Brutally Beautiful

by Lynne Connolly

  Time for the big reveal. Tucking her thumbs either side of her panties, she slid them down, slowly at first, teasing with the possibility of changing her mind, then down in a swift movement. Keeping her legs straight, she bent from the waist and stepped out of the flimsy garment, pausing to toss it aside.

  A sense of panic swept over her, making her pulse quicken, her breath shorten. Mingled excitement and terror coursed through her, shooting her adrenaline levels to an all-time high. Come on, Gen.

  She straightened, revealing her naked pussy. She shaved it just before she came, and she still felt rawly bare. Getting in the cab to the club, she’d had the feeling that everyone who glanced at her knew she was bare under her panties.

  Now she was displaying it to anyone who wanted to look.

  Her pussy lips moistened with the thought, and she had nowhere to go, nothing to hide. Why try? A spirit of recklessness infused her, and she lifted her chin, stared down her nose at the audience. Only then did she see that the place by the bar was empty. He’d gone.

  Shit, she’d lost. She turned around, kept moving her hips while she took a breath. What did she have to lose? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. She bent over, showed them the back view before turning, legs spread to display the hard, red nub of her clit. She was aroused, and nobody seeing her could doubt it. Her pussy was glistening with juice and the tops of her thighs dampened with the overflow.

  She writhed, twisting her hips to give the audience an eyeful of her slit, working her booty like never before. Let them look, let them want, because afterward she was going home alone. Right now, she was theirs.

  She spun, lifting her arms and bundling her hair up again, opened her legs to show them more. Then she turned back, hooked a leg around the pole and swung, one arm holding tightly to keep her balance, the other sweeping back.

  As she circled, her hand hit something hard, and her attention went to whomever she’d struck, an apology on her lips. Her apology dried on her lips. Before her, blocking the view from the rest of the audience, stood her erstwhile lover, and from the expression on his handsome face, her future lover too. He caught her under her arms, lifted her, and carried her off to the hoots and whistles from the crowd. He must have vaulted up to the relatively low stage area while she was facing the other way. That could get Odell into trouble, because she already knew touching was forbidden between client and performer here in the main room.

  Her protests faded as she stared into his face and saw the determination, the burning passion that tinted his cheekbones pink, darkened his eyes to remorseless near black. His mouth had straightened to a tight line. Until he bent his head and kissed her in a ruthless way that promised only one thing in her near future. He explored her mouth like a man possessed, taking every part of it for his own, his hand covering her breast, giving her the contact she craved. That suited her. She’d grown desperate to feel a man’s hands on her, his body close. The rough texture of his denim shirt only made her want to rub herself against him like a cat begging for attention.

  She didn’t look where he took her until he dumped her on a desk. Odell’s desk. Planting one hand on each inner thigh, he spread them wide, looked. “They can’t have you, not while you’re mine.” His voice had deepened to a rough growl, almost unidentifiable. “I’m fucking you now. Then I’m taking you home and fucking you some more.”

  When she opened her mouth, he stopped her speaking by the simple method of kissing her, nipping her lower lip so she gasped at the small pinch of pain. By that time he’d got his pants unzipped and was rolling a condom over his hard, straining cock.

  Then he drove into her, no pause, no respite. When he’d embedded to the hilt, he paused, glanced down at them. “I can see everything. Do you think the punters outside want to see this? I wonder if Odell has kept his security cameras on?”

  “I don’t care,” she said, hearing that rough edge, new and dangerous and wonderful. “Let them look.” She leaned back, trusting him to hold her, to take her any way he wanted. And he did. Hard and fast and relentless, he fucked her to the edge of oblivion and beyond. He showed no gentleness, but she’d driven this dangerous man to the edge of madness, taking the biggest risk of her life, putting everything into one big gamble.

  So far, so good.

  Her orgasm ripped through her body. She didn’t know she was crying out until he said, “That’s it. Scream for me, baby. Keep screaming and take everything I give you. More.” He grunted as he shoved into her, holding her ass to impale her on his stiff, straining rod. It bored into her, driving deep until she thought he’d break her, and she didn’t give a damn.

  He brought her up again, her heightened senses responding to his strength with feminine submission, letting him take her where he wanted, needed to. His silver belt buckle pressed against her hip when he slammed their bodies together, but the pin could have driven into her flesh for all she cared.

  “Don’t stop,” she managed, on the brink of coming for a second time, every part of her body demanding release. If he pulled out now, that would be the worst torture imaginable. Sharp needles prickled her nerve endings. She didn’t know how she’d live, and her greatest anxiety in the whole world was if he stopped.

  He kept her on the edge until she opened her mouth to beg him for release. Then he changed his angle of entry. Every part of her body blossomed for him. Like rain in the desert, she bloomed and spread, only dimly aware when he muttered something and shot his release inside her welcoming body.

  This was what it should be like. Sex, fucking, making love—it was all the same thing, and this was it.

  She rested against him, her cheek on his shoulder. He kissed her, gently this time, before he withdrew his cock and took care of the condom, bundling it in a handful of tissues before tossing it into a trashcan under the desk. He zipped himself up, still cradling her with one arm. “You heard what I said, didn’t you?”

  “Mmm.” Anything, as long as he carried on holding her. Oh yes, he promised to take her home and do it some more. Nothing else mattered right now, although she could sleep first. It had worked; he wanted her.

  Odell broke into their reverie by stepping into the room after rattling the door handle. Nick didn’t turn around but cinched her closer. “Get out.”

  “Nope, you’ve had enough time.” He tossed her clothes on to the desk. “Get dressed and then tell me who let you do this, because I am so firing her ass.” He sounded pissed.

  “No,” she said.

  Odell shrugged. “I’ll find out.”

  “No,” she repeated. “It’s all my fault.”

  Nick, however, was smiling slightly as he helped her dress. Odell had found some underwear to replace the set she’d left on stage, but she didn’t want them. She put on her jeans and T-shirt commando. She felt sleepy and dreamy, ready to relax, but she couldn’t do that, not now.

  Nick caught her hand and squeezed it hard, making her gaze fly to his face. “What the fuck was that?”

  “That was me, showing you in the only way I know how that I believe you, not my boss. I want you, not him. And I want to help, not be pushed to the sidelines.”

  Odell’s chuckle surprised her. “You’ve been outmaneuvered, my man.”

  She nodded, keeping her attention on Nick. He still looked angry as hell, and she was beginning to realize she’d never seen him quite this unguarded, this dangerous. “There’s a cab outside,” Odell said helpfully.

  “Come on.” Nick took her hand and led her outside. The short journey to his apartment was accomplished in silence. He took her into his bedroom and stripped her before undressing himself, letting the garments fall unceremoniously to the floor. In the bathroom he hit the faucet in the big walk-in shower. Urging her under the flow, he turned her to face him. She stood there, water pouring down her face, not knowing if she was crying or not. Not caring. He washed her, and his silence was far more oppressive than shouting. She wanted to talk to him, but he was so contained, his face so shut down that she di
dn’t know if he’d ever talk again.

  So she spoke instead. “I wanted to show you that I believe in you. I wanted to say that I’d do anything for you, anything at all.” She’d reached rock bottom, she could say no more to plead her case. If she hadn’t acted fast, Nick would have done something to make sure she wasn’t in any danger. “I can’t let you cut me out, Nick. I’m the only person with the kind of access you need at the immigration. You’ve got to get into those records, suppress them if you can.”

  He stared at her, listening but not responding. He washed her quickly, not lingering, cut the water, dried them both, and led her into the bedroom. When he drew back the covers, she climbed into bed, but he didn’t join her, as she’d expected. Instead, he wrapped himself in his navy-blue robe and sat on the bed, not touching her. Then he spoke.

  “The name I used for most of my life is Mick O’Donnell. I lived in Liverpool 8 with my little brother, and after our mother dumped us, we stole and worked and sagged off school. I was a big boy, grew fast, so I started young.” He glared at her. “We were good-looking, my brother and me, so we sold what we had. Us. The women we made happy sometimes posed as responsible relatives when the welfare people came around. The only thing we did right was use condoms. The customers usually insisted. Not for us, but for them. I was a prostitute, get that? That’s how I can fuck a woman like I did you tonight. I used to charge for it. I did you tonight for free.”

  She kept her expression carefully blank.

  “Then I started running a few girls. It paid better, so I did it more. As I said, I was big, and that worked as well for pimping as it did fucking. I made Larry stay at school until he’d finished, because he was good at it, but we still tag-teamed at weekends. We stopped about the time Larry turned sixteen. Oh, did I forget that bit? Our customers liked boys, young ’uns. As long as we could get it up, they liked it. When you have money, you can have morals and a conscience. When you’re starving and sleeping on the streets, you can’t afford them.”

  He watched her. There was no breaking through his shield of iron, no relenting.

  “Then we had our first challenge. Before then we’d run under the radar, but the gangs wanted a piece. So I started a gang. We carved out a territory we could call our own. They didn’t expect two kids, two unaffiliated kids at that, to be such a problem. In that world you live or die. We lived. Other people died.” He paused. “The police did nothing. They couldn’t, and in time, we bought them. I bought them. Because by then Larry had what he wanted, and we kept out of contact for years. He went straight, turned into a fine man. I don’t see him these days.” This time she heard the eons of longing in his voice. He’d loved one person, at least.

  She sat up, hugging her knees.

  “I did well. I got bigger, spread tentacles, as you do, made alliances. Got very rich on the girls and the drugs and the knockoffs and any other racket that came into my manor.”

  “But you left.” She hated how quiet her voice sounded, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

  “Not because I saw the error of my ways.” He smiled, a flash of white teeth. “I ran the previous gangs out, and I got run out in my turn. The East Europeans moved in. They undercut me. They used girls they bought, and they paid them nothing. They got drugs from the cheap places, the new places. If I hadn’t left, I’d have died. Gang leaders don’t last much longer than forty, not unless they’re amazingly lucky. By that time they’re dead or they’re grassed-up, or they just lose it. I died. I had another ID ready. I’d already bought papers and stuff for a couple of people, but I picked Nicholas Taylor because I could be Nick. Near enough to Mick. Not sentimental, practical. I’m going to respond to Nick well.”

  She reached out and before he could withdraw, grabbed his hand, drew it close. Grim-faced, he came closer. At least he hadn’t pulled away.

  “You want a man like that? No sentiment, no excuses.”

  “Is that why you can’t sleep nights?” She wouldn’t let him drive her away.

  He nodded and stared at the blanket instead of at her. She didn’t like that. She’d rather face his fearsome gaze than have him avoid meeting her eyes.

  “You remember at night?”

  “Some things. I’ve never slept well.”

  “You did with me.” The nights they’d spent together he might have got up early, but when she’d awoken in the night, he’d been next to her, sleeping peacefully.

  He nodded again. “You brought something to me. I can’t call it peace. Maybe reconciliation.” He lifted his head. “I’ve killed people, directly or indirectly. The man the police ID’d as Mick O’Donnell was one of those. He idolized me, shaved his head, even got the same tattoos I had. Most of them. Somebody knifed him, thinking he was me, so I torched the place to make it a bit harder for them. Easy to bung a few officials to make sure they identified him right. Easy to make sure he was cremated, so nobody could do anything.”

  “Bung…bribe?”

  “Yeah.” He toyed with the sheet, threatening to pull it down. She did the first thing she thought of. She let it drop, baring her breasts. He looked, taking his time, letting his gaze wander over her until her nipples sensitized, crinkled into hard points. “Want me to do you again? Another freebie?”

  “Only if you want to.”

  He leaned back, letting the robe fall open to show his erection. He flicked it as if it meant nothing. “I can get this hard for anybody, you know? It means nothing.”

  “And the poetry? Does that mean nothing?”

  He remained completely still, staring at his cock as if he’d frozen. She’d hit something, a sore point. A way in. Triumph surged through her. “You did it because nobody would expect it? You spent five years studying poetry and now you teach it with such passion because it was convenient? Or what?”

  “Something like that.”

  He got to his feet with a sudden, violent motion and strode around the room. His robe flapped around his thighs, hiding nothing. “You can’t do this, Gen. He might kill you. You can’t.”

  “If I don’t do it with you, I’ll do it without you.”

  He turned to face her, the mask gone, but she could feel no triumph. Not when she saw the devastation that lay inside. There were no words. She threw back the covers and held out her arms.

  He came to her as if he couldn’t help himself, impelled by something outside his control. He lay over her, kissed her so delicately, like she’d break, then touched his lips to her neck, her nipples, one after the other, paying homage to them. He kissed her navel, feathered kisses over her stomach, down to her bare pussy, and leaned up, watching her. She almost came for him on the spot, she felt such heat from his stare. When he kissed her, he took her clit into his mouth and sucked, but gently, not with the fierceness he’d shown her before. Her arousal rose but didn’t peak as he ran his tongue over her slit, dipping inside her channel, and back to her clit. He tongued it, kissed it, and then came back up the bed to her, reaching out to the bedside table and grabbing a condom without taking his attention away from her.

  She wanted him bare, wanted to show him how much she trusted him not to hurt her, but a smile flickered across his lips as he shook his head when she clasped his wrist, and she let go. She’d never known a man who could sheathe himself as efficiently as Nick, and he proved it again now, smoothing the latex over his cock. She watched, waited, and when he entered her, she hugged his sides with her legs. Full missionary. That was what they needed now. She held him, flattened her palms over his back as he moved rhythmically inside her, felt every stroke as if it were her last. Or her first. He gazed into her eyes, watched her, and then gave her a kiss that, out of all the kisses they’d shared, she knew she’d never forget. He tasted her, savored it, and she licked at his lips, took her own flavor back and gave him another.

  He tasted of sin and her…and love.

  They made love without haste, and she responded to him, feeling that he’d woken her from a dream, shown her the possibilities of life
instead of the limitations. It was all there for the taking, and all she had to do was reach out.

  She tunneled her fingers into his hair, loving the dark abundance, the softness, remembering that picture of him bald. Badass and sexy. Nothing to hide his raw, masculine appeal, nothing to soften the savagery of a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. She loved all of him, everything he was and would be.

  She caught her breath, a tiny sound low in her throat, as he found her sweet spot and worked it. Nobody had done that so well before, and she was sure mechanical expertise was only part of the reason. But she didn’t close her eyes as she usually did at the point of orgasm. She watched him, let him see her as she came, opening everything up to him—the way she felt about him, her vulnerabilities, her strengths, and the way he ripped her apart from the inside out.

  With a strangled sound, he dropped his head and buried his forehead against her neck. The first pulse of his orgasm throbbed inside her, but he lifted his head again and gave her back what she’d given to him. She saw everything, and she watched him come, that moment when he dropped all his barriers, all his conflicting emotions there for her to see.

  She swallowed and realized what courage he was asking for, to accept everything he was, but she had that for him. He muttered something against her lips, and then he was kissing her and coming and she was coming again.

  He kissed away her tears, left her for the thirty seconds it took him to dispose of the condom, and then came back to bed. She’d been half afraid that he wouldn’t, that he’d leave her there, and she wasn’t sure what she’d have done in that situation. Followed him, probably, because she didn’t plan to let up now.

  But she went to him, sliding across the sheets in the big bed to nestle in his arms and to put hers around him, his big, hard warmth a vital presence against her. “Tell me the rest,” she murmured. “The truth.”

  He sighed, but he didn’t ask her what she meant. He knew. “When Mum left us, I was terrified. They’d take us into care, and I might never see Larry again. Those places had a reputation. And we were Irish, Catholics, so I knew where they’d send him. Larry was tough, but he didn’t grow big like I did, not until he was older. He wouldn’t have stood a chance. I had to do something.”