Page 6 of Brutal Sin

He didn’t need to step forward to see what she looked like. A gorgeous blonde with ample curves and deep brown eyes. He’d been drawn to her the moment he’d double-clicked the membership photo that slid into his inbox.

Then he’d read her name, and all interest had vanished like condoms at a frat house.

“Brute,” Shay warned. “Hurry up and get inhere.”

He glared as he walked through the doorway and watched the blonde beauty stand from the bench in the middle of the room. Her limited clothing showed off a figure that hadn’t changed since her induction. The dark navy corset clung tight, the breast cups supporting a lush chest while the waist curved to promote a perfect hourglass. She met his feral stare momentarily, then just as quickly, she lowered hergaze.

Submission.

Nice.

Usually, the women in the Vault were overly eager. Bright eyes. Visually defiling stares. The type who expected more from him than he ever planned to give. Rarely was there an opportunity to be with someone less enthusiastic. Sometimes it felt like he only had to blink in the wrong direction and the females started to take off their panties.

Not that he could blame them. He had sexual groupies for a good reason.

He cleared his throat, the deep sound a test to how she’d respond. And just as quickly as her gaze fell, she straightened her shoulders and met him with a narrowed stare, tauntinghim.

Interesting.

Her defiance conquered the desire to submit.

Maybe she wasn’t the easily boxed woman he’d initially thought.

“Have the two of you spoken before?” Shay hovered in the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame.

“Very little.” He’d made sure of it, always happy to distance himself from triggers of his past. “But I processed Ella’s application, so I’m familiar with her reasons for beinghere.”

“Pamela,” the woman murmured.

He ignored the correction and prowled around the bench seat. From the rebellion in her eyes and the stubborn set to her shoulders, he could tell she wasn’t a natural submissive. She wanted the fight. Might even crave it more than the physical pleasure.

“You can leave, Shay.” He kept his focus on Ella, taking in the stories her body willingly whispered. She was confident, her posture straight, her chin high and proud. She also came from money. Her shoes were polished and clearly designer. Her corset was made from expensive material, not a cheap knock-off. And her blonde hair was immaculately cut and pulled into a neat ponytail.

“Are yousure?”

“Leave,” he grated.

“Pamela?” Shay questioned.

He shot the bartender an incredulous stare. “Leave. Now.”

She held up her hands in surrender. “I’m going. I’m going.”

She muttered something under her breath—an expletive, he was sure—but he let it slide, choosing to focus on Ella instead.

They stood in silence, a few feet apart, sizing each other up. She was trying to predict his failure before he’d even begun. The added challenge made his pulse increase. There was no excitement in her features. Not even a hint of hope. The walls of pessimism were firmly erected, and he’d take pleasure in knocking themdown.

“Shay claims no man can get youoff.”

Her chin lifted. “That’s right.”

“I beg to differ.”

She scoffed and gripped the strap of her handbag, hitching it higher on her shoulder. “Look, this isn’t going to work. We’re both wasting ourtime.”

“Why isthat?”

She swallowed, fear or manners holding herback.

---