Page 37 of Brutal Sin

Her lips worked over silent contemplation until finally she turned on the sofa, placing her heels on his thighs. “Your fixation on this being mutually beneficial is a load of bull. It’s not like I can’t get an orgasm without you. I can do the work myself.”

“And you’re satisfied with that? You don’t need a guy to break the monotony?” No matter how she responded, he knew the truth. A woman with her sexuality and passion could never be entirely satisfied with masturbation. It might dull the ache, but she needed to be fucked. There was no substitute for skin onskin.

“I havetoys.”

He didn’t appreciate the visual. Actually, his body appreciated it too damn much. His cock stirred, the hard length nudging against her heel. “I’d like to seethat.”

“I know,” she drawled. “And you wouldn’t be the onlyone.”

No doubt. He could sell tickets at the Vault and pack the room with willing voyeurs. She’d enjoy it, too. This woman would love to be the center of innumerable fantasies. She deserved tobe.

He grabbed one of her feet, distracting himself as he worked his thumb along her innersole.

“Oh, God.” She groaned. “That feelsgood.”

Shit.

As far as distractions went, this one was counterproductive. Her throaty moans and the arching of her back made his cock push harder against his zipper. And those toenails. Jesus. He’d never spent much time admiring a woman’s feet. It wasn’t his kink. But he understood itnow.

Those dainty, delicatetoes.

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, energeticfuck.

“I don’t get you, Bryan.”

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

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

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 thevoid.

“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. “WhyEl—”

“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 hername.

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

“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 timesoon.”

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