Page 40 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

Eventually, she lifts her chin. “Beau…”

Fuck, hearing my name from her lips does something to me. She sweeps her tongue over her lips. I almost groan when she bites the lower one in a way that makes me crazy.

“Will you kiss me?” she whispers.

“Brin, I⁠—”

“I dare you,” she says. Quiet. Steady. Like she’s been holding it in her chest for years.

Something in me breaks. The wall I’ve been building ever since I first noticed her, since she stopped being a kid and started being someone who made it hard to breathe when she walked into a room.

It doesn’t crumble slowly.

It detonates.

My lips slam down on hers, crossing that line that can never be uncrossed. When her plush lips part for me, I know I won’t regret it. Because kissing her is nothing like I imagined. It’s worse. It’s better. Brinley’s mouth is softer and sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted. Her lips move greedily against mine, just as hungry as I am.

Her hands fist the front of my shirt, her curves soft against my body. I tangle my fingers in her hair while I angle her head so my tongue can sweep against hers. She makes a sound against my mouth that almost drops me to my knees.

Fuck, would she make that sound if I moved my mouth lower? What kind of noise would she make if I had my head between her legs? Has anyone else even kissed her there?

The idea of being the first man to taste her pussy is far more appealing than it should be. God, if I just get to the elevator, I can bring her back to my place and⁠—

Luke’s face flickers into my mind, his eyes sharp with betrayal. He’d never forgive me for this. He’d take our friends with us—the only family I’ve ever had that stayed.

I pull away fast, like I’ve accidentally touched a hot pan. Brinley’s hands, which were clutching my back, fall down to her sides. I stare at the ground and step back, far enough that I can’t feel the ghost of her heat radiating toward me.

I run my hand through my hair, smoothing it. My eyes stay glued to the tiled floor. I can’t look at her, because I know that if I do, I’ll kiss her again.

“That can’t happen again,” I mutter.

Brinley doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her looking at me. I don’t want to know what emotion is lingering in her eyes. Regret? Anger? Sorrow? Any of them could stick in my mind long enough to break me.

I spin on my heel and walk away. I have to leave first. Shoving the heavy door open, I stalk back into the club and across the dance floor. Dancers scatter out of my way, not eager to get in the way of a tall, muscular coward practically sprinting through them.

Once I get to my office, I shut the door and press my back against it. My hand shakes as I brush my fingers over my lips. Fuck, I can still taste Brinley.

Kissing her was a mistake. An impulse brought on by adrenaline and proximity and bad judgment. Thank god I stopped myself before things went too far. It was just a kiss. I don’t have to tell anyone about it, and I very much doubt Brinley will, either.

Eventually, my breath starts to slow. This isn’t the end of the world. Luke’s never going to find out, because this was a blip. A kiss that can’t have lasted longer than a minute. Chances are, I’ll forget about it by tomorrow.

Except I don’t.

Not the next day. Not the next week. Not by the time I see Brinley again at Luke’s place two Sundays later. She walks in wearing a sweater that’s too big for her and no makeup, looking exactly like she always does. She’s not the siren in the black dress anymore, but my entire chest caves in anyway when she looks at me.

I don’t forget the kiss because it’s just not the kind of thing you forget. It’s the kind of thing that rewires you. And for the rest of my life, whenever someone asks me when I knew, the answer will be that hallway. Her chin tipped up. Her voice steady.

I dare you.

That’s when I knew I was fucked.

13

BEAU

Sweat stings in my eyes and my fingers slip on the buttons as I crank the treadmill up to 10 mph. My feet thud on the track as I try to run hard enough to erase all my intrusive thoughts. I know it’s not advisable to go so hard on cardio when I’ve already been lifting, but right now, my anxiety is weighing heavier than the prospect of a twisted ankle.

Brinley swore up-and-down that she wasn’t mad about my mom’s dinner ambush, but I know her too well. She’s definitely pissed—not at me, or Mom, but just at the world. At the fact that I couldn’t introduce her as my girlfriend. I wish there was a way to make her feel less shitty about it, but there’s nothing I can do. It makes me feel powerless. Useless. A waste of her time.