Brutal Sin

by Eden Summers

  It wasn’t like he lacked the ability to compliment her.

  He could praise the ever-loving fuck out of her if he wanted. He could tell her how the mere peripheral vision of her gave his dick an aneurism. He could point out how perfect those breasts were—plump and full. Or count on his fingers the amount of times he’d wanted to bend her over different objects and fuck the frustration from his system.

  Didn’t mean those words would ever pass his lips, though.

  “Duly noted.”

  He started for the front of the building, the gravel of the parking lot rolling under his soles. She wobbled with her first step, her thin heels losing traction.

  “You okay?” The instinct to reach out and secure an arm around her waist was a mistake. Yet another idiotic move when it came to this woman.

  “You don’t need to hold onto me.” She inched forward. “I can manage.”

  He didn’t doubt it. But now he had the feel of her embedded into his side, and he wasn’t willing to let go. He could smell her hair, the floral scent more of an aphrodisiac than a gut full of oysters. “I insist.”

  He held her gaze, catching every flicker in her expression as he tightened his hold. She swallowed. Straightened. Lifted her chin. Those lashes even beat with timid lethargy.

  “Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of trying to pick up another man if I walk in with your hands on me?”

  He didn’t care. “Doesn’t falling face first into the gravel and skinning your knees defeat the purpose of that sexy dress?”

  She blinked. Balked. Gaped.

  He had no clue why.

  “Sexy dress?” One perfectly shaped brow arched.

  He huffed and ignored the grin spreading those red lips. “Come on.” He led her forward, her waist burning a hole through his palm, until he dropped his grip at the start of the sidewalk. “Have you got it from here?”

  “I always had it, Brute.” She strutted those toned legs in front of him, making her way to the entrance before he snapped out of his stare and quickly caught up.

  “Where do you want to sit?” She glanced around the room, eyeing the booths along the back wall, then the cushion-lined sofas near the front windows, her attention finally coming to rest at the stools lining the bar. “Should we stay close to the booze?”

  “That sounds like a good idea.” A fucking brilliant plan.

  She continued forward while he hung back, waiting in case those gravity-defying heels slipped out from beneath her as she slid onto the closest stool.

  “So, tell me your type.” He positioned himself beside her and swung around to face the room. It took less than five seconds to deem every guy here as an unworthy conquest. “What are you looking for?”

  “Well…” She followed, placing her back to the bar. “Sexually speaking, I want someone confident and—”

  “I know what you need sexually.” The reminder was a mental stroke along his dick. “What are you after outside the bedroom? I’m talkin’ looks, income, race, religion.”

  “None of that matters to me.”

  “Looks don’t matter?” He raised a fuck-off brow. “Looks always matter.”

  She shrugged and jutted her chin to the left. “The guy in the back is attractive.”

  “The one with the Van Dyke beard?”

  “Yeah. I don’t mind a bit of facial scruff.”

  His hand itched with the need to palm his jaw. He’d bet she’d prefer a full beard when it was grazing the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. “How about his wedding ring? Does that bother you?”

  Her nose wrinkled, her gaze snapping to his. “How did you even notice that?”

  “It’s not what you notice, it’s what you need to look for. Wedding bands or a tan line on the appropriate finger are a good place to start.”

  She nodded and sat up straight, ever the eager student. “What else?”

  He became fascinated by the way her attention strayed around the room, scoping potential lovers. “The guy you’re looking for will be paying you attention. Watching you. Trying to work you out before you even notice him.”

  Just like I am.

  She continued with her search, her shoulders drooping moments later. “Well, I guess I’m out of luck.” She turned to face him. “Nobody in here is looking at me.”

  He wasn’t going to prove her wrong. Pointing out all the men who’d already mentally stripped that dress from her body was a conversation for later. When he’d had enough time to determine who would be the right fit for her. “It’s early. Don’t give up yet.”

  She nodded, the defeat still a slight groove between her brows. He itched to smother the expression. Wipe it away. With his hands, his mouth, his dick.

  Goddammit.

  “What do you want to drink?” He yanked his gaze away and raised a hand to call the bartender.

  “Tequila sunrise, please.”

  He placed the order and focused on the drink preparation to ensure he didn’t drag her ass out of here for his own fulfillment. He’d already started contemplating the possibility of a different demo assistant. Someone who could take Ella’s place so he could sate the rabid hunger tonight and let his insurance policy kick in before this got out of hand.

  He didn’t care about the female Vault members boycotting the class. Or how Leo and T.J. would want to kill him. All the reasons from needing her assistance disappeared under the chokehold of lust.

  His level of investment in this woman was too fucking high. He was beginning to enjoy being around her. The rollercoaster rise and fall of her smile kept stealing his attention. And that dress…

  Shit. This wasn’t right.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look like you’re sulking. If you want to go home…”

  Take the offer. Get out of here. “We’re not leaving.”

  “Then cheer up, buttercup. You’re scaring away any potentials.” She waggled her brows and the sultry curve of her lips pummeled another meaty fist into his crotch.

  “Here you go.” The bartender slid over their drinks.

  “Thanks.” He snatched at his beer and enjoyed the liquid solace gliding down his throat. He needed to take the edge off. To snuff the burn.

  “What’s the craziest thing you’ve done, Brute?” Ella nibbled on the straw sticking from her drink, her head cocked as those eyes bore through him. “I bet you’ve got a lot of stories to tell.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing comes to mind.”

  “You own a sex club and nothing comes to mind?”

  He took another long pull of beer. Conversation became difficult—the grasp for coherence almost impossible when her lips were a tempting breath away. “Sex isn’t crazy. It’s natural. People have been screwing since the dawn of time. What I find hard to justify are those who skydive or participate in adrenaline-fueled sports.” He pointed a finger at her. “Or those who get married. Now, if you ask me, making a commitment like that is fucking insane.”

  She stared at the bar, a far-off gleam in her eyes as she smiled. “My marriage was far from conventional.”

  “Why is that?”

  Her lips parted and silent words hovered out of reach until she sighed. “Hold on a sec.” She leaned forward and focused on the bartender. “Excuse me. Can I get a shot of tequila, please?”

  “Shots?”

  Her fingers tapped against the bar, her leg jolted.

  “Have I missed something?” he asked.

  She gave a bark of laughter and grasped the shot glass sliding toward her. She downed the contents in one winced gulp and kept her focus on the bartender. “You might want to fill that up again, please. I think I’m going to need it.”

  “What’s going on?” He didn’t like the change in her demeanor. He also didn’t like the rapid approach of lowered inhibitions. He was already battling enough for them both.

  She licked her lower lip, sweeping the remnants of alcohol away. “There was no commitment when I married.”

  “You had an open relationship?” H
er husband must have been one laidback motherfucker. To share a woman as beautiful as Ella was a risk. You’d never know when another guy would throw club etiquette to the wind and steal her right out from beneath you.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Then hurry up and get on with it.”

  She eyed him, up and down.

  Shit. He pulled back, unsure when he’d inched close enough to hear the hitch in her breath.

  “Go on.” He turned to the bar, palmed his beer, and took a gulp. “We’ve got all night.” At the very least, until he drowned his dick in liquor.

  She fiddled with the refilled shot glass, running her finger around the rim. “I met Lucas on one of those European bus holidays. I was doing the touristy thing with Kim, and he was traveling alone. We got to talking and eventually hooked up. It wasn’t anything romantic. Just sex.” Her shoulders slumped with a deep exhale. “Amazing sex.”

  “I get the picture.”

  “No, you don’t.” She spoke to the glazed wood of the bar. “I’d never been with anyone like him before. He taught me things. He knew my body better than I did, which was strange because we rarely spoke. He kept to himself a lot and we only caught up at night.”

  Bryan gripped his beer, his focus on the liquid. For a fleeting second, his chest constricted with jealousy, but he doused that fucker with the remainder of his drink and quickly ordered another with the raise of a finger.

  “When the tour ended, we went our separate ways and neither one of us looked back. I didn’t ask for his number, and he showed no interest in keeping in contact. At least, not until he turned up on my doorstep a few months later.”

  Made sense. The guy must’ve realized his mistake. Ella was a different sort of woman. Sexually confident and inquisitive. A catch. Anyone who let her walk deserved to wallow in regret.

  “Couldn’t live without you, huh?” He welcomed his new beer with a deep pull, determined to douse the discomfort under his sternum.

  “Actually …” Her voice turned somber. “He told me he wouldn’t be living at all in the near future. He found out about the cancer a few weeks after he returned from Europe.”

  Bryan dropped his glass to the bar and turned to her.

  “It wasn’t the happiest of reunions.” She shrugged. “But I’m glad he found me.”

  “That’s when you got married?”

  “Pretty much. He didn’t want to die alone, and I didn’t want that for him either. He deserved to have someone by his side.”

  “What about his family or friends? Couldn’t they have looked after him? You said the two of you barely spoke.”

  “Apart from work colleagues, Lucas didn’t have anyone to rely on. His mother had health problems of her own back in Chicago. He didn’t even tell her about the cancer. She thought he was going on another vacation. Instead, he came to find me.”

  “Jesus.” He blindly swiped for his beer and knocked back another gulp. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on a stranger.” The guy seemed like a dick. A selfish, emotionless asshole.

  “It was. But I was financially compensated. Our marriage became the equivalent of an employment contract. I quit my waitressing job to concentrate on his health, and when he passed, I became the sole beneficiary of everything he left behind.”

  She dipped her finger into the tequila, then sucked the moisture away. If their conversation hadn’t been about cancer, chemo, and all things melancholy, he would’ve blown his load then and there.

  “His money allowed me to buy this apartment and my cafe. It gave me the opportunity to help my sister who had mounting educational debts, and my mom who’d struggled since my father left. Not that they wanted anything to do with the inheritance. They disagreed with what I did.”

  “Because you were financially compensated?”

  “No.” She nibbled her bottom lip and shook her head. “Because at that point, Lucas and I weren’t emotionally connected, and they knew it wouldn’t end that way. They could see me falling for him, without those feelings being reciprocated.”

  His chest constricted, the building jealousy hitting harder the further they sank into this conversation. “And you put your life on hold anyway.”

  “And I’d do it again. There’s no way I could’ve let him die alone. How could I live with myself if I let him walk away? I knew what I was getting myself into. I made the decision on my own.” She shrugged. “In the end, they were right. I started hoping for more.”

  “More what? Time?”

  “I don’t know.” She cringed. “Everything was complicated, especially with my extreme naivety. I’ve grown up a lot since then.”

  “Shit.” He rested an elbow on the bar and looked at her. Really looked at her. “Didn’t knowing the end game make it easier to close yourself off emotionally? At least to some extent?”

  “How do you close yourself off emotionally, Bryan?” She met his stare. “How do you stop caring? God knows I couldn’t figure out how.”

  She dipped her finger back into the tequila and swirled the contents with her fingertip. “Our days were spent between doctors’ appointments and living out a fast-tracked bucket list. We also rekindled the physical relationship when he was able. It became hard building walls against something that monumental.” She fell silent, stealing his fascination with each passing minute. “I ended up loving him… In my own little way.”

  He kept staring at her, kept blinking, kept breathing. He couldn’t think past the need to do something, anything, to wipe the pained look off her face.

  “Sorry.” She winced. “I really won the award for Most Morbid Change in Conversation, didn’t I?”

  He swiped the shot glass out from beneath her hand and downed the contents in one regrettable swallow. “Yep. And now you’re cut off.” He cleared his throat to dissolve the burn. “You’re a depressing drunk.”

  Her eyes widened, then a chuckle broke free. “Not usually.” She nudged him with her elbow. “I blame the company I keep.”

  She could blame him all she liked, as long as the smile continued to stay plastered on those dark lips.

  “Yeah, well, you need to shape up before your drinking privileges are returned.”

  “That’s rich, coming from Mr. Moody.”

  “Moody? I’m pretty sure I stick to the one mood ninety percent of the time.”

  She quirked her lips as she pondered his response. “I guess you’re right.”

  And just like that, her eyes lost the darkened shade of mourning and brightened to a mesmerizing blue.

  “Okay.” She rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get this conversation back on track. We need to focus on getting me laid.”

  He palmed his beer as the added layer of history tugged at something other than his lust. The additional reminder of why they were here didn’t fill him with warm and fuzzies, either. He didn’t want to send her home with someone else. He didn’t want to send her back to her apartment at all. “Maybe tonight’s not the night for this.”

  “Of course it is.” She grabbed his arm, those fingers searing skin and nerves. “Seriously, I need to get lucky. I’ll take whatever help I can get.”

  She batted her lashes, and his dick shoved hard against his zipper, expecting a high-five.

  “I’m eager for your expertise.” She swiveled, turning her back to the bar. “What about that guy?”

  * * *

  For the next hour, he went through the pros and cons of every male in the building. The pros were few and far between. For good reason. He couldn’t find anyone to entrust with her pleasure.

  A third of them wore wedding bands. Others leered with no manners or respect. Another chunk of potentials were wiped from the board because they simply didn’t look good enough.

  He didn’t know what it would take to earn his respect, but nobody here had even a glimpse of it, which was becoming harder to explain to Ella, who seemed to have slid on intoxication goggles and considered every man who walked through the door a potential candidate.<
br />
  He’d had to point out the gay guy who only had eyes for his friend’s ass.

  He’d had to discuss the downfall of being with someone who spent ten minutes staring at the drink board. Because, seriously, if it took you more than two minutes to figure out your own needs, there was no point wasting a lifetime trying to determine Ella’s.

  The man she currently ogled wore a plaid shirt, dirty faded jeans, and muddy cowboy boots. Which, realistically, wasn’t a bad thing. He looked like he had a good work ethic. But… “If you’re still into fucking cattle, go for it.”

  She snorted, her happiness springing through him like a gunshot. “That’s an unfair assumption.”

  He didn’t give a shit.

  “What about him?” She tilted her chin toward the man at the far end of the bar.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding.” The guy had stuck-up-suit written all over him.

  “What’s wrong with him?” she slurred through bubbles of laughter, and he immediately regretted reinstating her drinking privileges. “He’s cute. He also has good fashion sense. Hell, I could ask him to strip and simply touch him for hours.” She slapped her hands together in prayer. “Please, Brute, let me touch his nakedness. I can’t remember the last time I got to put my hands on a guy’s body.”

  His nostrils flared. “A few nights ago doesn’t ring a bell?” Why didn’t she just punch him in the dick? The injury would’ve hurt less than the insult.

  She balked. “I barely got to touch you. Hell, girlfriend—” she waggled her head at him, “—if I had the chance to sink my nails into you, you’d know it.”

  “Girlfriend?” He pushed from his stool. “You’re too drunk for this. Either sober up or I’ll have to take you home.”

  She pouted. “Okay, daddy.”

  Fuck. Me.

  She snorted again. “I’m joking. Stop glaring at me like that. Christ, you throw in a daddy line and everyone gets offended.”

  Yeah, he was fucking offended, because any other reaction while imagining spanking her over his knee wasn’t goddamn appropriate. If only his cock would get the memo.