Brutal Sin

by Eden Summers

  Brutal Sin

  Eden Summers

  Copyright © 2017 by Eden Summers

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  Bonus Opportunity

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Also by Eden Summers

  About the Author

  I. Inarticulate Preview

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Bonus Opportunity

  Sign up for Eden Summers’ no-spam newsletter and get giveaways, new release updates and bonus content. PLUS an exclusive FREE ecopy of the erotic short story, Dirty Strategy. Click here for details.

  Dedication

  For those who like damaged goods. I hope you enjoy Brute.

  Chapter One

  Pamela slid her bare thighs onto the bar stool, feigning relaxation even though the sensation was illusive.

  Whimpers and groans filled her ears, along with the rhythmic slap of naked, sweaty bodies. At one time, she’d thrived on this atmosphere. The lascivious environment had invigorated her. Awakened her.

  Until the excitement wore off and desperation set in.

  Escaping to the Vault of Sin had been her monthly ritual for almost two years. She’d started out optimistic, hoping to replace the void her husband’s death had gouged into her chest with the delicious thrill of the exclusive sex club. Now, the bright hope had faded to black, making her bitter and resentful. There was nobody here for her. No one to give her what she needed. What she craved.

  “Are you looking for company, sweetie?”

  From the corner of her eye, she took in the man beside her. With the gentle tone of one word—sweetie—she could tell his aim for the night was to role play in genres unsuitable to her palate. She didn’t want to be his good little girl. She didn’t require a pedestal or the touch of a delicate hand. Her desires were far more complex than that.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  It was time to face the harsh reality. Her sex life would forever be on a downward slide. Her marriage to a man who had pinpoint precision on her libido had ruined her for future lovers. She needed to stop wasting time on men who lacked the skill and patience to get her off. She’d squandered enough Saturday nights already, spent months upon months playing with men who refused to take non-verbal cues.

  “You sure?” He placed his hand against the ribbons tying the back of her corset, now entranced with the navy-blue flecks in the material sparkling in the bar light. The boned lingerie, along with the silken panties she currently wore, were a present from her late husband, Lucas. One of the last presents he’d given her. “You look lonely.”

  She sighed. Yep, she definitely needed to move on. Now men weren’t even taking verbal cues. “Not lonely. Just alone. There’s a difference.” She swiveled on the stool and slid to her feet. “And besides, we’ve been together before. It isn’t something I want to repeat.”

  “Aww, honey, from memory, we had a lot of fun.”

  “You had a lot of fun.” She bit her tongue to stop elaborating.

  His brows pulled tight, encouraging her to walk away in case he interjected with an insult of his own. When she’d first arrived at the Vault, the other patrons had considered her shy and apprehensive. They hadn’t seen past her exterior. They hadn’t attempted to look deeper.

  To them, she resembled a shallow, neglected puddle, when the reality was an expanse of tumultuous ocean. She knew exactly what she was searching for. The checklist was small but specific. And apparently, each item was more rare than a unicorn.

  Her feet stopped of their own accord as she came to the open doorway of one of the side rooms. Zoe, another regular club patron, was on the sofa along the wall, her two men paying homage to her scantily-clad body with such sweet finesse it made Pamela’s eyes burn.

  The threat of tears wasn’t due to weakness or heartbreak. These were tears of frustration. Of utter annoyance and anger. Why was it so difficult to find a man in tune with her needs, the way these men were in tune with Zoe’s?

  Everywhere she turned, sexual chemistry stared back at her. The bartender, Shay, had it with her manager boyfriend, Leo. Then there was T.J. and his wife, Cassie, along with every other duo inside the secretive walls of the carnal club.

  Maybe her appetite was the problem.

  Her desires were too specific. She had no use for sweet affection. She craved finesse in a more dominant form. The skill of a man who could inspire an orgasm mentally as well as physically. Damn it. Was she being overly critical? It wasn’t as if she expected a stranger to learn everything about her in one touch. Problem was, some men still had no clue after three orgasms.

  Theirs.

  Not hers.

  “They’re good together, aren’t they?” The smooth drawl came from a man at her back. “They adore her.”

  “Yes, they do.” She closed her eyes briefly and forced down the instinct to fling another rejection. “But I’m looking for something a little more…”

  “What?”

  She shrugged. Pointing out specifics seemed equivalent to gifting a completed puzzle. Where was the fun in that?

  “Whatever it is, I’m happy to help.”

  Her last slivers of hope faded with each breath. “I want to be controlled.” The admission came with a wince. She shouldn’t be encouraging more opportunities for disappointment. There’d already been enough.

  “Hmm.” His thighs leaned into her, his unmistakable erection nestling against her ass. “I can control you, princess.”

  An arm wrapped around her waist. The touch light, delicate—a man playing a dominant role he had no idea how to perfect.

  She turned, seeing him for the first time, his hand now draped over the low of her back. He was attractive enough. A soft hazel gaze, smooth skin, and neatly cut brown hair. What he didn’t have was the zing. The buzz. The commanding presence in his eyes.

  “Not tonight.” She pulled away, only to be stopped by his tightening grip.

  “You’ll stay,” he ordered.

  A shiver ran down her spine. It could’ve been a delicious thrill, the start of something promising, only his features didn’t match his tone. He was a scared kitten behind that hold. There was no conviction. No power.

  “Take your hand off me,” she grated.

  It wasn’t easy to play an unfamiliar role. It took balls. Large ones. And the man she needed required cojones the size of a rhino, not a mouse.

  “I’m sorry.” His hand fell, his balk of regret reigniting her frustration. “I was only trying to—”

  “I know.” She pasted on a smile, determined to fight her bi
tchy attitude into submission. “And I appreciate the attempt.”

  It wasn’t his fault she was already edgy from the impending sexual sobriety. She needed to remove her toxic attitude from this place of bodily worship and cut her losses. More hours here would only increase her resentment. She wasn’t a bitter old hag. Not entirely. But soon she might be if she didn’t stop feeling sorry for herself and move on.

  She squeezed his wrist in apology and strode through the main Vault room, giving half-hearted grins to the patrons who looked at her in pity. She didn’t fit in with this crowd. A world she’d once dominated was now foreign. She’d become a pauper in a place where orgasms were currency—at least where receiving was concerned.

  When she reached the seclusion of the locker room, defeat set in. She’d come so far from the missionary-position woman she’d been before Lucas. Now she’d fallen from carnal grace. Sex was no longer exciting. Her seven-day-a-week habit had died from starvation, and all she could do was move on. Bury the craving, like she’d buried her husband.

  “Goddamn you.” She opened her locker door and slammed it shut again. The loud bang reverberated through her, hitting her chest, her heart. The threat of tears returned. Angry, scornful tears making the room blur.

  She’d thought she’d done everything right. She hadn’t jumped into the Vault experience with gusto. Her steps had been slow. Over unending months, she became the ultimate voyeur, not touching another man until she was ready—mind, body, and soul. Then one after another, the club regulars had failed her, leaving unfulfillment to run rampant, all because her husband’s prowess was irreplaceable. “Damn you, Lucas.”

  “Hey.”

  She stiffened at the sound of Shay’s voice and hoped the woman would let her be. “Can you give me a minute?”

  “That depends. Are you going to continue destroying Vault property if I leave you alone?” The sound of softly swishing fabric encroached. “What’s going on?”

  Pamela inhaled deep and turned to Shay, taking in the beauty of a woman who couldn’t possibly understand what was going on in her addled mind.

  “You look gorgeous. As always.” It was a side-step. An optimistic diversion. Chatting about the seductive red dress clinging to the bartender’s breasts and flowing into a sexy skirt at her thighs was better than the alternative.

  “Thank you. Leo seems to enjoy the easy access.” Shay gave herself a once-over before meeting Pamela’s gaze. “Now, spill. What’s got you slamming lockers and looking like the world’s coming to an end?”

  Pamela kept her mouth shut, scared of what would come out if her lips parted. Words built in her throat, clogging the small space, the pressure increasing. Venting wasn’t an issue. She could share her hardships with her sister tomorrow. Even her mother, if she was truly desperate. But they didn’t fully understand her cravings. Her sexuality. Sharing with Shay, a woman who knew this way of life, would be different. And the thought of having her worst fears confirmed wasn’t something she could handle right now.

  “Come on, Pamela.” Shay stepped forward, her gentle eyes coaxing. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  The need to purge grew. The truth cut off her air supply until she opened her mouth and words tumbled out. “Everything. I can’t do this anymore. I need to give up before it kills me.”

  “Take a deep breath, honey, and tell me what happened.”

  “Nothing happened.” Pamela swung back to her locker, pulled out her loose black skirt, and yanked it up her thighs. “The same nothing that happens every time I come here.” She shoved her tank top into the handbag sitting in the back of the locker, unfazed by walking out of here with her lingerie on display. God knew the people dancing upstairs would be wearing far less. “Please tell Leo I want to cancel my membership. You won’t see me here again.”

  “Okay… I can tell him.” Shay leaned forward, inching her way into Pamela’s sight. “But before I do, can you elaborate? I’ve seen you with different men, so your comment about ‘nothing happening’ is throwing me.”

  “I mean, nothing happens for me.” She waved a hand to encompass her body—the breasts that never tingled from a man’s touch, the pussy that didn’t throb in arousal. “In all the time I’ve been here, and all the men I’ve slept with, I haven’t orgasmed once. Not even a tiny bit. Not even close.” She reached for her shoes and dropped the one-inch black heels at her feet. “I’m only kidding myself if I keep coming back.”

  “Didn’t Leo set you up with someone a while ago?” Shay frowned. “Yeah. It was my first night down here, and he was playing the role of instructor. Didn’t that work out?”

  “That was the first time I’d been with anyone since my husband.” She yanked her handbag from the locker and pulled the strap over her shoulder. “I faked my way through it, thinking that was necessary to get into the swing of things. Turns out, I’ve had to fake it ever since.”

  Shay slumped onto the bench seat in the middle of the room. “Maybe it’s too soon for you to move on.”

  “It’s been three years.” For others, the timeline of grief was infinite. Not for her, though. She’d been primed to move on for a long time. “I’m ready. The problem is finding the right person.”

  “Is there something in particular you’re looking for? Is it aesthetic appeal? Are the men not your type? Or do you have a specific kink?”

  “I know exactly what I want.” A carbon-copy of her husband, at least where the sex was concerned. “I want a man who will take me over and control my pleasure. Someone who knows what I want before I want it and doesn’t mistake his cockiness for finesse.” She sighed and let her tired shoulders sag as she slumped onto the bench beside Shay. “Sorry for the hysterics. I guess frustration finally has the better of me.”

  “Is that all it is? Frustration?”

  Yes…

  Maybe…

  No.

  She stared down at her glossy shoes, the past reliving itself in her mind. “I wasn’t married to Lucas for long. We didn’t even reach our one-year anniversary. And in that time, he completely changed my sex life. He made me aware of a sexuality I never knew I had. But I didn’t realize it was exclusive to our relationship. I thought the physical connection would be replaceable. Maybe not to the exact degree of what we had. I only hoped for something similar. Instead, I’m losing faith in ever finding the part of myself that made me feel most alive.”

  It sounded pathetic. How could sex be such a significant piece of her? It was only physical exertion, right?

  Wrong.

  The act was so much more. She needed to be seen without having to wave her arms in the crowd. She wanted to be heard without words. She longed for someone to know her. Yet, she wasn’t sure she knew herself anymore.

  “Would you trust me to hook you up with a guy who might be able to help?” Shay leaned in and rested her head on Pamela’s shoulder.

  “I think I’m too far gone. I used to be able to orgasm with the flick of my husband’s fingers. Now men need to have mastered the Kama Sutra and bear the scratches of a thousand pleasured virgins before I give them the time of day.” She released a half-hearted chuckle. “I’m high maintenance.”

  “The person I have in mind would see that as a challenge.”

  “I’ve been with most of the available men at the Vault.”

  “You haven’t been with him. I’d know.” Shay stood and rubbed her hands together. “I have a really good feeling about this. All I need is five minutes to make it happen.”

  “It’s too late. I’m…” An old widow? A born-again virgin? A broken soul?

  “In a slump. That’s all.” Shay started for the door, her face bright with optimism. “And I’m convinced Brute will be the perfect match for you.”

  Chapter Two

  Bryan Munro tugged the under-age piece-of-shit through the club by the collar. Standards of Practice could kiss his ass. There was no way he was letting this fucker walk out without being manhandled. If you were cunning enough to pass the bouncer inspec
tion and sneak inside the Shot of Sin nightclub illegally, the last thing you wanted to do was draw attention to yourself by grabbing the first pair of tits that passed your way.

  “Come back here and I’ll show you what it feels like to be sexually assaulted.” He shoved the kid through the open front doors. When the prick righted himself without falling to the pavement, the disappointment was real. “Believe me, some days I miss being in jail. Making you my bitch would bring back memories.”

  It was a lie. All lies. But the wide eyes of the teen were well worth the pretense.

  The bouncer on the door chuckled. “You definitely live up to your nickname, Brute.”

  “I do.” He jerked his chin toward the club. “And if I find anyone else in there who’s underage, you’ll find out just how brutal I can be.”

  The guy straightened. “Sorry, boss.”

  “You should be.” Bryan and his business partners, T.J. and Leo, didn’t have time for this lazy bullshit. The adjoining Taste of Sin restaurant was being slammed nightly with eager walk-ins willing to beg for a table when the already extended dining hours couldn’t keep up with reservations. And Vault of Sin downstairs always came with a heavy dose of drama. He didn’t need Shot of Sin to add legal issues with underage drinkers to his list.

  “I’ll be more thorough.” The bouncer crossed his arms over his chest, his lips thin, his frown deep. A picture of clichéd security.

  “Make sure you are.” Bryan strode back into the club, his bad luck increasing when he sighted Shay leaning against the entry hall in her tempting thigh-high dress. Leo’s girlfriend was not only a thorn in his side, but a fucking pinecone up his ass. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume her life’s mission was to turn him gray. And she was succeeding. “What do you want, wench?”