He's a Brute (Tough Love Book 1)

by Chloe Liese

Who the hell was I, begging? It was the only thought I had—how to get what I wanted from him. An orgasm that shattered my mind and left me ringing in the aftershock.

  “Your hands have to stay down. You lift them, I stop. Understood?”

  God, he was a bastard, demanding that. I wanted to yank his hair and fuck his face. And yet, I loved a good challenge, and I wanted to come.

  “I promise,” I whispered.

  He let go and plunged two fingers straight into me. I was soaked, and he found my g-spot like a homing beacon. He sucked my clit and fucked me with two, then three fingers. I was going to come fast—a burning, flaring burst of release barreling toward expression.

  “Zed,” I gasped. My breasts arched up and he tortured me, leaving them untouched.

  “Don’t come.”

  My eyes snapped open. I squinted to try to focus on him. “What?” He had to be joking.

  He slowed his strokes. Edged me like an evil master at it. My eyes widened in disbelief as I felt the precipice of pleasure slip a little out of my grasp.

  He grinned.

  Sick bastard, he lived for it. Stretching the moment until he got to throw me off the cliff.

  “You come when I say you can.”

  He curled his fingers, testing me. An involuntary ungh left me and I banged my hands against the sofa. “I can’t. I’m right there. Oh, Jesus.”

  He kissed my clit tenderly, then suctioned it and popped off. His breath whispered over my skin as he locked eyes with me and lowered his mouth to my entrance. “Now.”

  A brutal thrust of his fingers, his mouth kissing my whole cunt with a drag of teeth, and I tumbled over, jerking back against the seat in a silent scream. He kept at it, pulling a soft, echoing second orgasm from me until I all but strong-armed his face off, begging for a break.

  He stood, unzipped himself, and before he could tell me some pompous shit about opening my gorgeous mouth, I snapped forward and fisted him, pumping fast before taking him into my mouth. There was absolutely nothing rational about how much I enjoyed him. Thick and iron hard. Salty and manly and endlessly fuckable. I moaned around his cock and sucked him rough.

  “Fuck,” he hissed. He hadn’t expected that.

  I smiled and swirled my tongue around his tip. When he fisted my hair, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. My legs pressed together. I’d just come but sucking him off had me aching for another.

  “You take my cock perfectly, fragolina.” He dragged me against him slowly, sliding himself down my throat. I breathed deeply through my nose. Smelled his musk and soap and fantasized about sucking him off in the shower.

  When he pulled my head back, he caught me sliding a hand between my thighs.

  “I’m being a horrible dominant,” he muttered, but it morphed to a groan as I took him deep again. “Should have told you what you could do the moment I caught those thighs wiggling.” He watched my hand and smiled. “Go on, touch yourself, but don’t come until I say.”

  I nodded against his stomach and felt his bollocks tight and heavy in my grasp. Since the day he’d strolled into the boardroom and grinned that arrogant smile, I’d wanted this, to watch him fall to pieces in my hands. I flattened my tongue even more and gripped his base hard. He curled around me, fucked my throat twice more before I could feel he was right there.

  “Pinch your clit,” he ordered. “Hard.”

  I did, saw stars behind my eyelids, and lost track of my tongue as I gasped in pleasure.

  “Look at me.” His eyes glowed with lust. “You’re going to come now, and it’s mine.”

  I shattered the moment his cum poured onto my tongue. His whole torso flexed, and he grunted forcefully. Another thrust, then he pulled back, sucking in air, and thumbed a drip of cum off my chin.

  Our breaths matched. Erratic. Satisfied.

  He tucked himself back in and shook his head. “Goddamn, you’re perfect.”

  I laughed when he said it, as he clasped my jaw and kissed the hell out of me. I tasted him and me together and sighed. He knelt and shimmied my knickers and jeans up to mid-thigh. Pulled a hankie out of his pocket and cleaned me, reverently, quietly, before planting a final chaste kiss against my curls. I sank into the sofa.

  We laughed like you do after that kind of insane sexual release, as he slid my clothes up the rest of the way, and I wiggled my hips to make it possible. He splayed my legs and cupped my face, kissed me again and muttered against my lips.

  “For the first time in my life, I’m thinking missing a few innings of the Sox wouldn’t be an atrocity. We could stay here.” He kissed me again. “Make you sit on my face while I torture your tits.”

  “Zed.” I slipped my fingers through his hair.

  “Mm?” He turned his face to kiss my wrist, then bit it.

  I sucked in a breath and pressed my knees into his sides.

  “Are the seats accessible? I don’t like being a spectacle.”

  “Nairne.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think I’d let that happen? That I wouldn’t consider that?”

  I shook my head. “Right. Let you do the planning.”

  He kissed me once more and stood. “Damn straight. Now come on, woman. We’ve got a game to watch.”

  Fourteen

  Nairne

  Last time I’d been under the lights, on a field of manicured green, my life had changed forever. It was eerie. Hearing the familiar noises of athletes warming up. Cleats skidding through grass and dirt. Feet pounding against the earth in wind sprints. I closed my eyes and allowed myself a moment of grief for my lost life of competitive athletics. Bittersweet gratitude twisted around my heart and squeezed. I breathed through the sharp pain of memory.

  Zed typed on his phone one-handed while his free fingers drifted over my shoulder in a lulling figure eight. One of the outfielders winked at me just as Zed’s phone snapped shut. His eyes flicked to the field and narrowed.

  “I saw that. He loves fucking with me. And you’re a knockout. I can’t blame him.”

  I ignored the flirt, smiled at Zed, and patted his leg. “This is unreal. Madness, really.”

  He grinned and tipped his head back, glancing at the stadium that was starting to fill with people.

  Earlier, we’d entered through some VIP entrance with a ramp, and I’d met a handful of players who were friends of his. One was the outfielder. I didn’t freak. Maybe it was because I’d been on their side of the relationship between fan and professional athlete before. I’d sat back, crossed my arms, and talked shop until their coach told them to stop flirting with Big Red and get their arses on the pitch.

  We’d passed the dugout seats, which seemed odd, but I figured it was just a matter of getting to an accessible entrance. Until we came to a door with a sign that didn’t make sense. It just couldn’t be that.

  “Nairne?”

  “Huh?”

  He’d smiled. “Ladies first.”

  The fucking owners’ box, people. The fucking owners’ box. Flat, accessible, and right next to the player dugout. I’d managed not to gape as I shook hands with some of Boston’s elite and watched Zed in his element, signing an autograph for someone’s little girl and shaking hands with the owners.

  “Yeah.” His voice snapped me back to the present. The stadium had become packed. He was staring at me as he slid his hand through my ponytail and cupped the base of my neck. “It is madness. But I’d say it’s worth it.”

  I kissed him, bit his bottom lip, and earned a growl as well as a squeeze to my neck. Someone broke the moment when they showed up with a fleece blanket and a thermos of something steaming for me. After a thank you, I draped the blanket over my legs and took a sip of the drink. I had a hot toddy in my hands.

  “I thought you said I had to choose between warmth and whiskey, and the hard life in the dugout.”

  Zed smiled, then glanced out to the field and set an ankle on his knee. “I had a theory I wanted to test.”

  I took a sip and the hot liquid lit up my t
hroat before landing warm in my belly. “What’s that?”

  “Just how hardcore you are about the things you love.”

  “What’s the verdict then?”

  He leaned to kiss behind my ear, and a shiver wracked me that had nothing to do with the chilly air. “Absolute devotion.”

  “You were in the fucking owners’ box, Nairne!” Tommy bellowed. “And you didn’t tell me? I saw you on TV and choked on my food so bad, Jess thought I needed the Heimlich.”

  I wiggled my finger in my ear to dislodge the ringing caused by Tommy’s voice. “It was a surprise! I didn’t know it was coming either.”

  “And not just the owners’ box, but with Zed Salvatore. I knew it was him when he came in the other week, but he shrugged it off when I asked, and then I was doubting myself.” Tommy shot water from the soda gun into a glass and glared at me. “Your ass is grass, MacGregor.”

  “My arse is useless, Tommy. All it does is sit. Threatening it will get you nowhere.”

  He chuckled because he was used to my strain of jokes. “So…you two. You’re dating?”

  I shrugged and had a spoonful of my soup. “I guess so. I’m not seeing anyone else, and he…” How did one describe Zed’s neurotic and sexual particularity? He hadn’t told me he wasn’t seeing anyone else, but I just knew what we had was exclusive. “He’s a one-woman man.”

  Tommy frowned at me. “But he hasn’t asked you.”

  “No.” I gripped my whiskey and frowned at it. “I just assumed.”

  “I’d clarify things if I were you. The guy’s got a reputation.”

  I straightened. “As what?”

  He tipped his head side to side as he filled another drink order. “Mobster. Player. And somehow in between that, Mr. Philanthropy and a poster boy for the soccer team. Like the squeaky-clean, high school jock, president of student council, and the bad boy fused into one. Jess has a huge crush on him. Asshole.”

  I smirked as I swirled a piece of bread in my soup.

  Tommy sighed. “In summary, despite his do-goodness, he’s allegedly tied up in some deep shit and he gets a lot of ass. He’s never got the same woman on his arm for events.”

  I couldn’t speak to the complexities of Zed’s mafia ties, beyond the fact that I trusted that when I was with him, I was safe, both physically and morally. What I could address, I did. “That doesn’t mean anything. PR is a bunch of posturing nonsense.”

  “I don’t know, Nairne.”

  My mobile buzzed and I silenced it. Tommy’s words made me bristle. “No offense, but I have a bit more experience in this arena than you.”

  He lifted his hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is that if I were you, I’d make sure I had an understanding with him.”

  My phone skittered across the bar top as it buzzed again, and I once again ignored it. “And I’m saying that I trust his character. He wouldn’t do what we’re doing with just anyone.”

  He frowned. “What’s that mean?”

  I waved it off. “I’m not getting into it. Here’s the thing, I don’t particularly care if he wants to fuck another woman. It’s early days, and I’m not here forever. All I’m saying is, he’d tell me if he was. He’s very communicative, and he values honesty.”

  Tommy was picking open the scab of my wariness that had just healed over. I’d enjoyed the game, and Zed’s and my antics in the restroom beforehand. I felt like I was getting to understand Zed a little more, and while we certainly weren’t going to be a long-term relationship, I was looking forward to what we’d have while we could. With Zed I could settle into being a little less planned and rigid without exposing myself like I had in my past. I could open myself to enjoying sex and men once more. But now Tommy was raising my old, rational doubts and fears, and throwing them in my face.

  My phone buzzed a third time and I took my irritation out on it. I snapped it open and answered in kind. “What?”

  “When I call, you answer.” His voice was low and short. “You’re available to me. Why the hell do I need to remind you of that?”

  I felt my face flush with anger. The whole conversation with Tommy had pissed me off, and now Zed’s high-handed presumption was just the fucking cherry on top. “Fuck you. I’m not your call girl. I have a bloody life. I was in the middle of a conversation.”

  A long pause. “Where are you?”

  “None of your fucking business,” I snapped.

  “Oh, MacGregor, the list of grievances I have with you is building. To take care of you is to keep you safe. To do that, I need to know where you are. So, fucking tell me right now, innamorata, or I swear to god I’ll use resources you’d prefer to think I don’t have to locate your smart little ass.”

  “For fuck’s sake. I’m at Henderson’s.” I slapped the phone shut, then slammed it on the counter. A few people glanced my way and Tommy stared at me in surprise.

  “I have never seen you that angry,” he said.

  I threw back my whiskey. “Yes, well, he’s a brute who brings out the best in me.”

  My soup went down quickly, but I didn’t taste it. I knew Zed would be here in no time. I used the lavvy and zipped up my jacket, then went outside to wait in the cold just because I knew it would piss him off. Never mind that I was paying for my stubbornness as my body went from its normal cool—thanks to poor circulation—to painfully frigid.

  The Ferrari screeched to a stop and Zed threw open the door and glared at me. “By yourself, out in the fucking cold.” He glanced around as anger darkened his features. “You’re trying to piss me off, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged and tried to hide a shiver as I did. “You’re being a pig. I’m not your possession.”

  “Wrong. When you’re with me, you’re my responsibility.” He threw open the passenger door. “Get in.”

  “Fuck. Off.” I pointed a shaking finger at him. “I’m my own woman. I’m no one’s but my own.”

  He slammed the door shut and stalked toward me. “Why do you talk about it like it’s shameful? Do I mistreat you? Do I do anything but demonstrate how much I want to protect and—”

  “Control and own me.” My hands tugged my hair and dropped in exasperation. “You can’t own me, Zed!”

  His jaw ticked. “Get in the car. We’ll talk about this at my place.”

  “My car’s here,” I snapped. “I want to be able to go home.”

  He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’ll have someone drive it over to my house.”

  I swallowed back the urge to ask him who the hell would do that. There was no point. Zed had minions.

  “Fine.”

  The car ride was painfully silent, and my first time at Zed’s place wasn’t nearly as cheery as I’d imagined. The moon was the sliver of a Cheshire grin, leaving the building in almost total darkness. I caught brick and tall windows. Inside, the faint outline of paintings on the wall and clean lines of furniture.

  I threw the brakes on and set my hands in my lap. Zed walked past me and switched on a lamp that bathed us in faint yellow light. I saw a tufted leather sofa. Abstract charcoals. Oil painted landscapes of seaside vistas. Paned glass doors leading to a patio with a view of the Charles River. The bastard had a nice place.

  “Talk to me. What are you upset about?” His voice was even, his body calm.

  I felt like elements in a combustion reaction about to meet and explode. “I can’t take these extreme demands. You want this ownership of me, and I don’t understand it, Zed. I liked what we did before the game. It felt bloody good. Obviously, I like being tossed around a bit and having a rough fuck, but why does it have to come with this whole lifestyle of control and possession?”

  Zed sat, elbows on his knees, hands laced together, and stared at me. “Because that’s how I’m able to have intimacy with you. It’s the only way it works for me. Anything outside that is pure chaos in my world, in my head. I care for what’s mine. I ensure your protection and well-being. I do everything I can to preserve and cherish what I’m pouring mysel
f into.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and stood. Hands on his hips, he stared out the glass doors. His body was beautiful, bulkier than most footballers, strong yet graceful in its strength. I remembered how he felt. The heat he radiated, and that maddeningly good smell of rainstorm air. I remembered his hard thighs pressed against my shoulders, the taste of his cock as I took him down my throat. The way he grasped my hair and wrapped himself around me as he came.

  I wanted the dominating intensity of our sexuality together without the domination in our relationship. Was that too much to ask for?

  “Zed?”

  He gave me his profile, like he was warring between facing me and looking away again. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he muttered. “I want to say I can be someone different for you, but my world, fragolina…”

  I’d looked it up. Little Strawberry. My hair. That he loved to tug and touch.

  “My world doesn’t allow for it.” He scrubbed his face.

  I moved toward him and took his hand. He sank into a chair next to me and stared into my eyes.

  “Why do you need this?” I asked. “Is there something I could do that would help you—”

  “Relax? Chill out? Be less intense?” He sat back and set his hands on the armrests like a king on his throne. “No. It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the insanity of my life. Dealing with the vulnerability of those I care for makes it bearable for me. And that’s all I’m going to say.”

  He stood and walked to the mantle of his fireplace. Fidgeted with a photo there and looked over his shoulder at me. “It’s not you. And if it’s not something… I would never want to corner you, Nairne, into something you don’t want.”

  “I don’t know what I want.” The words left me in a whisper and my chest ached as I said them.

  Zed brought out the old me, the wild, fiery Nairne. The one who took what she wanted and didn’t apologize. Who was confident and a little daring, and always got what she set her mind to. I knew what I wanted. But Tommy was right to caution me. Where would it lead? Zed felt safe, but so many factors influencing us were still outside my control. How could I risk myself again?