“Your heart is beating out of control, Sarah,” he told her softly. “You can’t tell me that if I touched your pussy it wouldn’t be wet and hot.”
She fought for breath. Why had Brock done this? Why was he pushing her this way? Why was she letting him?
“I asked you to let me go,” she gasped, feeling his fingers flex at her stomach.
“Is your pussy wet, Sarah?” he asked her, his warm breath caressing her ear. “Do you see what Marly feels when we touch her?”
Sarah fought to breathe. Her chest was rising and falling with harsh breaths, her flesh weakening. She fought the insidious arousal. She wasn’t this weak, this vulnerable. She couldn’t allow herself to be.
“Let me go before I kick your ass, Sam August,” she bit out then, her nails biting into his arms where she gripped them. The words were tough, the voice behind it weak as his teeth scraped her neck.
“I won’t take you without Brock here, Sarah,” he promised her, then a strangled cry erupted from her throat as he took one hard nipple between his fingers, pressuring it firmly.
Fire lanced from her breast to her womb, tightening her stomach. It was the edge of pain, she told herself desperately. That was what sent that erotic thrill heaving through her body, made her cunt spasm, her juice to spill along the thick curls there. The edge of pain was all it took. Her vagina trembled, pleaded for surrender.
“Stop,” she whispered pleadingly. “Please stop, Sam.”
“He’s not just fucking his brother’s lover, Sarah,” his voice was gentle, but the words cut at her like a knife. “He’s reassuring his brother. He’s giving him a hug. He’s promising him he’ll be careful. He’s shedding tears for Cade’s sacrifices for him. Do you understand that?”
The pain of the act Brock was committing was suddenly gone, replaced by the agonizing lance of grief. The reminder of the pain, the scars inflicted on his soul. Not just his soul. Cade’s, Sam’s. And now hers as well.
“I understand.” She whispered, trembling, terrified of the emotions, the arousal pulsing through her body.”
He released her slowly. Sarah took a hard, relieved breath, then moved quickly from the room. Away from Brock’s brother, away from his grief and his lust. But she knew she couldn’t forget it. She couldn’t escape it. The silky slide of her own arousal on her thighs would ensure that.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Your brother does not belong in my house.” Sarah’s surprising greeting was his welcome into the house that evening.
Brock paused for a moment, seeing the agitation in her body, the shade of guilt in her eyes and hid his smile. His heart swelled with emotion as he watched her, the way her gaze held that shade of remembered pleasure, arousal. There was a curiosity in her expression that he knew she was unaware of. It made his cock swell, throb.
“Neither does Tate, but I hear he made a nuisance of himself anyway,” Brock told her, carrying the intimate purchases he had made earlier to the counter. “Why didn’t you leave the door locked after I left?”
She shrugged. “He has the key. I never changed the locks.”
Brock stared at her in surprise. For a moment, he couldn’t actually believe she had said that.
“Why not?” He fought to hang onto his control.
“Just didn’t get around to it.” She walked over to the bag, opening and peeking inside.
Brock was distracted from his anger at her easy acceptance of Mark walking in whenever he liked. He watched her eyes widen, her face flush as she glimpsed his purchases. Her lips opened as though to speak. Closed. Opened again. Finally, she clamped them shut and turned her gaze to him hesitantly as she swallowed tightly. His anger over the locks dissolved. Fuck it, he could fix the locks himself.
“What’s for dinner?” He wasn’t about to give her the chance to refuse him. “What’s in the bag is for later.””
She blinked, a little shocked. A little confused. “Chicken from KFC. I don’t cook much.”
He smiled. “I’ll take a breast and thigh, hon. My favorite pieces.”
Sarah gave an unladylike snort. “Not the piece I was thinking about, but whatever.”
“I have to shower.” He patted her rear in payment for her remark then headed for the shower.
* * * * *
Brock watched Sarah stomp around the house early that evening. Her angel’s face mutinous, her curvy body stiff and tense as she washed the few dinner dishes, cleaned off the table, ignored the innocent-looking paper bag in the center of it, then swept the floor. He leaned against the doorframe; his arms crossed over his chest, his brows lowered into a frown that he knew could intimidate the strongest adversary. But Sarah only ignored him. Him and the contents of the bag.
Not that he had expected her to accept this without a fight. Hell, he may even end up on her shit list for all time, but he didn’t think he would. He had seen the flare of curiosity in her eyes, the spark of arousal before her body stiffened and she became queen bitch for the evening.
He hid his grin. She could put the stubborn on better than any woman he knew or heard tale of. But he could be just as determined; she would find that out quickly.
“You should have got the locks changed after you got home from work.”
Brock worried about this Mark thing. Her ex-husband didn’t seem too willing to let her go.
“I’ll get it done.” She washed her hands in the sink after sweeping the non-existent dust into a dustpan and tapping it into the garbage can. “I’ll call in the morning.”
“Sam will take care of it in the morning instead,” he told her. “I trust him to take care of the job right with those locks he ordered this morning.”
She frowned at that; evidently, she didn’t care much for the thought of Sam coming out again. She was nervous around him, his brother had reported, nervous and expectant, as though she expected him to jump her at any second. She was displaying those same signs now.
“You were with Marly today,” she whispered the words without heat, surprising him with the change of subject.
Brock stared at her for long moments. There was no anger, no recrimination, just a quiet fight for understanding. He didn’t know what to say to her, didn’t want to hurt her.
“I was with Marly,” he agreed sadly. God he wished he could make it easier for her. Make her understand.
“You fucked her.” He watched her take a deep, steadying breath.
She looked vulnerable, so damned uncertain of herself that he wanted to scream out in pain. His Sarah was confident, strong, knowing he had done this to her broke his heart.
“I fucked her.” He nodded. He wouldn’t lie to her, he wouldn’t apologize, no matter his pain, his regret. He was who and what he was. She had to accept him as that. She knew before she came to that damned bar what he was and what he would want. He wouldn’t make excuses now.
She was silent for long moments, as thought expecting something from him. He knew she was expecting him to mention Sam. To mention how his brother reported their confrontation, how he touched her. Brock didn’t fight his rising erection at the thought of Sam touching her, or her pleasure in it. Sam had smiled with a reckless pleasure that had been missing in him since Marly’s attack the year before.
“Brock.” She licked her lips nervously. “Sam—“ Her gaze flickered away, her face flushing in guilt.
“Sam what, Sarah?” He was more than aware of what had happened.
She bit at her lip.
“Sam touched you today, Sarah?” he asked her softly. “I know that, baby.”
He didn’t know if he imagined the little whimper, one filled with arousal that escaped her lips.
“Did you tell him—“ She was fighting fear and desire. He could see the shy hunger, the confusion that filled her.
“No, Sarah, I didn’t tell him to touch you,” he assured her, his chest tightening as she watched him, on the edge of discovery and so frightened to trust him to cushion her fall. “Did he hurt you?”
Sh
e shook her head, staring everywhere but at him.
“Did it feel good, Sarah?” he asked her softly, tilting his head as he watched her hands twist nervously at her waist.
She took a hard breath, merely shrugging her shoulders as she turned away from him.
“Sarah.” He stopped her, pulling her against his body. “Did you want him?” Brock’s cock was throbbing at the thought.
“I was angry with you. He touched me.” She was fighting for an excuse, a reasonable way to explain the flare of heat she found in his brother’s arms.
“And you got wet. Your pretty little nipples got hard for him and Sam would have touched them, maybe made them feel good the way you like.”
Her nipples were beaded now, but he’d be damned if he would touch her, take her too soon. She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. He let it go for now. It was enough that she acknowledged the pleasure.
“Do you work tomorrow?” Brock moved away from her. He wanted to hide his grin as he caught her nervous glance toward the bag once again.
“Not tomorrow.” She shook her head, standing by the sink as though she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. “I only go in a few days a week now.”
“Good.” He nodded.
He walked over to the table, holding her gaze the whole way. He picked up the bag he had placed there earlier and moved it closer to the edge of the table.
“Take care of this now, Sarah.” He watched her eyes widen.
Brock’s body tensed. Arousal flowed through his system as her face flushed heatedly and those big golden eyes widened in surprise as he lifted the items from the bag that he wanted to keep downstairs with him.
“It’s been a long day, Brock. I think I’m just heading to bed.” She made to do just that.
Brock caught her at the doorway, his arm snaking around her waist, drawing her against his body. He felt her gasp and knew she was more than aware of the erection beneath his jeans.
“Sarah, I won’t let you run away. You’ll enjoy this, I promise.” He bent and kissed her neck gently, feeling the hard throb of her pulse just beneath her skin. “It’s okay baby, I promise I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m not ready for this.” Her nails pressed into the skin of his arm as his teeth raked over her sensitive flesh.
“Yes you are, Sarah. You’ve been ready for years.” He licked the lobe of her ear, feeling her tremble beneath his touch.
Her skin was so soft. She tasted of peaches and heat and made his mouth water, his body pulse in demand. She drew in a quick, hard breath as he pushed the paper bag in her hand.
“Go to the bathroom and get ready now, Sarah. I’ll be waiting down here for you. And don’t take too long, or I’ll have to come up there and help you.” He injected an edge of warning in his tone. She shivered, but the heat coming from her body had nothing to do with fear.
She took the bag from his hand, glancing up at him nervously, then walked through the house. Brock stood still, his eyes on her the whole time, keeping his expression implacable as she glanced back at him time and again. Her eyes were wide, excitement and fear glittering in the dark depths with equal intensity.
Finally, she disappeared and he breathed a sigh of relief. Going back to the table he picked up the articles he had taken out of the bag. A large tube of lubricating jelly, a mid-sized butt plug and a long, thick gel-filled dildo. He picked them up and walked back into the living room.
He laid the articles on the oaken coffee table, and moved to close the window shades throughout the room. Next, he dragged a large blanket from the linen closet and spread it over the wide couch. Upstairs, he could hear the shower running. He closed his eyes, anticipating Sarah’s return. She would prepare herself for him, just as he intended. Tomorrow, she would go even further. Her appointment with Denise Lamont would see to the removal of the soft curls between her thighs. He could hardly wait to see her smooth and soft there, those silken lips spreading around the thick length of his cock. He breathed out a harsh breath. His cock was steel hard, throbbing beneath the material of his jeans.
Tamping down on the lust rising in his body, Brock took a deep breath, then lit the large, fat candles he had placed around the room. Turning the lights off, he surveyed the effects of the soft glow and smiled in anticipation. He pulled his clothes off, throwing them over the back of a chair and sat back on the couch, knowing Sarah wouldn’t be much longer.
The instructions in the note he had included in the bag had warned her to come downstairs naked. He couldn’t wait to see her, fresh from her shower, her skin glowing in the candlelight. His hand massaged his hard cock as he thought of her, pink and ripe, juicy and wet, coming to him, knowing what he would prepare her for. She wasn’t being tricked or lied to. She would know because he would tell her. He refused to lie to her about the plans he had for her.
“Brock?” He turned his head at the sound of her voice.
Brock rose to his feet, his eyes narrowing at the sight he beheld. Just as he knew, skin so pretty and pink, a flush of arousal staining her breasts and cheeks. She was naked, not entirely comfortable with it, but standing before him, excited.
“Come here.” He held his hand out to her, fighting the need to throw her to the couch and pound into her mercilessly.
She came into his arms, her eyes locked with his, flashing with uncertainty and heat. Her skin was warm against his hands, against the sensitive flesh of his throbbing cock. He inhaled the smell of peaches and warmth and closed his eyes as he fought for control. Tonight. Tonight he would know if she had the strength to satisfy all his needs, or just the most immediate. God help him if she didn’t, because he had a feeling he needed her too much to ever let her go.
“What are you going to do, Brock?” She was trembling against him. Brock could feel the small, almost imperceptible shudders that racked her body.
“I’m going to love you, Sarah, the only way I know how,” he whispered against her hair as he drew her to the couch. Sitting down, he pulled her to his lap.
She curled into his arms, fitting him perfectly. Her head lay on his chest, her hair, still just a bit damp, caressing his flesh. He tangled one hand in the honey gold mass as the other smoothed gently from her knee to her ankle.
She didn’t question him, though Brock had expected her to. The fact that she wasn’t showed him the lingering fears she was holding. He had tonight to convince her that she could do what he needed.
“You’re so soft, Sarah.” He nudged at her chin. “So soft and warm. And all mine.”
Her face rose, her eyes dark and somber in the soft glow of the candles. Brock couldn’t resist kissing her. His head lowered, his lips settling on hers as they opened to admit the firm stroke of his tongue. He swallowed her low moan as she relaxed in his arms, turning to him, her tongue tangling with his.
She tasted as sweet as sugar, like nectar, fresh and dew kissed. He lowered her against the arm of the couch, her body stretched across his like an offering to some primeval god of lust. Her thighs shifted, parted as his hand swept up her leg. She was already wet for him, already soft and needy.
His lips sipped at hers slowly, his tongue washing over the gentle curves. He loved her mouth, had dreamed of it for years. He sucked lightly at the bottom curve, hearing her moan, his heavy lidded eyes watching the emotion and arousal that crossed her face. She was beautiful. So damned beautiful it hurt.
“Brock,” she whispered his name, her neck arching for the lips that trailed over it.
Skin so sweet, so soft he could devour her. Brock took a gentle nibble, then soothed the little bite with a lingering movement of his tongue. He felt her breath escalate, heard the hot entreaty in her keening moan. She arched in his arms, tilted her head to allow him greater access.
His lips moved across the expanse of skin, feeling the throb of blood beneath the living silk, pounding through her veins, rushing through her system. He could feel it echo in his own body, in the hard erection cushioned by her hip and the thump of his heart in h
is chest.
Brock’s lips went to her breasts; one hand cupped the full mound as she arched over his arm, his mouth covering the turgid tip. She twisted against him sensually, pushing against him harder as he licked and sucked with slow, light movements. She needed more, needed harder. She had a taste of the pleasure that came from a minute bite of sensual pain. He knew she wanted more.
Brock made her wait. Deliberate, hesitant licks of his tongue had her crying out in a fever of need. He wanted her like this. Arching and crying beneath him, begging for the pleasure he could give her.
“What do you want, Sarah?” he asked her as he ran his tongue around the flushed, reddening pucker of flesh. It tightened further, pouting out at him in need.
“Please, Brock.” Slender fingers clenched in his hair, trying to draw him closer, to make him give her what she needed.
“Tell me what you want, sugar.” He blew a whisper of breath across the damp flesh. Sarah trembled with a panting moan.
“Harder,” she begged him, her voice breathless. “Please, Brock. Harder.”
His head lowered again. He took the hard flesh into his mouth, suckling it deep as his teeth nipped and his tongue stroked. She nearly arched out of his arms as her back bowed, her hands pulling his head closer.
He nibbled at her, knowing the quick little flares of heat would drive her crazy. She cried out for him, her legs twisting, thighs tightening. Perspiration dotted her skin with a sexy glaze, making the slide of his hand over her stomach smooth and silky.
Sarah’s thighs fell open as he neared them, but Brock wasn’t ready to take her there yet. He wanted her hotter, wilder. He wanted her willing to do anything he asked, go to any lengths for the climax he could bring her. Brock kept his hand above the damp flesh, his fingers playing at her hips, her heaving abdomen, or plumping her firm breasts as he suckled first one, then the other, his teeth nipping at them, his tongue soothing the little ache.
“You are killing me,” she cried out, breathless, tormented. “Please Brock, please do something.”