Brutal Sin

by Eden Summers

  Those dainty, delicate toes.

  The feminine light pink polish.

  He was in fucking trouble.

  How many men came home to this every day? A beautiful woman. A nice meal. Light-hearted conversation. And the promise of a sweaty, energetic fuck.

  “I don’t get you, Bryan.”

  Not surprising. He didn’t understand himself. Maybe they could work out his insanity together. “What’s not to get?”

  “You bought me dinner and wine. You’re being kind. Well, way beyond civil, anyway. And now you’re massaging my feet.”

  His skin itched with the influx of reality. He’d stopped pretending this woman annoyed him sometime in the last hour. Probably earlier. This afternoon could’ve been the culprit.

  He shrugged it off, determined to snap back on track. “You’re not a vulture. It gives me the freedom to relax.”

  “So, this is the real Bryan?” She scrutinized him, her brows pulled tight. “Far from the brute who torments everyone?”

  “I don’t torment anyone. Neither do I pretend to be someone I’m not.” Not really. He lowered his focus to her feet, gently curling her toes under. “This is me. And the guy you met at the Vault is, too.”

  She remained quiet, and he didn’t dare look at her to fill the void.

  “I’m not an asshole, Ella. Not entirely. I just have a low tolerance for bullshit.”

  She tilted her head, pondering, and he knew exactly what skittered through her mind. He knew it even before she opened her mouth. “Why El—”

  “Are you ready to get started?” He tapped her ankles, indicating for her to move. He liked her, but not enough to field questions about his reluctance to say her name.

  “Ahh. Sure.” She placed her feet on the floor and sat up straight. “How do you want to do this?”

  “Let’s start with where.”

  “The bedroom?” Her face remained impassive. “Just in case I get bored and want to take a nap.” Her lips twitched, breaking the tension building in his chest.

  “The bedroom, it is.” He stood, offering her a hand. “And don’t worry—you won’t be nodding off any time soon.”

  Chapter Ten

  The back of Pamela’s neck tingled as she led Bryan down the hall. Nervousness had set in, the shaky, uncomfortable feeling an unwanted blast from the past.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, why?” She stopped before her open bedroom door and faced him.

  “You were walking like I had a gun at your back.”

  Why did he care? Before today, she would’ve assumed it was to exploit her discomfort. But from the way he’d acted tonight, she wondered if the question came from true concern.

  “There’s a lot of pressure on my shoulders.” She hadn’t been anxious about sex in a damn long time. Not that this was anxiety as much as it was nervous anticipation.

  “There’s no pressure.” He led the way into her room, not bothering to turn on the light. “All you have to do is relax and let me work my magic. Once I’m done, you can sing my praises, and then I’ll leave. Simple as that.”

  She wasn’t going to encourage his confidence. Nope. Not at all.

  “I see you hiding a smile under those tight lips.” He smirked over his shoulder. “We both know I’m right.”

  She ignored him and padded to her nightstand to flick on the lamp. The dim light only endeavored to highlight the devilish appeal of his features. His expression spoke of passion. Pleasure and dominance. Everything she’d been searching for since Lucas died stared her in the face, waiting to be grasped in both hands.

  If he demanded things of her, things she wasn’t necessarily prepared to give, she’d succumb anyway. No doubt. Something inside her had become starved for his approval. She wanted to make him smile again. To ease the sterility that coiled around him with suffocating efficiency.

  He inched closer to the bed, his suit pants brushing against the mattress. “Take off your shirt.”

  Her lips parted in shock, but they shouldn’t have. Pleasantries weren’t a part of the deal. Neither was foreplay.

  She grasped the thin material of her shirt, pulled it over her head, and dropped it to the floor. She stood before him, black lace bra and old cotton shorts. Her chest expanded with the need for more. More air. More control. More noise to fill the tense silence. “Better?”

  “Not quite. But we’re getting there.” His scrutiny raked her. It wasn’t a light caress of his attention. It was brutal, like his nickname demanded. Those eyes turned molten, the heat of promise burning bright. “Shorts off, too.”

  “Wait.” Her nervousness came out of hiding, nudging anticipation out of the way. “Should we discuss a rough timeframe to end this?”

  He frowned.

  “I mean…” She sighed. “If this doesn’t seem to be working, should we have a set time in mind to stop? Unlike you, I don’t like hurting people’s feelings, but I also don’t want you all up in my bits, working long hours like a miner, when you’re getting nowhere. So, maybe we need a deadline.”

  He lowered his gaze, paying too much attention to the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “Sure. If it’ll make you comfortable, we’ll put a fifteen-minute timeline on this.”

  “Fifteen minutes?” Was he kidding? “I won’t even be turned on in fifteen minutes.”

  He smirked, that wicked lift of lips telling her he already knew she was simmering. “Trust me.” He tapped the mattress, encouraging her approach. “I’ve got this covered.”

  Her heart kicked.

  Parts lower, too.

  “Not only will fifteen minutes be enough,” he drawled, “but I’m willing to wager I’ll get you over the line in less than ten.”

  “Now you’re delusional.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you’re not going to take this seriously—”

  “Who’s really the delusional one here?” He approached, his sure stride eating up the distance in less than a heartbeat. “The woman who says no man can make her climax?” His hand raised, gently gliding stray strands of hair from her cheek. “Or the guy who achieved it with one finger?”

  Her cheeks heated. “Stop bringing that up.”

  “Why? It was some of my best work.”

  Some? Whisper-thin threads of jealousy came to life in her chest. She shouldn’t have forgotten his efficiency was equally brag-worthy with other women. It was pathetic to even care.

  “Are we doing this or what?” She shoved at her shorts, letting them fall to her feet, then climbed onto the bed. “Hurry up. The clock is ticking.”

  “Not yet, it isn’t. We still have the finer details to sort out.” He grabbed her ankle and tugged, dragging her toward him. “I’ve got a ten-minute deadline in this wager. All you need to do is tell me what you want to bet.”

  She scowled, trying to determine how to dent his arrogance. Their egos were on entirely different playing fields. He was in the pros. She was warming the bench in adolescent D-grade. “If you lose, you spend the night.”

  No denting occurred. His expression didn’t falter.

  “In my bed,” she continued, hoping to inspire panic. “Like a man who doesn’t have a million commitment issues.”

  The anticipated revulsion didn’t reach his features. She hadn’t even laid a finger on his bravado.

  “Deal.”

  Was he kidding? Where the hell did his confidence come from?

  “And if I win,” he purred, “you need to admit, in graphic detail, how my prowess is unlike any other.”

  “I didn’t think you were the type for accolades.”

  “For you, I’ll make an exception.” He tugged her closer and let her legs fall over the edge of the mattress.

  She clenched her teeth, hating how he’d already made her wet. Her body didn’t comply at all. The men she’d wanted to succumb to had no effect, and the one man she didn’t want anything to do with was like a sexual healer. Her very own Marvin Gaye. Or was she Marvin in this situation?

&nb
sp; Shit.

  She couldn’t think through the lust fog.

  “Any other rules before I start?”

  “Yes. I don’t kiss on the mouth.” She’d had the same stipulation since Lucas died. She didn’t want that connection from someone able to walk out the door without a backward glance. The next man she kissed would care for her. He’d cherish the ground she walked on.

  “No problem.” He splayed a hand over her upper thigh, his thumb pressing temptingly close to her pussy. “Only touch.”

  “Good.” Her voice croaked.

  “Anything else?”

  She shook her head.

  “Anal? Oral? Foreign objects?” He raised a brow. “Pain? Submission?”

  “Now you’re just teasing,” she murmured. “I’d be surprised if you had time for even one of those in the ten minutes you’ve allocated.”

  He snickered, the sound sinister. “Maybe that can be a wager for another day.”

  Strong fingers gripped the waistband of her panties and tugged. With bold finesse, he exposed the trim strip of curls above her entirely bare pussy and dropped the material to the floor. For long seconds, he stared at her. At that part of her, his nostrils flaring, his jaw ticking.

  This could be where she gained the upper hand.

  She inched back, lying down against the covers, and slowly spread her thighs.

  His visual admiration turned to humor, his lips lifting as if he knew her game.

  Damn it. How was he so good at this?

  “It looks like it’s time to start.” He glanced at her bedside clock. “It’s eight fifty-three.”

  “Eight fifty-three.” She swallowed over the desire clogging her throat.

  She was wound tight, eagerly wondering how he planned to win this battle in ten minutes. And if he didn’t, how would he deal with a night in her bed? Hell, how the heck would she handle it?

  He slid his palm along her leg, toward the apex of her thighs. He held her gaze as the heat of his touch came closer.

  A finger, or maybe it was a thumb, skirted gently over the edge of her pussy lips. Delicate and oh, so light. It could barely be considered a touch. It was a breath. A whisper of sensation through the slickness of her arousal.

  “I’m surprised you’re this wet. Seeing how you’re not interested and all.” His touched gained pressure, parting her, tempting her opening.

  She wanted more. Needed more. “I never said I wasn’t interested.”

  “Right…” Back and forth, his touch raked over her slit, teasing and torturous. “You just lacked faith in my ability.”

  She opened her mouth, poised to respond when two fingers slid deep, penetrating her, making her back arch off the bed. He curled those digits inside her, finding her sensitive spot faster than she ever found it herself.

  No fair.

  She clamped her thighs together, tight, and rocked into the rhythmic stroke against her G-spot.

  “Still think I can’t get you there in another eight minutes?”

  “Goddammit. Shut the hell up.”

  He chuckled, and she didn’t understand how he could be unaffected. Maybe that was the reason he kept rejecting women in the Vault. Did he have erection issues?

  She lowered her gaze, down his pristine, white dress shirt, to his waistband, then his crotch.

  Nope. His reluctance definitely wasn’t an arousal issue. The hard, thick length of him strained against his zipper.

  He wanted her.

  Or maybe he just wanted sex.

  Either way, it didn’t matter. The thought of his desire made her squirm. Made her throb. Pressure landed on her clit, the spark of enthusiastic tingles taking over her core. He was succeeding. Winning. Not that she wanted him to fail. She craved another of his masterful orgasms.

  “You’re gorgeous.”

  The solemn compliment fractured her bliss and she blinked away the confusion to find him visually worshiping her body. The glide of his attention raked her skin, causing havoc, inspiring hysteria.

  “The worst part about this agreement is the inability to fuck you.” His free hand splayed across her stomach, creeping higher.

  “What? Why not?”

  “That’s not part of the deal.” He grasped her covered breast, working the cup down to brush his fingers over her nipple. Back and forth. Up and down.

  “Forget the deal,” she panted, arching into his touch.

  “I wouldn’t have time.” He grinned, but this curve of lips was half-hearted. “There’s only six minutes left.”

  She whimpered and he responded to her unspoken plea by adding another finger to her pussy. He stretched her, the muscles of her core protesting with a delicious twinge.

  “I want your feet on the bed. Soles on the mattress.”

  She complied, lifting her legs, bending her knees, willing to do anything to continue the bliss.

  “Ass up. I want to see you.”

  Her cheeks warmed as she obeyed, raising her butt off the bed to give him a better view.

  “Fuck.” It was barely a word, his voice more of an incoherent growl. “Tell me what you’re thinking. I want to hear those dirty thoughts.”

  She shook her head, speechless at the ferocity in his eyes. She couldn’t think past his touch, the wicked stroke of her G-spot, and the palm massaging her breast. She kept her ass off the bed, each second making her climb higher in search of more.

  “Tell me.” He glanced at the clock, unhurried as he massaged and coaxed.

  They had to be running out of time, but he didn’t rush. There was no frantic pace, only a slow build to the perfect rhythm.

  “Fucking tell me, Ella, or I stop.” His movements slowed, inspiring panic.

  “No, don’t.” Her voice broke. “I want this,” she admitted. “I want you.”

  “How?” he snapped.

  She continued to shake her head. If she pictured the ways in which she needed him—visualized the two of them together—she’d come. And she wanted that… But she didn’t want it, too.

  Not yet.

  He growled and shoved another finger inside her, her pussy now stretched around four digits. He worked her hard, making her legs burn, her body sweat. He slid his other hand from her breast, over her collarbone, this time stopping at her throat. He held her there, pushing her toward mindlessness with the tight grasp of dominance.

  She was close. Her orgasm within a flick of those fingers.

  Then he paused.

  Fucking stopped.

  For seconds or minutes, she didn’t know.

  “If you don’t tell me your dirty thoughts, I don’t make you feel good.” He appeared to lack concern over the approaching deadline, even though his chest heaved and his eyes blazed. “So, keep talking, sweetheart, or this ends.”

  “Oh, God,” she pleaded, the tingle of bliss fading. She couldn’t let it go. Refused. “I never want you to stop touching me. I want to feel you everywhere,” she rambled. “I want you to fuck me. And I want it to be hard. So hard it hurts.” She wasn’t a masochist. Slaps and pinches weren’t her thing. The excitement revolved around harsh penetration and vicious thrusts. The thrill of helplessness in the arms of a strong man. “You’d fuck my pussy… My mouth.”

  His nostrils flared as he groaned. Slowly, the grasp around her throat tightened, increasing her heartbeat. Then the fingers in her cunt twitched. Both sensations were profound on their own. Together they were an exquisite surge of sensation.

  She bucked, demanding more. “Then you’d fuck my ass.”

  The pulse inside her quickened. The squeeze at her throat tightened. His focus held more intent than she’d ever received from him before. Frustration and delirious lust built in those eyes—over her.

  He wanted to be inside her, just as much as she needed him there.

  She grinned with the knowledge. The pleasure doubled. Multiplied. His fingers kept pace. She whimpered, the sound turning into a mewl. A scream. She tensed, every inch of her becoming a slave to the first pulse of orgasm b
ursting forward, making her buck.

  He didn’t stop as she spasmed, calling his name, arching her back. Over and over, he continued to work her, until the pulses lessened. Even then, he didn’t stop. In fact, he did the opposite, pressing harder on her clit, spreading her pussy wider.

  Another wave hit, blindsiding in its attack.

  This orgasm was short but more surprising. The pleasure a breath-taking hit before an equally shocking vacuum. She was capable of multiples now?

  She panted through the delirium and slumped against the mattress. When he released her throat, she fought not to show her disappointment. That hold had been transforming. A grasp of nirvana. And those fingers. Damn him. They still gently stroked inside her, not letting the bliss entirely fade while his other palm trailed along her sternum, her stomach.

  Too much talent had been given to this man. Too much god-like finesse for someone entirely undeserving.

  As if reading her mind, his lips quirked. “Are you ready to apologize for doubting my skills, Ella?”

  Chapter Eleven

  He’d thrown the bet.

  He’d deliberately thrown the whole fucking thing.

  She didn’t even know yet. She just lay there, blinking up at him with sated, euphoria-glazed eyes.

  He hadn’t been able to talk himself out of it. She’d been at the mercy of his touch, her perfect body writhing and contorting with each of his movements. Then he’d paused, unable to stand the thought of her coming so soon.

  He’d known how much time he’d had left. He’d known exactly how long it would take to get her back to the peak, too, and he’d stopped anyway.

  For what? A handful of seconds of her at his mercy?

  He couldn’t remember a woman ever ensnaring him with erotic fascination. She wasn’t merely sexual, she was sensual. A combination of vulnerability and confidence. Carnality and trepidation.

  Obviously, he suffered from a case of temporary amnesia. He’d played a hand in innumerable sexcapades. His sexual bucket list had been ticked off long ago. But this was different somehow. If only he could pinpoint the why of it all.