by Lora Leigh
“You think that’s enough, don’t you?” she whispered as he pulled into her driveway. “You think that’s all it takes to get me to agree?”
“No, I don’t,” he sighed raggedly. “But I’m not asking you to agree to anything or anyone but me. That’s all. Just me, Sarah.”
“For now?” she asked
He stared at her silently.
She laid her head against the back of the seat and breathed out tiredly.
“You’re killing me, Brock,” she whispered.
“It’s killing me, Sarah. I know you want me.” He turned in his seat, his hand reaching out to touch her cheek. “I know you need me just as desperately as I need you.”
And she did. She knew she did. Her body, her heart and her head were waging a battle she was afraid all would lose.
“Let me stay with you tonight, Sarah,” he asked her softly. “I need you.”
The throb of that need echoed around the jeep.
“No.” She threw the door to the jeep open, nearly falling out in her haste. “I can’t, Brock. Not yet. Not yet.”
She didn’t run, but she rushed. She was aware of him getting out of the vehicle, following her. As the key twisted in the lock, he flattened his body against her back.
“Think of this, Sarah,” he whispered in her ear.
She moaned roughly as his hand moved up her thigh, one arm going around her waist as his fingers moved aside the leg band of her panties.
“Brock,” she gasped, feeling his fingers tunneling through the lush curls to the saturated flesh below.
“Feel how wet you are.” He pushed a finger deep inside her and she felt the walls of her cunt grip it, suck at it. “See how much you want me.”
She opened her mouth to speak.
“Sarah, mention that damned fictitious alien again and I’ll lose what little control I have.”
She clamped her mouth shut. She moaned instead, then cried out when his finger retreated.
“I won’t force you to ask me to stay, Sarah.” He breathed against her ear. “I’ll leave for now. But I promise, this isn’t over.”
He opened the door for her, standing still, hard as she stepped weakly inside.
“Do you need me to tuck you in?”
She shook her head, dazed. She needed him to fuck her blind. She was already crazy.
“I’ll see you soon, then.” He kissed her lips softly, then turned and walked away.
“I’m insane,” she whispered as she heard the door to the jeep slam.
She closed the door, locked it, then leaned her head against the glass.
“Completely insane.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A day passed, then two. On the third day Sarah was convinced that Brock had finally given up on her. Dressed in a bikini she picked up her bottle of water and walked out to the pool out back. It wasn’t as large as the August pool, but it suited her needs.
She swam for a while, working out the energy that seem to fill her, then pulled herself onto the deck and stretched out on the large foam pad that protected her back from the hard concrete.
Lazy, dozing, she allowed the heat of the sun to warm her body, ignoring the languid sexuality that pulsed just under her skin. She couldn’t forget the touch of Brock’s hands or his mouth. The seductive cadence of his voice or the dark promise in his eyes.
Her nipples beaded as the memories seared through her body. The flesh between her thighs heated and she felt the silky warmth of her body’s need building beneath the swimsuit.
Her hands touched her stomach, moving over the skin as she thought of him. His touch. His hands calloused and warm, fingers broad and experienced. She shivered, her own touch evoking the sensations she had felt beneath his. Her vagina clenched, her stomach muscles tightening as her fingers ran over them, her nails barely scraping, adding an extra edge to the sensation.
She wanted him, she didn’t deny that. She couldn’t deny it. She wanted until it kept her awake at night, tossing and turning as she fought the desperate emptiness of her body. Brock had filled her. He filled her to overflowing when he thrust inside her, so hard and hot she couldn’t contain her cries. She needed it again. Needed his cock throbbing in her, making her mindless, unable to think, unable to listen to her fears.
The dual needs attacking her body, her mind, kept her in a constant state of confusion now. Her dreams were of Brock’s face, his kiss, his touch. But there were other hands stroking her as well, heated encouragements, low male growls as she cried out her frustration. She swore she wouldn’t think about that. She would think about Brock. Lust after Brock. It was Brock she had waited on, wanted so desperately all these years.
Her fingers moved to her lips. His kiss. She wanted to moan. His lips moving over hers, his tongue stroking the soft curves of her lips, sipping from her, nibbling at her. His kiss smothered objections, teased and cajoled, and whispered the sexy, hot words that left her panting for him. Explicit words. He hadn’t been shy in expressing his needs or desire he had for her.
Her neck. Her fingers stroked there, then down to the mounds of her breasts, tracing the soft flesh as they rose from the top of her bathing suit. The way his teeth scraped the skin. She glanced over her nipples, a whimpering moan exiting her throat. He had sucked her nipple with strong, sensual pulls of his mouth, his tongue and teeth scraping over them.
Her fingers wandered lower. She thought of the way his lips traveled over her stomach, his tongue licking, painting a portrait of sexual need along her flesh as he touched her. She bit her lip as her fingers paused at the waistband of her bikini bottoms. Did she dare? No one could see. The privacy fencing protected her from even the most curious eyes.
A breathy moan escaped her. She ached. She hurt for him. She needed what she couldn’t have and this was all she had left. Her fingers dipped beneath the soft material moving closer to the wet, desire-slick flesh that pulsed at the memory of Brock’s touch.
* * * * *
Brock almost groaned. He almost gave away his presence as he stood only feet away from her, watching her fingers travel over her upper body, moving lower. When they edged beneath the material at her hips, his cock jerked, his body tightening. Son of a bitch. He felt his mouth go dry, watching her slender fingers travel in agonizingly slow movements down the narrow slit of her cunt. He imagined how hot, how slick it was. How easily his fingers glided through it, drawn inexorably to the dark, honeyed depths of her vagina.
His teeth clenched as he thought of the fiery heat those fingers moved towards. How she gripped him, tight and hot, her muscles like a velvet fist fighting to hold him inside her as he thrust against her.
She moaned his name and his fists clenched. He watched her fingers, covered by the material of her swimsuit, move lower still, her fingers curving. Her hips arched and he knew she was filling her tight cunt with her fingers, thrusting, filling the empty flesh as she thought of him. One hand cupped her breast, the firm mound spilling from the cup of her bikini as her fingers pinched and pulled at the hard tip. Those weren’t light touches either. Her fingers were rougher than he would have expected, pulling at the hard flesh, tightening around it as the fingers between her thighs drove her closer to climax.
Oh, no. No climax. Damn her to hell. She whispered his name as she touched herself, drawing closer. Oh baby, not without me you won’t.
“Sarah,” he groaned her name as he drew closer.
Her breath hitched in her throat, her head twisting on the foam pad as her fingers thrust harder into her body.
“Sarah, stop that before I fuck you on this damned deck,” he growled, his voice harsh.
Her eyes flew open, wide, dazed. She blinked, then her hips jerked hard and he cursed as he watched her shatter, climaxing despite his intrusion.
“Oh, God,” she wailed, embarrassment and heated satisfaction washing over her expression as her fingers finally stilled.
He moved to her as her fingers came from between her thighs. He went to his knees, capturing
her wrist before she could wipe the betraying evidence of her satisfaction from them.
Her fingers were slick, coated with the soft cream of her release. Holding her eyes, daring her to look away, he brought them to his mouth. She jerked, moaning low as he sucked one finger into his mouth, licking it clean. Then the next. Then the third. He groaned at the taste of her, so sweet and warm, more addictive than any drug he knew. He hungered for her. Ached like a man in a fit of withdrawal.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she cried out as his fingers went to her bared breast.
He held the hard point between his fingers then applied pressure. Her eyes closed, her body arched when he tightened around it to the point of pain. He rolled it between his fingers, watching her face flush, feeling her nipple grow harder. She liked the pressure, the edge of pain. He could see it in her face, in the too quick breaths, the way she bit her lip as though she could contain her cries.
“You’re mine, Sarah,” he told her harshly, pressuring the little nipple further, watching her hips raise, her eyes dilate. “Do you understand me?”
“Just yours?” she whispered as his hand went to the material of her suit bottom. “Am I just yours? Or will I be theirs as well?”
His hand halted, the pressure on her nipple eased as he dropped his head. He wanted to lie to her. God help him he wanted to lie, but he couldn’t.
“Whichever you want it to be,” he finally whispered, knowing he would never be satisfied but one way. “I won’t force you. Neither will they.”
Her eyes flared. She read the message in his, read the intent behind his words.
“But you’ll try to convince me?” She jerked away as he moved his hands back.
Rising quickly to her feet she adjusted the bathing suit, staring at him as he came to his feet as well.
“You’ll use my body against me, won’t you, Brock? You’ll try to seduce me into it.”
Brock breathed in raggedly, wanting to wipe the hurt from her expression, wanting to assure her she would never have to face the darker side of his sexuality. But he knew she would. He wouldn’t be able to control it, eventually. The ache would become too strong.
“You can’t seduce someone, Sarah, if the desire isn’t there to begin with,” he said, his voice gentle. “If you don’t want it, then you won’t be forced, at any time. If you don’t want it, then you can’t be seduced.”
Her eyes widened. She had wanted him to lie to her, he could see it in her eyes.
“I have no desire to be a camp whore for the August brothers.” Her fists clenched, tears filling her eyes. “Why don’t you just leave, Brock? Just get the hell out of my life and leave me in peace.”
She turned on her heel, rushing for the door. She had to get away from him. Get away from the need, the pain in his eyes, before she gave in. Before her body forced her into promising him whatever he wanted.
CHAPTER TWELVE
He caught her at the door that led from the carport into the house. Half inside it, breathing harshly from an anger she couldn’t understand or define, she lashed out at him in fury as his arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her to a halt just inside the kitchen.
“Stop it, Sarah.” His voice was tight, but incredibly gentle as he avoided her hands as she slapped at him, pinning them to her waist as he pushed her into the house, and kicked the door closed.
“Let me go, damn you.” She was crying. She hated crying.
She knew she was weak, knew she needed him, had wanted him for too damned long. It was the height of insanity to need a man so desperately. Especially this man.
“I can’t let you go, Sarah.” He turned her in his arms, holding her close, pinning her against the door as she struggled against him. “Stop fighting me, darlin’. We can’t get through this if you refuse to talk to me.”
“I can’t do this.” Her hands gripped the front of his shirt, her face pressing into his chest as she fought for breath. “Oh God, Brock. I can’t do this. You don’t understand.”
She couldn’t fight the passion, the need. The terrible overwhelming fear that she would do anything this man asked of her.
“Shh, Sarah-love.” He kissed the top of her head, his hands running over her back in slow, even strokes. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry.” She trembled against him, feeling his erection against her stomach, achingly aware of the big, powerful body that controlled hers so easily. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have started this.”
“If you hadn’t, I would have,” he sighed roughly. “Don’t you know how bad I’ve wanted you? Dammit, Sarah, the taste and feel of you tortured me for years. Remembering it, needing more.”
She shivered at the harsh sound of his voice. Tortured, needy, tormented by the same desires that had haunted her through so many lonely, aching nights.
“You married Mark to hide from me.” He pulled her head back, staring down at her, his gaze accusing. “You ran from me, Sarah, and you hid from me. We could have worked through this. You could have given me a chance.”
“Worked through it?” She questioned him in bemusement. “You wanted me to fuck your brothers. You didn’t want me, you wanted a toy.”
She still remembered the look on Sam’s face as he stood in the connecting doorway. Dark, his eyes filled with lust, with need as he watched his brother between her thighs, listened to the sounds of Brock licking at her hungrily.
“I wanted you,” he growled, his hands clenching in her hair. “All of you, Sarah. Every damned hot, wet inch of that pretty body, I wanted. You were mine. Mine. And you ran from me.”
Panic was welling inside her. She could feel tension thickening the air, and in his eyes, in his avoidance of the subject, she read the truth.
“It’s true,” she whispered, fighting for breath. “That’s what you would have done. You would have tried to share me. I was eighteen years old Brock. I loved you. I loved you until I wanted to die, and you let another man watch—” She shook her head, her body shuddering with reaction, with needs and desires and emotions she could no longer hide, even from herself.
“Sarah.” His voice was achingly tender, but his eyes flared hot and wild at her words. “You have to let me explain.”
She swallowed hard, fighting the fear and her nerves, not to mention the tight knot of panic forming in her throat. She shook her head. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want an explanation. How could he ever make any of it acceptable?
“Marly,” she whispered the name of the woman gossipmongers talked about the most. “She’s the reason the three of you don’t do that together anymore, with other women. What your ranch hands say is true? You share her?”
She watched his eyes, saw them darken as his hips pressed against her in an involuntary thrust. She didn’t scream, she couldn’t. She didn’t rage, she didn’t fight. She rested her head on his chest and she let her tears fall. She had waited all this time, fought the need for so long. How was she supposed to walk away now?
“It’s not like that,” he finally whispered, his voice dark and quiet. “It’s not the way you’re thinking, Sarah.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She pushed out of his arms, surprised that he let her go, and turned and walked through the kitchen and into her living room.
She walked to the wide, bay window that looked out over the prettily landscaped yard. Colorful summer blooms were everywhere, birds and butterflies and even a squirrel or two played through the yard. Brock followed her, but she knew he would. She shivered with reaction. She had promised herself six years ago that she would never let this happen. Never give him a chance to destroy her again. And yet here he was, doing exactly what she had married Mark to avoid.
“I want you to leave.” She fought to swallow past the lump of pain threatening to strangle her. “This won’t work.”
She watched the bleak anger that twisted his face. So much pain. How could he be hurting so badly, so terribly that it seemed like an aura around him?
“I won’t l
eave, Sarah. I won’t let you go now.” He stood behind her, staring at her through the reflection of the glass. “You have to at least give me the chance to explain.”
“How could you ever justify watching another man touch me?” She turned to him, frowning, fighting past the betraying quiver of lust, to the betrayal the thought brought her. Sure, she could fantasize as well as other women, but it didn’t change the fact that he could not share her and still care for her.
He was silent for a long moment, and Sarah had to forcibly still a gasp of protest as his eyes darkened in agony. The pain was so deep, so raw, she wanted to scream for him. He swallowed tightly, then he glanced away from her as he took a deep breath.
“How do you justify complete silence?” She flinched at the grating tone of his voice when he turned back, but still didn’t understand until he continued. “How do you explain that the only time you were allowed to be a brother was when you shared a cup of rice or a drink of water from the same cup or plate? That to save your brother, you were forced to give up your pride, your self-respect and your manhood?”
His body was strung tight. He stared down at her with rage glowing in his eyes. His fists clenched with the agony of whatever memory boiled in his soul.
“What are you saying?” she gasped, horror filling her as his words sank into her mind.
“It’s the way we were trained” he sneered, his voice raspy, so agonized she wanted to scream at him to stop. “We were sent away during our late teens, to a friend of our parents. For training, my father said. We were forced to share everything and always in silence. Our dinner, our glass to drink from, the fork to eat from, and our bodies. If we didn’t do as we were ordered, then one of us was beaten. Never the one who refused, but the one that was innocent, the weakest one. The one that had already suffered too much. We weren’t allowed to speak to each other, and we were monitored constantly. Forced to hurt each other, Sarah, trained to hate each other.”