Page 14 of Guilty as Sin

Brady trails his finger down the side of the glass, slicking through the condensation in a way that makes me shiver. I wish I were back halfway across the room like before, instead of only two feet in front of him.

But here I am. I stand as tall as I can, looking down at him in his relaxed pose on the loveseat.

“I am not giving myself to you,” I say through gritted teeth. “And I will not let you force yourself on me, either.”

His sharp features harden.

“I have never forced myself on a woman,” he says sternly. Then he gives me a smug grin and adds, “I’ve never had to.”

I want to slap that grin off his face, while images of him with a series of willing women blur behind my eyes. Brady, naked, his muscular body above a figure on a bed, her hands clinging to his broad shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist as he moves inside her, her mouth open in ecstasy, the rest of her indistinct features resolving, sharpening into⁠—

I blink rapidly as I recover myself.

“Congratulations,” I say, my voice an off-key squeak.

I don’t care about Brady’s history with women. I don’t. All that matters is how he treats me, his future, which means I need to test him.

“I suppose you also tell yourself you never would?” I goad.

He surges to his feet, all six feet two of him looming over me in the space of a heartbeat. I stop breathing. There’s an inch of space between our bodies, and I’m rooted to the spot. With my face craned upward, Brady’s eyes bore down into mine. The scent of him fills my nostrils, masculine and deep. I try to stay rigid, but I feel myself melting, about to dissolve.

In one swift movement, Brady wraps his arms around me and crushes his lips down to mine. My nerve endings ignite. Beneath his strength, I bend back a little, my body liquid as he holds me securely. It’s like our first kiss at the altar, but somehow even more overwhelming, every inch of me vibrating with desire.

I feel Brady splay one hand against the small of my back, then yank me forward so I’m pressed against his body. I gasp at the feel of him, his cock hard and huge against my belly, even through all our layers of fabric. The muscles of my core clench in response, and I feel myself slick with desire.

When Brady breaks our kiss, I let out a soft moan, an involuntary noise of disappointment. He’s still holding me, but he’s pulled back to look at my face, my eyes, my lips. The front of my body feels cold without him pressed against me.

We’re both breathing hard.

Me, because my body is desperate for the feel of him again.

But for Brady, it’s like he’s at war with himself.

His entire frame is tense but shaking, as if he’s holding himself back by the thinnest thread, fighting the urge to snap free, to clutch me to him again.

I know I shouldn’t, but I want him to.

When he speaks, it’s as if every syllable is a battle. But it’s still his low, rough growl.

“I’m not going to fuck you until you beg for my cock,” he says. And with that, he pushes himself away, turning his back to me and striding across the room.

I stand weak-kneed and gasping as his words rumble through my body. When he reaches the bedroom door, he turns to face me, his control firmly back in place.

“And you will beg for my cock,” he promises.

He leaves the door open behind him, and I collapse onto the loveseat.

I’ve only had one glass of champagne, but the room swirls around me, the creamy shapes of furniture as incoherent as the thoughts in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut. In the darkness, I force an imaginary comb through my tangle of unruly thoughts, forcing them into an orderly shape.

Despite all of my earlier anxiety, I didn’t have to resort to self-defense. Instead, my husband told me he wasn’t going to fuck me, which is exactly what I’d wanted. I’ll be his wife in name only. I’ll live in a separate bedroom of a penthouse that’s probably enormous. I’ll barely see him. A marriage certificate and a shared mailbox will be enough to fulfill my end of this agreement.

And you will beg for my cock.

An unmanageable snarl of a thought, with too many confusing feelings knotted up with it. So my body reacted to his kiss. So maybe it was stronger than any reaction I’ve ever felt from a kiss before. So what?

That doesn’t change what an asshole he is, kissing me like that after I told him I’m not having sex with him. The sheer presumption of it was disrespectful. By that act alone, it’s clear he does not see me as an equal. Brady O’Sullivan is a mafia man through and through, possessive and arrogant.

And it’s his arrogance that provides me with my motivation. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.