by Lora Leigh
Sarah stilled. Breath suspended, eyes opened wide in disbelief, she stared at him as his fingers plunged inside her. Sarah cried out harshly, wondering if she should be ashamed that she was so wet, so desperate that the sticky fluid seemed to gush over his fingers.
“Son of a bitch,” he groaned, his eyes dark, his face flushed. “Too fucking late for the bedroom now, Sarah.”
He dropped to his knees as she stared at him in surprise. His hands pushed her thighs apart, then as one hand held the dress to her waist, the other slid out of her hot entrance and his mouth consumed her.
Sarah shuddered, crying out desperately as she felt his tongue swipe through the slick folds of skin. He was licking her. Oh God, like a cat licking at cream, he was licking her, groaning in pleasure at her taste. He was making hot, desperate sounds of hunger as he drew the wetness into his mouth, savoring it. She felt her womb tighten, spasm and more of the hot cream seeped from her vagina.
She couldn’t stand it. Sarah felt her knees weakening as the pleasure rose inside her. It gripped her stomach, tightening it almost painfully as the waves of near ecstasy washed over her again and again. Her hands were clenched on his shoulders, her thighs spread wide, his lips and tongue playing with her clit as his fingers thrust repeatedly into the hot channel that wept with the attention. She knew she was spiraling out of control. The fires searing her body were making her buck against his mouth, thrust into his fingers, tightening her body, drawing her into a vortex of such mind numbing pleasure that she exploded.
Sarah heard her own keening cry as she felt her body come apart. She tightened, thrust against his immoveable mouth and lost her breath as extreme pleasure flooded her entire being, bursting over her flesh and leaving her shaking, gasping in completion as she slowly wilted.
Brock was there to catch her. His arms went around her as he stood to his feet, his eyes staring down at her in stark lust.
“Where is the fucking bedroom, Sarah, before I take you here in the middle of the hallway.” His voice was dark and rough, rasping with the force of his own need.
“Upstairs,” she gasped as he swung her into his arms.
He took the stairs quickly, his big body sheltering her smaller one. He glanced around the hall, then turned to the first door. He pushed it open, then stopped abruptly.
“Who the fuck is that?” His tone was only mildly curious, but the pulsing fury underneath it concerned her.
Sarah glanced in confusion at the bed, then her eyes widened in horror. He hadn’t. He wouldn’t. But he had.
Mark was entwined, in her bed, with his young lover. The room reeked of alcohol and sex. Her bedroom was in complete disarray. Clothes were thrown everywhere, the lamp had toppled to the floor and a chair lay on its side. She shook her head, unable to believe it.
“God, this could only happen to me.” She shook her head as Brock set her slowly on her feet.
Her knees were weak, so it took her a moment to steady herself, and all she could do was stare in shock at Mark and what was her name? Sarah could never remember. But there they were, nude, enfolded in each other’s arms, snoring softly.
Tears filled her eyes. Not from pain at seeing her husband, or ex-husband in her bed with his lover. But the deeply humiliating pain of knowing the man behind her was slowly, furiously aware of the situation.
Sarah fought to draw the bodice of her dress back over her body. She struggled with the small sleeves, dragging them up her arms, all the while more than aware of Brock’s tense anger.
“Where’s your clothes?” He surprised her when he went to the closet and began rummaging through it. The dresser drawers were lying on the floor, her underwear, bras and T-shirts scattered along the carpet. It would be hard to find anything salvageable in that mess.
Brock jerked several dresses from the small closet, laid them over his arms and came back to her. He took her arm and pulled her quickly from the room. Sarah followed him in a daze, nearly stumbling as he strode from the room and back downstairs.
“Your purse.” He picked the small handbag up and pushed it into her hands. “Anything else you have to take?”
She shook her head quickly, blinking up at the harsh features of his face.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked curiously as he dragged her out the front door and slammed it behind them furiously.
Brock didn’t stop, he didn’t ask permission to drag her out of her house, away from yet another of Mark’s humiliations of her. Not that it mattered as much now. They weren’t married anymore and she was more than thankful for that. Still, she couldn’t believe the lengths he had gone to this time to shame her.
“To the ranch,” he bit out. “I’ll take care of that bastard in the morning. But I’m telling you, Sarah, I’m so damned hard and hurting tonight that you may be days getting back in that house.”
He threw her dresses into the back seat of the jeep, then pushed her into the interior with hard hands.
“Buckle up, or would you prefer to stay here with hubby and company?” His eyes bore into her in the dim light of the jeep. Anger pulsed; lust arced like white hot, invisible strands of electricity between them.
She shook her head desperately, fumbled for the seat belt and snapped it in.
Her dress was still unbuttoned. As Brock started the engine, she fought to re-fasten the tiny pearl buttons that held the front of the cream-colored sundress together.
“Shit.” His expletive had her flinching as he turned in his seat and quickly fixed it for her.
Tears gathered in her eyes. Her body still hummed with desire and she was terribly afraid he was going to be disappointed in her now. No mature, sophisticated woman couldn’t button her own dress at this point.
Then Brock was tilting her face, his lips taking hers in a kiss so hot, so furious, she reeled under the invasion. Her arms went around his shoulders again, her lips opening, her tongue twining desperately with his.
“Enough,” he growled, jerking away from her. “Dammit, we’ll both be lucky if I make it out of town before I bury myself inside you.”
The jeep pulled out of the driveway with a squeal of tires. Sarah sat silently, still in shock, still pulsing with lust. He was taking her to the ranch? Dear God, was she insane? What had happened to her night of passion? Why had it suddenly gone to hell? She sighed deeply. Mark. He had ruined this night just as he had ruined every night of her life since she married him. Someone needed to shoot him and put the world out of the misery he brought to it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brock couldn’t believe the ending to this night. He was hard, hurting, achingly aware of the quiet young woman sitting in the seat beside him, twisting her hands nervously as she sneaked long looks in his direction. He knew she was worried, confused. She didn’t understand why he was taking her back to the ranch and in the heat of the moment had agreed. He knew she now doubted that decision.
“There’s a motel up here on the right. About four or five miles,” she said hesitantly. Yep, definitely reconsidering. “You could just drop me off there.”
Oh yeah, he was really going to do that one, he thought sarcastically. He kept it to himself though. Sarah seemed to be riding the edge of panic right now, and he’d be damned if he could stand it if she started crying. The one time she had cried on him had broke what little had been left of his heart.
“Those beds are back breakers,” he growled. “When I get inside you, Sarah, I don’t want you sinking to the floor. I want you in place beneath me.”
He heard her breath catch. Her breasts rose sharply, whether in shock or arousal he wasn’t sure.
“This is so unreal.” She shook her head on a disgusted sigh. “I just don’t understand how this stuff always happens to me.”
Brock glanced over at her with a slight frown.
“You and your husband need to schedule better,” he grumped testily, wondering if he was insane.
What the hell was he doing messing with a married woman? They were trouble and jealo
us husbands could literally be a pain in the ass. Mark Tate wasn’t known for his intelligence anyway, especially in regards to keeping his little wife tucked away at home while he dallied with the local talent. But first chance Brock had, what had he done? He went for her. Now he had her and he would be damned if he would let her go back to that son of a bitch.
“He’s not my husband.” She surprised him by flashing him an angry look. “We’re divorced. And why don’t you have better sense than to be messing with a married woman?” She threw his thoughts in his face.
That flare of assertiveness, the flash of independence made his erection throb like a toothache beneath his pants. Damn, he bet she would be a firecracker in bed. Hell, he knew she would be. She had damned near burned him alive six years before. He hadn’t even penetrated her with his cock and he had felt as though he were holding live fire.
“It depends on who the married woman is,” he told her softly. He would have fucked her anytime, anywhere, no matter how many husbands she had. “You, Sarah-love, I would have had no resistance to, married or not. But remember the fact, I waited until you seemed receptive.”
“Receptive?” She questioned him incredulously. “I was not receptive. I was minding my own business—”
“You were eating me up with your eyes.” He grinned, remembering that shy, hungry look she had given him across the smoky bar.
“I was not,” she gasped, shocked.
When he looked over at her, her soft, golden brown eyes were widened in shock, her face pale in the dimly lit confines of the jeep. The silken sweep of honey gold hair was in disarray around her face, falling to her shoulders in tawny waves of splendor that begged him to reach out and touch.
“Oh yes, you were,” he growled, fighting the need to touch. “With those lashes lowered just so much, and your golden eyes begging me to fuck you. I’ve stayed away from you for years, just because you were married and didn’t seem willing. But you were more than willing tonight, baby.”
So willing the pulse of her release to his oral ministrations flowed soft and sweet into his hungry mouth. The taste was addictive. Like nectar. Like the sweetest honeyed drug. He had spent six years trying to forget her taste and he still awoke with the essence of it in his mouth, his cock throbbing in response to the memory of her heat.
“You’re insane.” Anger lined every curve of her body and vibrated in her soft voice. “I refuse to go any further with you. Take me to the motel.”
Flushed with indignation, he could feel the waves of anger pouring off her. He couldn’t understand why she should be so angry. She wanted him. It was something he had waited on for a long time, so what was the problem?
“You’ll come back to the ranch with me—”
“I refuse to go to bed with you now,” she told him furiously.
Frustration had him casting her a frowning look as one hand raked impatiently through his hair.
“Okay, so we’ll do it on a couch, the kitchen table, whatever. I’m adaptable.”
Actually, the thought of either place was more than satisfactory. As long as he could hold her to him and take her in the ways he had dreamed.
“Kitchen table?” He wanted to smile at the amazement in her voice, but he had a feeling that would just invoke her ire once again.
He looked over at her again, barely containing a groan at the reluctant fascination in her voice.
“Yeah. We have a pool table, too.” He grinned, wondering if she knew how pretty she was with that deep blush mounting her pale cheeks. Then a sudden thought hit him. “You are on the pill. Right?”
She shook her head. Disappointment raged through him. There was nothing he wanted more than to pound into Sarah until his cock exploded, filling her with his sperm.
“The motel,” she breathed out roughly. “Just take me to the motel, Brock.”
Brock frowned at the aroused rasp in her voice, versus the request. She wanted him, he knew she did. Why would that suddenly frighten her now?
“You don’t want to go to that motel, Sarah,” he told her gently. “You want to come home with me. Why not admit it?”
“Because. This is a mistake,” she whispered. “A terrible, awful mistake. I told you before, you’re way out of my league. I should have remembered that.”
“The pool table scared you?” he asked her roughly. “Damn, Sarah, it’s just a regular pool table. It’s not like there are handcuffs or restraints on it. You act like I was describing a torture chamber.”
He couldn’t get the thought of that out of his head. Sarah bent over, lying against green felt as he lodged every hard inch of his shaft inside her body. He shifted in the normally comfortable seat. He’d be lucky if they made it to the ranch yard, let alone into the house.
“God. This is just not a good idea,” she whispered, staring straight ahead. “Why won’t you just do as I ask? Just drop me at the motel.”
Brock’s hands clenched on the steering wheel as the blood pumping furiously between his thighs made his patience exceeds its fragile limits. Why wouldn’t he do as she asked? Because he had waited so long to fuck her that it felt like a lifetime.
“You want to know why I’m not listening to you?” he bit out from between clenched teeth as he swung the jeep to the side of the road. He pulled in behind an outcropping of boulders with a swerve of the wheel that had her gasping in surprise.
The jeep rocked to a stop as Brock covered the distance between them, shoving her seat back, dropping the back to rest against the back seat, and ignoring her gasp of alarm as he kneed her thighs apart and rose over her.
She stared up at him in shock as he jerked her dress to her waist. His hand covered her mound, his fingers sinking into hot, wet flesh as the other hand hurriedly released the straining erection from inside his jeans.
“This is why, damn you.” He took her hand, wrapping it around the silk encased steel of his cock as he groaned roughly. “This, Sarah. Hot and wild. Me buried inside you while you scream out in pleasure. I told you, I wouldn’t let you go again.”
His fingers plunged deep into her melting vagina, invoking a shattered cry of ecstasy as he filled her. She moaned, a whimpering little sound as his thumb raked her straining clit, making her shudder in his arms as her fingers caressed him. His cock tightened at her small, stroking motions. So untutored, so hesitant, shy as she stared up at him in dazed fascination. It drove him crazy. He wanted to replace that inexperience with knowledge. He wanted to be the one to teach her, the one to replace the hesitancy with confidence and awareness. He wanted to steal her innocence, what little her ex-husband had left her, and it disgusted him at the same time that it made him wild with lust.
She whimpered, a small sound of longing and confusion.
“I’ll take care of you, Sarah,” he swore to her, his fingers moving sensually inside her body as he leaned down to touch her lips. “Trust me. Let me take you to my home. I’ve waited so long for you, love.”
She jerked at his declaration, her thighs clenching on his hands as she fought to draw away from the seductive spell he was weaving around her.
“No.” His lips covered her, his fingers moving deeper, making her hotter, wetter.
He needed to fuck her. To stake his claim on her here and now. To throw her into such pleasure that her climax drained her, left her unable to deny him. Unable to leave him. God help him if he lost her again. He couldn’t risk it, not yet. Not while the fire was burning him alive, making him insane, making his body hurt with the need to touch her, claim her, hear her screams of release echoing around him.
“Feel how good it is, Sarah,” he growled against her lips. “Tell me you want to go to that lonely motel room, rather than my warm bed. Tell me, and I’ll do it, Sarah. Do you want to be empty and alone, or filled and screaming as you come around my cock?”
* * * * *
Sarah stared up at Brock, feeling his fingers hard and thick inside her body, his erection hot and hard in her hand. She couldn’t even circle the broad le
ngth with her fingers. How full would he fill her? How hard could he make her scream in climax? The August men were rumored to be experienced, well-tutored lovers who could ride a woman well into the night. Mark had barely managed ten short minutes. She wanted him, but she was terrified of the strength of that wanting.
“Answer me, Sarah.” His fingers thrust lightly into her, her vagina spilling its liquid into his hand as he groaned above her.
“Yes,” she whispered, staring up at him, snared by his eyes, the intense sexual need in his expression. “I want to be filled and screaming. Please, Brock.”
Strangled and tortured, a groan ripped from his throat. His fingers pulled free of her body, but he replaced them with the broad head of his erection. Sarah stilled, her breath nearly suspended in her chest as she felt the burning tip move against her.
“I swore not yet,” he growled fiercely. “I was going to wait, Sarah. I swear I was.”
Sarah felt fire, lightning arching over her skin, between her thighs as the hard flesh began to invade her. Stretched, invaded, she gasped, her hips arching, the incredible sensations spreading through her as Brock slid deeper and deeper inside her body.
“Sarah.” Her name was a harsh groan that sounded torn from his lips. “Damn. You’re so tight. So tight, Sarah.”
His hand tore at the buttons of her dress, several ripping from their mooring as the edges spread. Then his lips were covering one hard-tipped mound, his mouth suckling her heatedly as he pushed the last few inches into her body. She wouldn’t survive it, Sarah thought. There was no way she would survive the lash of heat and need now searing her body.
That Brock August could do this to a woman didn’t surprise her. The fact that he had her beneath him, moaning in pleasure, astounded her though. Her, quiet, mousy Sarah, was making Brock August pant and whisper roughly as he pushed inside her. She tightened her muscles around him, crying out herself at the lash of pain/pleasure the action invoked.
“Oh hell. Sarah. Don’t do that.” His lips were at her neck, his teeth nipping at her skin as he fought for control. “Don’t do that, baby, I won’t be able to hold on.”