Page 30 of The Ecstasy of Sin (Brutal Brotherhood #1)

Wren

I’m surrounded by warmth. By softness and silence. Out of those things, it’s the silence that finds me drifting beneath the heavy fog of sleep.

It’s been so long since I’ve slept somewhere quiet, without the sharp voices of children, of whispering women, and the low murmur of hushed conversations from all corners of a large communal sleeping room in a woman’s shelter.

Sleeping outside isn’t peaceful, either. The noise of downtown Toronto can be deafening, especially early in the morning. It’s often a distracting cacophony of a hundred lives overlapping; conversations fighting to be heard over the endless drone of traffic.

Sleep usually only comes if you’re used to the chaos, or you’re just too exhausted to care.

It’s the silence that pulls me from my dreamless sleep, demanding that I open my eyes and figure out if I’ve died and slipped away into the nothingness I believe awaits me.

Forcing my dry eyes open, it takes me nearly a minute to blink away the residual blurriness before a bedroom I don’t recognize comes into view.

Where am I ?

I’m sinking into a plush mattress, wrapped in the softest sheets I’ve ever touched. The black silk glides over my bare thighs as I shift beneath them.

I turn my head to one side, taking in the room. It’s decorated simply; in shades of grey, silver and deep black. It’s masculine, and quite cozy.

A familiar scent lingers in the air, clinging to the dark sheets surrounding me. Clean, masculine, with a hint of smokiness. Not like cigarette smoke, but the scent that lingers on a man’s jacket after a cold autumn night spent beside a fire.

Everything smells like Dominic Kael.

And just like that, memories of the last twenty-four hours slam into me. Burning through me like a wildfire ignited by the intoxicating smell of the man that drugged me with the promise to bring me home.

My fingers lift to my throat, pressing against the phantom sting where the needle pierced my skin. My heart begins to race, and I remember the possessive glint in his dark eyes as he promised to take my fear away.

“You’re safe.”

My head jerks toward the voice, my eyes locking onto a pair of forest green ones. His gaze is intense, watching me from where he lays next to me on the bed, his head resting on his fist. He’s wearing nothing but his black cargo pants, his black tattoos on full display.

His body is out of this world. It’s the kind of physique that belongs in bloodstained arenas, not in quiet bedrooms in the middle of civilization .

Forcing myself to stop drooling over my stalker’s body, I drag my eyes back to his and level him with an incredulous stare. “You drugged me.”

He nods. “You had a panic attack. I took away your fear.”

I try to sit up, but my head starts to swim, which forces me back down. I push the covers down my body, hoping the cooler air will snap me out of the fog—only to realize I’m naked from the waist down.

A sick twist curls through my gut as I tug the sheet back over my hips. “Did you…” I let the accusation hang between us.

“No. Somnophilia isn’t my kink.”

I turn my face away from his, unable to hold his intense gaze. I’m staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing as I work through the conflict I’m feeling. “You can’t drug me again.”

He shifts closer, his hand finding my hip, fingers toying with the edge of the silk sheet. “Don’t run from me, and I’ll never need to.”

I close my eyes, drawing in a deep, steadying breath before turning my head to face him again. “This isn’t normal. This isn’t how relationships are supposed to work.”

He shrugs, utterly unbothered. “Nothing about our lives is normal. You should stop trying to fit into whatever box society convinced you was the only way to be loved. Just embrace what we have, what we’re building.”

I laugh—the sound shaky, edged with disbelief and a touch of hysteria. “You could be a serial killer,” I point out.

“I am a serial killer,” he says, nodding like he’s confirming a well-known fact .

This time, I laugh for real. “Luckily, killing to protect someone from being murdered doesn’t count toward the official statistics.”

He smiles, and it lights up his unfairly beautiful face.

“This is crazy,” I murmur, dragging my hands over my face. “I can’t believe I’m not punching you in the throat and running out the door.”

“You could try, but I’d just hunt you down, fuck you until you cry, and drag you right back to this bed.”

I stare at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “You’re insane.”

“I am,” he agrees without hesitation.

At least he’s self-aware. “What exactly is supposed to happen now?”

He shifts, reaching over to the nightstand to check his phone. I catch the time over his shoulder; it’s past noon. I’ve been asleep all morning.

“I’ll make you something to eat,” he says casually, “then we’ll take my dog for a walk before we head to Ryker’s club for tonight’s fight.” He sets the phone down, then turns back toward me.

He leans over me, his warm lips brushing against my forehead.

He smells so damn good, it’s not exactly helping me think clearly. That body of his—carved and inked like a monument to sex and war—feels weaponized against me.

I press my hand to his chest, trying to put some distance between us. “Can you put a shirt on? All your big muscles are very distracting. ”

His chuckle is low and dark, a sound that rolls through me like a caress. He kisses the corner of my mouth. “I don’t think I will.”

I try my hardest to focus on what he said about tonight, while his warrior-honed body hovers above me like the world’s greatest distraction.

“You said you have a dog? And… wait, what about a fight?”

That damn smirk curves his mouth, cocky and dangerous, then his lips find the pulse in my throat. He licks are the fluttering pulse, a small sound of amusement vibrating against my neck as my blood starts pumping harder.

“Mhm,” he hums, pressing another kiss to my throat before his hand grips my jaw and pulls my mouth to his. “I’m on the roster for a fight tonight.”

He’s fighting? Like a boxing match, or something?

His lips descend on mine, his kiss so deep and consuming that the thought dissolves before I can voice it.

He presses down into me, one of his hands sliding down and then up, slipping underneath my shirt and cupping my breast. He rolls my nipple between his fingers, slow and precise, until it stiffens into a hypersensitive peak.

I moan airily, and he captures the sound with his mouth, taking the opportunity to sweep his tongue inside of me and kiss me like he’s worshipping me.

I’m lost to it; the heat, the pressure, and the hot pulse between my thighs as his mouth devours mine. His fingers tease me into desperation, amplifying my arousal to dangerous heights .

When his touch turns rough, I let out a helpless whimper, my hand reaching down to grab at his wrist, trying to take the edge off the intensity focused on my nipple.

His free hand gathers both of my wrists and pins them over my head, locking them in place while his other hand roams down my body.

“Dominic,” I whisper, his name caught in a moan as his hands slip between my thighs.

“Yes, baby?” he murmurs against my mouth, just before his fingers slide between the lips of my pussy and find me absolutely drenched for him.

My whole body ignites. I can feel the flush creeping up my neck, spreading across my chest in a heat that threatens to consume me.

“So fucking wet for me.” His voice is low and guttural, vibrating against my skin. “Your body already knows who it belongs to.”

When our eyes meet, I watch his pupils blow wide, swallowed by that violent, reverent lust.

My answer is another breathless moan as his fingers dip inside of me, gathering all of that silky wetness and dragging it up to swirl slow, deliberate circles around my clit.

He touches me like nothing else exists but me. Like he’s memorizing me. Testing what makes me whimper, and what makes me gasp.

He’s so fucking beautiful, I can barely handle it. I can’t believe a man built like a god, with a mouth made for sin, sees anything in me worth keeping .

His teeth find my bottom lip, and the sharp bite draws a gasp out of me. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to fuck you before I feed you.”

“I’ve seen your cock,” I point out breathlessly, “and I regret to inform you that there is no way it’ll fit inside of me.” I’m half-teasing, half-serious.

He releases my wrists, that hand dropping to his belt. “Is that so?”

I nod, biting my lip as I watch him pull the belt free in one smooth motion. Is something so basic supposed to be this damn sexy? That sharply defined Adonis belt of his should be illegal.

A smirk tugs at his mouth, smug and knowing. He knows exactly what the sight of his body is doing to me. “Let’s see how much of me you can take.”

He shifts back just enough to shove his pants down past his hips, revealing the thick length of him.

I blink once, then again, because I still can’t believe he’s real. His cock hangs heavy between his thighs, long and thick, veined and flushed—like he’s been aching for me for hours.

He forces my legs apart with one powerful thigh, then settles between my hips. His fingers dig into my thighs, dragging them up to bracket his body.

He lowers himself over me, all heat, and pressure, and solid muscle.

Another breathy moan escapes me, and my body responds to the feel of him pinning me down. The loss of control, the intensity of his desire, and his unyielding dominance over my life and my body… all of it is an aphrodisiac I never knew could have so much power over me.

He drags the underside of his cock through my soaked slit, and my eyes nearly roll back into my head.

I squeeze my eyes shut, overwhelmed by the pleasure of him stroking my pussy with his dick, an intimacy that is both novel and addictive.

His hand wraps around my jaw, firm but careful, forcing me to open my eyes and hold his gaze as his hips roll forward in slow, devastating thrusts.

His cock, hard and thick, slides through my slick arousal, dragging over my swollen clit with each pass. “I’m going to ruin you, and you’re going to love every fucking second of it.”

I need him inside of me. This teasing is going to shatter what’s left of my sanity.

“Please, Dom,” I whimper, my nails digging into his skin, leaving half-moon imprints behind.

His rhythm stays steady, deliberate. The fact that he isn’t pushing inside of me feels like torture.

“I fucking love it when you beg.”

His mouth crashes against mine, stealing the breath from my lungs, and his rough, focused movements push me perilously close to the orgasm he’s been building me toward.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he growls against my lips, then drags his mouth down to my throat. “I’ll give you what your body needs. ”

I don’t get the chance to answer; he grinds his cock against my clit with unwavering precision, and the pressure detonates inside me. My hips buck against him, and I come so hard I see stars.

An unexpected sting of pain pulses through the waves, drawing a hiss out of me, as his teeth sink into the soft skin of my neck.

I cry out, lost in the blend of pain and ecstasy as the muscles within me spasm.

“Look how pretty you are when you come,” he groans, his voice ragged.

He presses a kiss over the aching bite mark he just branded into my skin, before staring down at me with a tortured expression. An expression that tells me he would kill to be inside of me right now.

I watch him, still breathless and riding the high, as he props himself up on his forearm, muscles tensing to support his weight as he fists his cock and lines the flushed head with the still throbbing entrance to my body.

“It’s going to hurt, but you will take every fucking inch of me.” Dominic’s voice is feral, his pupils blown wide, his body trembling with the effort it’s taking not to tear through me like an animal.

But just as the wide head of his dick breaches me, a dog barking somewhere in the house jerks him to a halt mid-thrust.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. My arms wrap around his broad frame on instinct, desperate to keep him close. He places one more kiss against my throat before pulling away reluctantly .

“I’m not done with you,” he promises, a dark edge to his voice.

I miss the heat of his body immediately. I’m still panting and aching, as he climbs off the bed and yanks his pants up, tucking his rock-hard cock away with visible frustration.

“Dominic!” A man’s voice calls out, bringing a scowl to Dom’s face.

“The fucking timing on this motherfucker,” he snaps.

The barking stops, replaced by the sound of excited tail thumps and playful dog sounds echoing through the house.

I wonder who just arrived, but Dominic seems otherwise at ease, so I don’t worry too much about whoever it is. It’s obviously someone he knows.

“You really do have a dog,” I murmur, watching as Dom pulls a shirt on.

I sit up as he secures his belt, the sheets pooling around my hips.

“You’ll love him. The dog, I mean. If you love my brothers I’ll have to kill them, and that would be a shitty start to our day.”

I laugh, because there’s the ghost of a smile on his lips—and even I can tell he doesn’t mean it. Not really. They must be a really close family.

“There are clothes in your size in my closet. Get dressed, then meet me out in the kitchen.” Unfamiliar voices draw near, and I watch as he slips out the bedroom door and closes it behind him .

My gaze drifts to the closet. A quick shower would be heaven, but since this isn’t my home, I head for the space he indicated.

My eyes widen when I find an entire side of the closet dedicated to women’s clothes, and surprisingly, they are all my size. I tend to fluctuate a size up or down, depending on how much food I can secure in a week, but these fit me right now.

Trying not to think too hard about what that means, I grab a pair of black leggings and a clean t-shirt, dressing quickly.

As I step out of the closet, I spot another door, separate from the one Dominic just exited. A bathroom, maybe? I head for it, relieved when I’m right.

I take care of business and wash my hands, then freeze again when I spot a wide-tooth comb and an unopened toothbrush sitting on the counter.

Huh. That’s… a level of prepared I wasn’t expecting.

Still dazed, I brush my teeth and comb my hair, setting everything back in place when I’m done.

Dominic didn’t bring me to his home on a whim. He planned this. From the new clothes in my size hanging in his closet, to the unopened toiletries laid out neatly on the counter, this feels like more than careful planning.

And now, standing barefoot in his bathroom, wearing clothes he bought for me before I ever stepped foot into this house, one question haunts me:

Am I actually safe?