated at the ease with which women were getting their rocks off. She did the customary disrobe in the locker room, packed away her handbag, and then returned to the main area.
The room held the usual patronage, apart from a few unfamiliar faces who didn’t pique her interest. Couples mingled with drinks in their hands, others fucked in quiet corners or blatant positions on sofas.
Nobody paid her much attention. No more or less than usual.
“Pamela,” Shay called from behind the bar. “You’re back.”
“Yeah.” She approached the grinning woman and slid onto a vacant stool. “I thought I’d give this another try after the success from the last session.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Can I get you a drink to celebrate?”
“Sure. Tequila sunrise, please.”
Shay made the concoction while Pamela swiveled on her seat, scoping the crowd. There was nothing new or different about the scene before her. One couple used the sex swing. Singles crowded the open doorways to the adjoining rooms. Some regrouped around the bar.
The only thing missing was her resentment.
“He’s not here yet.”
She turned to Shay and grasped the drink now placed in front of her. “Who? Brute?”
“Isn’t that who you came back for?”
“No.” It was the truth. “I have no misconceptions about being with him again.” She didn’t want to fuel his ego, no matter how skillful those hands were. “Not that I was technically with him in the first place. All it took was a thumb, a fingertip, and some smoothly drawled words.”
What made her sashay her butt back to the Vault was the hope that Bryan had opened the floodgates when he’d broken the drought. Hopefully, whoever she decided to play with next would be just as successful.
“That sounds about right.” Shay chuckled. “I swear he was born with a gift. He always leaves women begging for more.”
“I wish I didn’t agree.” Unfortunately, she did. He was truly skilled in the art of pleasure. And undeniably undeserving of his talent.
“Then why not try for another round? If you technically weren’t together last time, it wouldn’t go against his hook-up rules.”
“Rules? Really?” Incredulity dripped from her lips. The contrast from his technique to his temperament continued to shock and amaze her. “No, thanks. God knows I wouldn’t want to step on his toes.”
“He’s not that bad. Honestly. I wouldn’t have encouraged him to help you out if he was. He knows what he wants the same way you do. The difference is, he never wavers.”
“Tell me about it.” Pamela took a gulp of her drink. “I wavered like a palm tree in a cyclone. There isn’t a guy here who I didn’t at least flirt with, all in the name of trying to get a fix.”
Shay placed her hands on the bar and gave a sad smile. “Then, honey, can you really blame him for setting firm boundaries? At least women know what to expect from him.”
True. Maybe she shouldn’t blame Bryan for owning his shit. Self-empowerment and all that pompom shaking stuff. “I guess. Doesn’t stop his personality rubbing me the wrong way.”
“Who gives a shit which way his personality rubs you as long as those orgasms keep coming? Believe me, if Leo would let me bag and gag every guy who walked in here so there was no annoying small talk—”
A guy sitting two stools down cleared his throat, drawing their attention.
“Oh, come on, Jeff. Don’t tell me you’re not sporting wood at the thought of being bagged and gagged.”
The guy grinned. “Get me a bourbon and dry, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear a word.”
Shay chuckled as she grabbed the requested liquor bottle. “See? Bag and gag is definitely the answer. But it’s not going to happen. This is a sex club, not a bonding retreat, and you pay good money to get in those doors. Make the most of it. Hit him up for a full round. What’s the worst he could do?”
Maybe Shay was right. Pamela’s decision should revolve around Bryan’s skills, not his attitude. “I’ll think about it.”
“Well, think quick.” Shay focused over Pamela’s shoulder. “Because the man of the moment has arrived.”
The pound of her irregular heartbeat echoed in her ears, the reaction bringing an unhealthy dose of confusion.
She swiveled on her stool and captured the man in her sights. His suit covered him like armor, strong and sure. His shirt was white and crisp, with a gleaming black tie hanging loose around his neck. He must be working, not playing. Otherwise, he’d be in boxers or briefs, as the Vault rules stated.
She grasped her glass, keeping her hands busy while her mind worked overtime. Asshole or not, he’d been blessed with physical appeal. The type that hadn’t lessened since learning more about his personality.
His expression wasn’t welcoming in the slightest. His eyes were harsh, his face covered in a light, bristly beard that always seemed impeccably trimmed. He had strong shoulders, a solid frame, and a powerful stride.
An emotionless vortex from head to toe.
A shuddering thrill worked through her without permission. She didn’t want to be attracted to him. Hell, she’d drink herself under the table in the hopes her sober goggles were adversely affected with a few shots, but the alcohol wouldn’t help.
She was intrigued by him.
Attracted, intrigued, and maybe a little curious, too.
“I might go and ask what his plans are.” She spoke aloud, hoping it formed some sort of commitment with the universe to stop her from backing out.
He continued toward one of the side rooms, his focus hitting her with a scowl.
She paused, caught halfway off her seat.
She waited for a sign. A spark. An acknowledgment of the monumental zing they’d shared last time she was here.
Nothing.
He glanced away without so much as a twitch to his lips.
“Umm.” She turned back to the bar. “That didn’t seem friendly.”
“That’s Brute. One hundred percent asshole, one hundred percent of the time. Doesn’t stop him from fucking like a Trojan.”
Damn it. Body parts reacted without warning—breasts, tummy, and lower. Deeper. When had she become a sucker for punishment?
She chanced another glance over her shoulder and focused on the darkness of the room he’d disappeared into. She didn’t want to give this brutal man any power over her, but the truth was, he already had it. He could give her things no other man seemed capable of.
“I assure you, he does know how to have fun. He’s just extremely picky about who he lets past his defenses.”
A loner.
Like her husband.
The familiarity softened her interest a little. Not enough. The past seemed to repeat itself, and like with her husband, she found herself unable to walk away.
“Are you going to chicken out?” Shay’s voice was light, a bare whisper of subconscious thought through Pamela’s frazzled mind.
“No. It’s all good. I’ll go see what he’s up to. There’s no harm in asking, right?” She sucked hard on her straw, finishing her drink. “Wish me luck.”
“Go get ’em.”
Pamela gave a chuckle in farewell and slid from her stool, righting her favorite deep-pink corset as she padded in his direction. This situation would be different if he weren’t the only man standing after years of unreachable orgasms.
He was a unicorn. That was all.
A vicious, snarling anomaly.
And if she wanted to be brutally honest with herself, she wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about propositioning previous play partners. The possibility of repeating the mistakes of her past made her skin crawl.
She stopped in the doorway, taking in the shadowed sight of him as he leaned against the wall, staring at the threesome kissing and caressing on the circular bed in the middle of the room. The appeal of
Zoe and her men had always drawn Pamela’s attention. Not tonight, though. Right now, she couldn’t stop staring at the man who owned her pleasure. The man who made her pussy clench with remembrance.
Damn him.
She came to his side, ignoring the deep, woodsy scent of his aftershave wrapping its potion around her. “Hey.”
Ten children could have been conceived in the time it took his gaze to finally meet hers. There were no words. No familiarity or friendship. Only obligation bleached of warmth as he jutted his chin. Not only a cold shoulder, but a cold stare.
Problem was, she was here now, by his side, and she didn’t want to walk away with her tail between her legs. Especially not when Shay’s words repeated in her head, mantra-style—doesn’t stop him from fucking like a Trojan.
“Are you working?” She fought to remain detached. “You’re still wearing your suit.”
“Just finished.”
His tone carried a hint of “fuck off.” A hint she should take. She should grasp the warning and stride from the room. From the club. From his life. Instead, she let her focus wander along the strong lines of his chest, down to the thick thighs she could still remember pressed against her.
Curse him for being a tease to her starved ovaries.
Those hands had inspired daydreams capable of lasting months. Those legs had helped stabilize her during the most tumultuous orgasm.
He pushed from the wall and walked by her without so much as a farewell.
“Hey.” She frowned at his retreating back. “Hold up.”
He stopped, his shoulders broad and menacing.
“Are you interested in playing tonight?”
This time the beat of silence rang in her ears like an exploding bombshell. The world collectively held its breath.
Slowly, he turned to face her, the furrow between his brows sharp enough to cut stone. “Have I done anything in the last five minutes to give you the impression I’m interested?”
“Uh…” Her throat dried, cutting off her words.
“The answer you’re looking for is no,” he muttered under his breath. “I didn’t say hello. I didn’t even smile. Then I fucking walked away. What more do I have to do?”