My Sinful Valentine (A Beautiful Sinners Collection) Read online

  Summary:

  The only thing that can crumble a KING is disappointing his QUEEN. So what do my Beautiful Sinners do on Valentine’s Day for their women? They spoil and lick and eat...

  Worship: Malcolm and London

  Say My Name: Casper and Aurora

  One More: Thiago and Luna

  You’ve Been Bad: Javier and Mariah

  Pretty Doll: Alejandro and Solimar

  Bonus:

  Official Blurb of Risqué (Beautiful Sinner #5) and first teaser pic.

  MY SINFUL VALENTINE

  (Beautiful Sinner Series)

  was written by Elena M. Reyes

  Copyright 2021 ©Elena M. Reyes

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.

  Cover Design: Elena M. Reyes

  Editor: Marti Lynch

  Publication Date: February 18th, 2021

  Genre: FICTION/Romance/Erotica Suspense/Contemporary

  Copyright © 2021 Elena M. Reyes

  All rights reserved.

  Acknowledgments:

  Before we get into MY SINFUL VALENTINE and its yumminess; I need to thank a few people that I adore:

  This one is for the team of women that stands beside me day in and day out. They know my weaknesses, my pain, my achievements and my goals. These women push me every day to be my very best, and my life without them wouldn’t be the same.

  I’m thankful to call you my tribe.

  K.I. Lynn, C.M. Steele, Mary B. Moore, Tiffany Hernandez, and Michelle Myers…

  THANK YOU and know that I love you with all my heart!

  1

  MY EYES FOLLOW her to the door.

  I know every dip and curve—her sweetness has been branded into my DNA—and yet, everything she does captivates me as if I’m discovering her for the first time. I’m a dangerously obsessed man. An animal biding his time.

  She pauses with her hand on the knob, right hip jutting out in a way that makes my fingers twitch while refusing to look my way. “Is that still your final answer, Malcolm?”

  “Yes.”

  The fingers on the knob tighten, her knuckles turning white. “Then so be it.”

  “Behave, sweetheart.” I’m fighting back my amusement; I want her claws, but not yet. Not until tonight. “We both know how this will end.”

  “You taught me to take what I want, Dear Husband. You know where to find me.” Gorgeous brown curls, the same soft strands that just two hours ago I wrapped around my fist, sway across her lower back as Twirl exits the room. The door slams closed behind her, the force knocking down a picture of us on vacation last year in the Maldives and shattering the golden frame. It sat atop a small accent piece beside the door that’s become my liquor cabinet because my wife loved the piece so much that she bought it for me on my last birthday.

  London Asher spoils me, and I worship her.

  My eyes shift to the picture and I stand, opening the drawer to my right and pulling out another replacement frame. This is the third broken one in five days, and I know her patience is waning.

  “You’ll pay for that later on your knees, sweetheart,” I croon, smirk on my lips. With each step across the room, my cock jerks. Swells to the point of pain, but I ignore the ache while admiring the stolen moment captured with my phone while she lay on the pristine white sand. I have a firm grip on her ass, possessively kneading the firm flesh that belongs to me, while a sweet smile graced her features. I’m going to stretch those sweet lips—fuck that sassy mouth while you slip a hand between your thighs for me.

  Picking up the tattered frame, I carefully remove the old photo and slip it inside the new frame, placing it back in its rightful place. Fuck the broken glass or the way it crunches beneath the soles of my shoes. Instead, I fix the cuffs at my wrists and exit the room, heading toward the front door my wife just exited.

  Inquisitive and sassy, my wife wants to know everything: especially when it comes to me. To the lives I take without remorse.

  Moreover, I know her just as thoroughly. Her thought process. What makes her tick.

  All the women in this family are crazy and at times volatile, but mine reacts with the need to release excess energy through the one thing she loves almost as much as me. My Twirl dances. She takes to the pole inside my private room in the mansion at Lake Forest knowing that I’ll be watching and always just a few steps behind her.

  This has become our game. How we mediate disagreements, and this one has definitely brought contention into our quiet home.

  Two decomposed bodies. Two males. Two missing appendages.

  Because my eyes are always on her.

  On each intake of breath.

  On the way her lip curls when she catches me staring.

  On the way she still blushes when I compliment her beauty.

  On the way heads turn, and some get closer than they should.

  Javier is outside by my SUV, a cocky grin on his face. “Well, she seems to be in a great mood.”

  “I thought so too.”

  “One day she’ll catch on, Malcolm. You like pissing her off.”

  “Not denying it.”

  “See you on Monday, then?” He’s taking off to whisk my cousin away for the weekend. Surprising her this time, before she turns the tables like she did their first year.

  It’s a game they like to play. Gain bragging rights for the year.

  This year is his. He’s determined.

  But then again, Valentine’s Day does that to men.

  We plan. We sweat. We spoil.

  More so when it’s the first after saying I do.

  “No.”

  “No?” he asks, brow raised. “How long?”

  “I’ll call you with instructions on Tuesday.”

  “Tuesday it is.” Javier tosses the keys and I catch them, slipping inside the already open driver’s side door while he jumps in his truck. He waves with two fingers and turns left at the end of my driveway, while I go right. My baby likes the scenic route, and I press play on the radio and ease a bit off the gas while my phone keeps track of her car.

  I’m hard. Fucking throbbing. Replaying.

  There are no cars on the road near me, the closest ahead of me by a distance of three cars, and I lower my zipper with the hand not on the wheel, giving myself one harsh tug to ease the ache only my wife can satiate. “Motherfucking tease,” I grit out as the cool air greets the bulbous tip, and the urge to fuck my fist is near maddening as I chase the memory of the day and each interaction.

  Twirl woke up playful today with a sinful grin and her pussy above my lips. She rode my tongue while reaching back with one hand to grip me tightly, torturing me with slow strokes until I came with her wetness on my tongue and her cries in my ear. Then, before lunch, I had her bent over the vanity in our bathroom, hair in my fist and my cock kissing her womb.

  I’ve watched her come twice today. Made her voice hoarse and body sensitive to my touch, and yet, she challenges me. Bad girl.

  My wife is playing a dangerous game of tag, and I’m going to enjoy her tears tonight. This battle of wills is something I’ve come to crave—to need. She pushes and taunts, and I’ll always claim.

  Drops of
pre-come bead at the tip, and I feel their slow descent as they slide down until disappearing into the fabric of my slacks. Another hard stroke and my stomach clenches, muscles coiling tight as her defiant eyes flash into my mind. The beautiful blues were full of anger mixed with desire when I denied her questions.

  A shiver rushes through me as I reach the entrance to the expressway, and I tuck myself back inside before temptation succeeds. Not yet. I only come for her. With her. In her.

  My phone chimes and I press the app on the dashboard, picking up her whereabouts immediately. She’s twenty minutes away, the small beacon showing she’s driving fast. Another strike against her.

  I don’t pick up speed, though. I’m letting her set the pace. Letting her run.

  The staff knows what to do. The members know better than to approach—to look—at what belongs to me.

  And that’s what they do as she parks a little later and I open the camera app for the mansion, capturing the minute London walks in...

  She’s here and taking the elevator. Looks angry. ~Carmelo

  Grabbing my cell, I type out a quick response and then turn it off as I drive down the familiar expressway that leads to the private playground where she’ll be waiting—dancing through her emotions.

  London is upset, and while I understand the why, she knows who I am and what I’m capable of when it comes to her.

  It takes another fifteen minutes for me to arrive and another five until I’m standing in front of her door. No one stopped me. No one so much as looked in my direction. The low strumming of bass greets my ears and I pause, keycard hovering over the lock.

  Two beeps and then it blinks green, and yet, I still don’t enter.

  Instead, I close my eyes and breathe in deep. The same energy from the first day we met—the one that always overtakes my senses each time our eyes meet—runs through me. My skin prickles, and my pulse quickens. My mouth waters, and my cock throbs.

  “Christ, I’m owned.” With a quick turn of the handle, I step inside and pause at the beautiful sight that greets me. There’s a table set for two against the far left wall with a bottle of gin being chilled closer to what I think is my place setting. There’s a path made of red rose petals with my large and gothic throne in the middle, closer to the stage, and my stunning wife on the platform wrapped in a short silk robe the color of innocence. “Fuck.”

  Naughty girl, how long have you been setting this up? You knew I’d always chase you.

  “You’re in so much trouble, Mr. Asher.” Her voice is sultry, decadent, but it’s the coquettish look in her eyes that almost brings me to my knees. I’m weak for her. Only her.

  “And do I pay for these sins at your feet, love?”

  “No.” London plays with the silk belt keeping her body from my eyes, a small laugh escaping. “But you will beg for mercy...later.”

  “Are you punishing me for earlier?” I ask, voice deep as a growl reverberates up my chest at the hint of a garter belt around her right thigh. “Why don’t you let me apologize now with my mouth and fingers? Let my cock show you just how sorry I am.”

  “All in due time, husband.” Slim fingers pull on the sash and the thin material parts, her midsection and breasts exposed in the almost translucent material of what looks to be a bodysuit made of mesh and lace. All white. Clinging to her every dip and curve and the sweet skin of her mound. “But first, we need to talk.”

  2

  Two weeks ago...

  I ENTER THE empty building near O’Hare International Airport that’s become my private prison. The place is somewhat isolated while still remaining accessible to many if only people looked past their phones. But most don’t. They drive by without a second look at the old structural buildings with dilapidated fronts and the expensive cars that sometimes sit in its parking lots.

  Then again, no one wants to trespass on private property owned by me. I don’t cover my ownership beneath fake documents or names.

  I don’t hide who I am.

  The main building is larger than my holding cells back at Asher Holdings, unencumbered by the foot traffic of a busy lobby, and sits at the center of what used to be an area known for its industrial warehouses and automotive body shops. I purchased this section of property a few years back and have let it sit without purpose until I met London and decided to move certain practices here.

  Not all. Many come before their judge a floor below the banking operations, but this one is reserved for those who cross me on a more personal level.

  I’m an unforgiving man.

  Possessive. Prideful.

  But more than these egotistical traits, I love my Twirl without reason, and any attempt on her life is the ultimate sin.

  The large metal doors slam closed behind me and I look around the vast room, ignoring the two men chained and on their knees at the center of the open space where Javier sits in a chair between the two. His eyes flick to mine for a second or two, a smirk on his face while playing with a blood-stained blade in his right hand. “We have two hours.”

  “Mariah knows?”

  “Always.”

  Chuckling, I turn my attention to the rest of the room and take in the amount of crap still sitting collecting dust. There are what look to be aftermarket car parts, while a vintage Shelby Mustang is half bonded and sanded. “What have we learned?”

  “That stupidity is vast in their familial gene pool.”

  “Noted.” There are four men standing back against a stack of boxes, dressed in white with masks on their faces. They nod but don’t say a word. They’ll wait in silence until it’s time to clean the room. “Motive?”

  “Greed.” The younger of the two, and to Javier’s right, mumbles something that quickly turns into a scream as he’s stabbed in his side, right between his ribs. “This one also has a crush on Mrs. Asher and thinks himself good enough for my sister.”

  My eyes narrow and focus on the man in question. He’s twenty-six, no more than five foot seven, and scrawny. He’s blond and blue-eyed with his own urine surrounding him.

  Not worthy, and it takes everything in me not to react. Not yet.

  I’ll let Javier have his moment.

  Our family is a tight and impenetrable circle, and those within will die for each other. He cares for London as if she were his younger sister—protects and takes offense to anything or anyone that could cause her harm.

  She’s to him what Mariah is to me.

  Javier leaves the knife in and twists the handle, ripping his flesh and more than likely nicking a rib bone. “Robbie Tillis, here, wants to take her out of the country and force a marriage, while the older brother just wanted the money and a quick fuck.”

  I close my eyes and take in a deep breath.

  Just one.

  Before fully opening them again, I have my Desert Eagle in my hand and there’s a large bullet hole in Robbie’s thigh. His screams rend the air—curses and sobs leave his chest as the puddle of piss mixes with blood. It grows, and he becomes pale.

  No pain tolerance whatsoever.

  “Remove every stitch of their clothing.” The cleaners move as one unit, all four stepping into the center and tearing each piece of fabric off my guests. Their naked forms shake, plead, and cry. They threaten and then take it back in the same breath. “Silence.”

  “You vile son of a bitch. Please, don’t do this...we can work this out.” This comes from the older of the two, Ron. “We’ll disappear as if nothing happened. London is safe...fuck!” he yells out as my foot meets his jaw, breaking his front teeth and forcing the pieces to the back of his throat. Ron sputters, fights to spit them out, but I keep my foot there and press him down until he’s contorted, head on the cold concrete ground and looking up at me with fear.

  “Swallow.”

  “We’re sorry!” Robbie cries, his chain rattling against the ground, but all movement ceases when I snap my eyes to his. From the corner of my eye, I see Javier stand, knife once again in his hand. “Please, Mr. Asher. Have mercy o
n us.”

  “Give me one good reason why.” The man below me tries to fight the weight pressing down on his face, fights to squirm away, but I gift him the privilege of my boot once more. And as I wait for the inconsiderate asshole to follow my instruction, to answer me, I raise a brow at Ron. “Swallow.”

  Ron’s face swells rapidly beneath a layer of grime and blood; his nose and lips split open. He’s in pain, fighting for breath while trying not to gag, and yet, he’s a good boy and swallows his teeth.

  Grimacing. Crying.

  “S-sir, we were just trying to come up with enough money to pay off a loan shark and leave. Truly, we meant no harm.”

  “You meant no harm?” I dig the bottom of my sole deeper into his brother’s face, cutting off the deep breaths he’s struggling to get into his lungs. The bone and cartilage crunch and rip, choking him with his own blood while also pooling in his mouth.

  Ron’s shackled hands can’t fight me off. The way he’s bent back, kneeling on tired legs while his arms stretch with little room to move, makes me smile.

  There’s something therapeutic about their fear—the horror as the truth smacks them in the face.

  They’ll never walk out of here alive.

  “Malcolm—”

  “Quiet.” Turning the heel against his mouth, I feel another tooth break. “Just listen for a bit, and while you do, come up with a better excuse than that.”

  Gasps turns to gurgles. The two shitty brown eyes beneath me widen, and his face begins to turn an unhealthy shade of purple beneath all the drying crimson staining his flesh. Tears fall—both brothers making different noises of despair—while Javier and the others in the room stand back.

  For two minutes we wait. Listen to the final moments of a man choking on his life’s essence and lack of air. It’s a haunting sound to most, while I find it rather soothing.