Page 70 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

Before he can say the word “talk,” I cut him off with a kiss. I don’t want words. Words are what got us here. Words are the I love you I can’t return and the Peppermint confession and the diary and five years of rules we built out of language. I’m drowning in words, and I’m exhausted.

I need him to take away the anxiety, the fear, the future, the way only he can—with his hands and his mouth and his body. The one language we’ve never struggled with. We’ve always been fluent here, even when everything else is broken.

Beau hoists me into his arms like I’m weightless, digging his hands into my ass as I wrap my legs around his waist. My hands are tugging his hair and I’m grinding my breasts against him, the woodsy, spicy smell of his cologne surrounding me. I can’t get close enough to him. I want every fucking part of me touching him.

He walks until my back hits something hard—the café counter. The only thing blocking strangers from seeing us through the front windows are a few measly bookshelves, but I don’t care. The only thing that matters is getting Beau’s shirt off so I can touch him. I drag the hem up from the back so eagerly that I hear a little rip when it catches on his shoulder blade.

Then his shirt is gone, thrown on the floor. Beau has the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen, including every movie star I can think of. He’s so wide and strong, solid enough that it feels like nothing can break him. My hands move greedily over the divots of his abs and the hard lines of his pecs.

Beau drags my cardigan down my shoulders as he kisses my neck. Bites it. Sucks little marks into it that I know I’ll have to cover up tomorrow. I pull my hands free from the fabric, then pull away just long enough to strip off my tight cami.

“Fuck, these breasts are perfect,” Beau groans. He kneads me through my bra, then yanks down the cups to expose my tight, hard nipples. “I just want⁠—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, just ducks his head and sucks my breast into his mouth. His hungry mouth sends lightning-hot streaks of pleasure to my core. Beau devours me, teeth scraping and lips sucking and one hand shoved between my thighs, feeling my cunt through my jeans. I whimper as I ride his hand, even though it’s nowhere close enough to my skin. The barrier of fabric is practically unbearable.

I close my eyes, feeling my hair fall down out of the bun I secured with just a pencil. It grazes my back while I grind my pussy against Beau’s broad hand and he worships my breasts like they’re his salvation.

The sound of traffic outside fades away. The Copper Cup’s perpetual smell of coffee and paper gets buried by Beau’s cologne and the salty scent of his skin. All the circling thoughts in my brain blink out of existence. The world narrows to just me and Beau, just the places we touch each other.

My panties are soaked just from this. It’s entirely possible I might soak through my jeans, which would be humiliating if I weren’t so beyond caring.

Beau lifts his head. “You gonna come for me like this?”

I open my eyes, looking at his flushed face and lust-darkened eyes.

“Not if you stop touching me,” I groan.

He chuckles, lowering his head again and nipping at the sensitive underside of my breasts. Then he’s sucking my nipples and shoving his hand hard against my pussy. My legs pull him as close as he possibly can and then I’m coming, desperate breathy moans falling from my mouth as the orgasm wrings me out. No more dark, twisty thoughts and ruined futures. My head is full of cloudy, heady desire.

As Beau reaches to unbutton my jeans, I glance over his shoulder to see the sky darkening. All the lights in the Copper Cup are still on, inviting onlookers to peer in at our little show.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Beau follows my gaze, and because he knows me, he follows my unspoken instruction. He lifts me again and carries me through the door to my back office. I’ve never been so happy that it’s completely windowless.

There’s no couch, and my folding table desk would collapse under Beau’s weight. So he lays me on the floor, as gently as he possibly can. Kneeling, he quickly undoes my jeans and yanks them down my legs along with my panties. He tosses them to the side and lowers his face to my seeping pussy.

“Fuck,” he groans, then his mouth is on me and for a moment, everything is right in the world.

I used to worry that guys would be turned off by the taste of me. I never worried with Beau. He’s made it very clear that he fucking loves how I taste, both by telling me constantly and spending many hours with his head between my thighs.

Now, he laps at me like a starving man. His flat tongue moves mercilessly against my clit as my wetness spills against his lips and chin. He hums his appreciation, and the vibration makes sparks fly through my veins.

I thread my fingers into his hair, tugging at it like I need him even closer. Then he stops. Just enough to lift his head—mouth shiny, pupils blown wide enough to swallow the dim light of my back office.

“I've been losing my fucking mind all week, Brin. Do you have any idea how many times I almost came in my pants today just thinking about doing this? About tasting you again?”

His thumb keeps circling my clit while his eyes pin mine. “Tell me you missed me. Tell me you missed this.”

Then his mouth is back, more brutal than before.

“Yes.”

We could just do this forever. Him eating me out, me letting my mind go blank. We could just stay here on the floor of my back office and ignore the rest of our lives. But that’s a fantasy I can’t afford to indulge in.

I can only sink deeper into my body as Beau draws pleasure out of me with every greedy stroke of his tongue.

My thighs tremble and tighten around his soft hair as I whine for Beau to make me come. I need to be dragged over the edge again, plunged into that place where I am nobody, because being nobody feels so much better than being Brinley Windsor.