Page 4 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

When I arrive at the coat closet, the man who was checking bags and coats earlier is nowhere to be seen. I’m not sure if he’s on his break or if Brinley paid him to fuck off for a few minutes. Either way, I’m grateful he’s gone.

There’s probably a door to enter the closet somewhere, but I’m not exactly sure where. I glance to the left and the right, but it seems like I’m alone in the hallway. So I vault over the counter, landing on the other side. I’m met with a hysterical giggle from Brinley. She cocks a teasing brow as I rise to standing.

“Um, what was that little acrobatic display?”

I straighten my jacket. “I wasn’t sure where the door was.”

She points to a door literally three feet to the right of the counter. “You mean that door?”

Instead of defending myself, I let my eyes roam down over her body, lingering on a pink dress strap drooping off her shoulder, on her neckline, on her hips. She gulps as I eat up the space between us in three long strides.

“Don’t act like me leaping tall counters doesn’t get you hot, Brin,” I whisper.

I grab her by the waist, yanking her hard against me. Her hands slip into my hair and she drags her nails against my scalp, the way that makes me shiver. I take a second to inhale her neroli perfume before jerking her chin up to capture her mouth with mine.

She tastes like champagne and carelessness. It’s fucking intoxicating. Her tongue slides against mine, hungry and so fucking sweet.

Laughter drifts down the hallway, reminding me that we’re still too fucking visible out by the counter. I pull her back to the racks of coats, kicking the closet door shut behind us. Brinley’s hand leaves my chest long enough to click the lock on the knob.

The single hanging lightbulb casts everything in dim shadows. We stumble backward, still kissing as we push through coat racks. My elbow catches on a wool coat, and the hanger clatters as it falls to the floor. I practically knock over a whole rack when Brinley’s hips brush against my hard-on. My blood pounds through my veins, making my vision blur at the edges. Everything else fades away, everything except for Brinley.

Her hands run up my arms, gripping the ridges of my biceps. I flex, because I know she loves how they feel in her hands. She moans against my mouth.

“Take my panties off.”

Clumsily, I yank her long dress up over her hips, and my fingers tangle in the fabric in my rush to do that last goddamn thing I should be doing right now.

“You’re such a bad girl, Brinley baby,” I mutter between kisses, twisting my fingers into the silky waistband of her thong. I groan as I pull them aside, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her neck as she tips her head back to allow me the space to breathe her in.

“You love it.”

“Fuck,” I utter against her throat, wanting so badly to mark her here where every other single man at this wedding can see so they’ll know she’s claimed.

Mine, I want to rasp into her skin. They don't get to look at you like that. Not when you're already mine. Instead, I drag my open mouth along the line of her throat—no teeth, no marks, just the heat of my breath promising what I can't deliver in front of two hundred witnesses.

I trace my fingers through her slickness. The anticipation, the whispered invitation, and secret glances have her dripping already.

“Christ, Brinley baby. Look at this pretty mess you made for me. You've been thinking about this all night, haven't you? Picturing this—my fingers in you while two hundred people sip champagne fifty feet away. Such a filthy fucking thing.”

I press in slow, watch her thighs start to shake. “Already so ready. Already so wet. Doesn't even matter how many times I've had you. You're always like this for me, aren't you?”

“God, yes, Beau,” she mumbles as I stroke her pussy. Fuck, I wish I had time to taste her. Her complex sweetness tastes better than all the gourmet food in the world. We don’t have much time, though, so I slide two fingers inside her, priming her. She draws a sharp breath of surprise, her eyes growing hooded.

Brinley’s small hands make quick work of my belt buckle, even if she fumbles a little unbuttoning the rented tuxedo pants. I hiss through my teeth as she frees my cock. She pumps it in her hand, even though there’s no way I could be harder than I already am. God, I fucking needed this.

It’s been weeks since I could get away and see her with all this wedding planning and rehearsals and shit.

I grab her wrists and pull her arms back around my neck, right before I lift her up and pin her against the wall. Her legs wrap around my waist, crinkling my dress shirt. I guide the head of my cock up toward her entrance. Teasing her clit, I let her drip down on me for a moment.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Seriously, Beau, just fuck me already,” Brinley whines. “We don’t have time.”

So I give her exactly what she wants. I press inside until she moans my name.

“Is this what you want, Brinley baby?”

“God, yes.” Her warm brown eyes squeeze shut as she tries to handle the sensation of me filling her. “More. I need more, Beau. Harder. Yes.”