Page 46 of Brutal Sin
He increased the severity of his hold, gripping his dick like he was trying to choke a snake. Damn thing wouldn’t die. The harder he squeezed, the better it felt. The pain was the bestpart.
One day, he’d return the favor. He’d torment her like she currently tormentedhim.
The tight grasp became a stroke, the first glide of friction bringing a heavy dose of pure relief. He bit his lower lip to stop a groan escaping and closed his eyes to concentrate on the childishness of his actions.
The darkness didn’t help. Within seconds, he’d wrenched down his boxer briefs, leaving them to cup his balls as he spat on his hand. The first slide of his saliva-slicked palm was hell—pure torture and defeat, rolled into a package of fucking bliss.
Fighting was pointless. Instead, he squeezed his eyes tighter and punished the shit out of his dick, jerking it with harsh strokes, squeezing it with a tight fist. Back and forth he worked the length, each glide getting shorter. Sharper.
He growled through the pressure building in his balls, wanting to get this over and done with. He raised onto his toes, disgust turning his stomach as he blew his load in the sink. Burst after burst of white liquid shot from him, and still she didn’t leave his mind. Pulse after pulse of release splattered the stainless steel, increasing his self-loathing, and all the while, she was still there.
Thoseeyes.
Those whimpers.
Those pleas.
He didn’t understand it. Didn’t wantto.
“Fuckinghell.”
He rammed his softening dick into his underwear and washed his lack of restraint down the sink. This was Tera’s fault. His family had shoved their way back into his life, destroying all the barriers he’d tried hard to erect. Annihilating his sense of worth. His focus. Maybe even his confidence.
Bet or not, he had to leave.
If Ella woke and gave him another whispered proposition, he’d cave. He’d buckle like a cheap belt. And he didn’t want to risk dragging anyone else into this regression.
He stalked into the living room, found a piece of paper and a pen, then scribbled his cell number in large font along with the message—Next Thursday. 8 p.m. The Vault.
He dropped the note beneath her glowing bedside lamp, tiptoed around the bed, and grabbed his pants off the floor. The loud clink of his buckle was a major “fuck you” from the universe. The noise shot through the silence and she whimpered in reply. He froze, pants halfway up his thighs, his dick beginning to reawaken like an energetic puppy.
“You’re leaving?”
He tugged his pants to his waist, zipped, buttoned, and secured the belt. “Yeah. It’s too damn early for me to sleep.”
“Sorry.” She turned toward him, cuddling her pillow as she blinked with lethargy. No woman had ever looked so feminine. So pliable. So breakable.
He only had to say the word and she’d be on her back, arms open, thighs spread. The thought should’ve been enough to turn himoff.
Why didn’tit?
Why was his blood rapidly regrouping in hisdick?
He snatched his shirt off the floor and stabbed his arms through the sleeves with enough force to rip the material. Every second that drew closer to her proposition made his pulse quicken with anticipated relief. She was going to beg him to stay. She was singular breaths away from transforming into another groupie. Just like everyoneelse.
“Can you lock the door on your way out?” She stretched, the curve of her breasts straining against the sheet.
What. The. Fuck?
He frowned, confused by the awkward mix of beauty and rejection. “Sure.” His fingers tripped over the remaining buttons. “I left a note on your coffee table. It’s got my cell number on it. Message me if you’ve got any questions about the demonstration. Otherwise, I’ll see you there.”
“Who says I’ve made up mymind?”
“You’ll be there, Ella. And you’ll do a great job.” He grasped his pockets, making sure he had his wallet, cell, and keys. “Thanks for tonight.”
Thanks? For what? The erectile dysfunction and new kitchen fetish? Who the hell washe?
“Thanks?” She smiled. “Are you being polite again?”
“Nope.” He made for the bedroom door, ready to run. “I got another cheap thrill and a boost to my ego. What’s not to be thankfulfor?”
“Jerk,” she whispered with sleep-addled humor.
And don’t you forget it, sweetheart.
“Night, Ella.” He stopped himself from turning back for one lastlook.
“Night, Brute.”
The use of his nickname didn’t escape him. She’d finally realized who he was. What he was. And even though hearing his title didn’t bring the usual thrill, he knew the emotional distance would be nothing but a good thing.
