Page 101 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

“Is she…okay with it?”

“She will be,” he says firmly. “I told her there’s only one woman for me, and to stop throwing Giulia at me.”

I have a sinking feeling I know the answer, but I still have to ask. “How did she take that?”

He sighs, which tells me all I need to know. “It’s nothing personal, Brin. She doesn’t know you like I do, and she thinks she knows what’s right for me. She’ll come around eventually.”

I take a long gulp of my wine.

Then, Beau’s phone lights up as a timer goes off. He swipes the timer away and opens the oven, and my heart skips a beat when I see his lock-screen.

It’s my face. I’m smiling and a little sunburned across my nose. I can tell from the dress I’m wearing that the photo is from last year’s trip. I’m smiling and laughing, my face practically glowing in the Tuscan sun. I look so beautiful through Beau’s lens that I barely recognize myself. It’s such a small thing, my photo on his phone, but it’s a public acknowledgment of our relationship that would have been impossible a week ago.

It also reminds me of the last picture on his lock-screen—him and the guys, laughing and toasting each other at Cat’s wedding. A reminder of what he had to give up for me.

My friends are tentatively letting me back in, while Beau’s still a pariah. The Peppermint reveal turned out to be fantastic for my business, while it completely tarnished Beau’s reputation. He’s even arguing with his mother. Beau’s the one who’s been punished for the articles I wrote.

I turn away before he can see tears in my eyes. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I fill it with water from the sink. I sip it, willing it to stop my hands from shaking, or my legs from feeling like they’re going to collapse.

“Hey.” I hear the noise of the stove clicking off, then Beau’s hands land on my hips. He spins me around and holds my face in one hand. “Don’t. Don’t run away from me, Brin.”

I swallow down a sob. After five years, he knows me too well. He sees the walls I’m half-heartedly building to keep him out, and he’s going to tear them down.

“I can’t,” I whisper. What’s broken between us can’t be fixed with words, not when words are what got them here. Words are the I love you and the Peppermint confession and the building fight and five years of rules built out of language.

Somehow, Beau sees that. He slides his hands down my sides, his touch teasing and light. It feels beyond good, which only makes me loathe myself more. I shouldn’t get to feel this way, not when he’s so miserable.

That doesn’t stop Beau from moving his hands down over my hips. ”Let me make it better, Brin,” he mutters. “I want to make you feel good.”

I shake my head. I don’t deserve his gentleness or his love, not after the wreckage I’ve made of his life.

“You don’t have to say anything.” His nose moves along my shoulder and up to my ear. He nips at the sensitive skin lobe. “Just let me take care of you for a few minutes.”

It’s selfish, but I want to let him. I want him to make every thought in my head disappear, the way only he can do. I want him to drive away all the guilt and misery. I want him to erase the past few weeks, few months, hell, the past decade. I crave the mindlessness I know he can give me.

So because I’m weak, I let him sweep me up into his arms and carry me to my bedroom. He kicks the door shut behind him, then sets me on the edge of the bed. When he grabs the hem of my sweater, I dutifully raise my hands so he can take it off. His eyes grow hazy as they sweep over my bare skin. He unhooks my bra next, pulling it off and kneeling so he can nuzzle against my breasts.

His mouth moves patiently over the swells of my breasts, like he intends to kiss every inch of them at least three times. His hot, open-mouthed kisses send a slow, relentless trickle of heat to my core. My thighs press toward each other automatically, desperate for friction, but I can’t close them with Beau still kneeling between them. He closes his hands around my inner thighs, pressing hard enough to bruise as he keeps me from chasing any pleasure he doesn’t give me.

Beau knows my body better than anyone, maybe even me. He knows exactly how to drag me through a slow burn of pleasure toward a raging bonfire. My blood feels hot with want. It courses through me until my skin feels sensitized everywhere.

I slide my fingers into his hair in a failed attempt to guide his mouth up toward mine. He moans his satisfaction at being exactly where he is, and after a few minutes, I give up. Let him worship me, if that’s what he wants.

“My beautiful Brinley,” he murmurs against one nipple, his hot breath making it tight with anticipation. He frees my left thigh to pinch the other hardened bud. “You’re so⁠—”

He cuts himself off, like he doesn’t have the words for it. But he growls before he sucks my nipple hard into his mouth. I whimper pathetically. He hasn’t even touched my clit, and already I feel so fucking close to coming.

His fingers hook at the edge of my leggings and pull them down over my hips and down my feet. Tossing my clothes aside, his eyes land between my legs.

“Oh, Brin. I knew you’d be this wet for me.” He draws a teasing line along the crease where my thigh meets my lower belly. “You always are.”

He traces his fingers over my pussy, teasing little touches that make me squirm against the bed. The dampness gathering between my legs grows until I’m scared I might drip onto the bed. The whole time, Beau stares at the place where he’s touching me like he’s never seen anything so fascinating. My face blushes with embarrassment, but this is Beau, and he’s already seen every inch of me and found it worthy. I push aside the urge to beg him to move.

I let him see me.

One long finger finds my entrance, sliding into the second knuckle and making us both groan. He slowly pushes deeper, lowering his head to brush his lips against my clit. Just that light touch sends a rush of wetness to my cunt. I know Beau feels it because he growls against my skin.

Just let me take care of you.