Sarah's Seduction

by Lora Leigh

  Closing time came, and still he sat there. Everyone else was gone, the library deserted, the door sign posted.

  “It’s time to leave, Mr. August.” Sarah kept her voice polite, low. “You’re making me run late.”

  He folded his paper carefully.

  “Have dinner with me.” His voice was silky, carefully covering the underlying thread of sensuality. He wasn’t fooling her for a minute.

  “Not tonight. I have things to do.”

  “Like what?” He tilted his head questioningly.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Walk my dog—“

  “You don’t have a dog.”

  “Feed my cat—“

  “Sarah, you don’t have a cat.” And his patience was wearing thin if the tone of his voice was any indication.

  “Clean the basement?” She gave him a wide-eyed innocent look. She wasn’t about to go anywhere with him, not until she was a little less weak. A little less needy for his touch.

  “Why are you so scared of me? Do you think I’d hurt you, Sarah?” He leaned forward in his chair, watching her quietly.

  His eyes. Shadows twisted in them, sadness a permanent part of their murky depths. Why couldn’t she get past wanting to erase the pain in his eyes?

  “I think you could destroy me, Brock,” she answered him honestly. There was no point in lying. “I’ve spent six years paying for one mistake. I don’t want to pay for another.”

  “And I waited for six years for you to admit to wanting me.” His voice lowered, husky and filled with desires she didn’t even want to guess at. “I don’t want to settle for just one night, Sarah.”

  She couldn’t hold his gaze. Pain seized her heart when she saw the wanting in his eyes, the bleak acceptance that she was turning him away.

  “One night is all I had to give, Brock,” she whispered, standing stiff. Still.

  He sighed roughly, dragging his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration.

  “I won’t accept that. You won’t even let me explain, Sarah. There are things you don’t know.”

  “And they won’t change my mind.” She didn’t want to know why she wanted to weep at the expression in his eyes. “I told you. It’s more than I can handle. If I had known you waited for me. If I had known what you wanted from me. I wouldn’t have gone to that bar.”

  “Then I would have come to you.” He rose from his chair, stepping close, ignoring her when she stepped back nervously. “I was tired of waiting, Sarah.”

  “I was married. You didn’t even know about the divorce.” Censure edged her words, despite her determination to hold it inside.

  He smiled, a small, crooked little quirk of his lips that broke her heart. That was his smile, and there was no joy in the gesture.

  “It didn’t matter,” he whispered, coming around behind her, bending close so his breath feathered her ear. “I didn’t care anymore, Sarah. Need for you was killing me.”

  “And you’ve had me.” She gasped as the clip holding her hair up was released, allowing the thick strands to fall to her shoulders. “Stop that, Brock.”

  “I haven’t had enough, Sarah,” he growled, his hands enclosing her hips.

  Sarah breathed out in a harsh motion. His hands at her waist were hard and warm. His breath at her ear sent shivers over her skin. She wanted to turn to him so desperately she could barely stop herself from doing it.

  “It has to be enough.” She fought for breath, her hands clasping his. She intended on pushing him away in just a minute.

  “Was it enough for you?” She felt his erection at her back as he moved against her. “Don’t you want to scream again, Sarah? Explode around me while I thrust my cock deep in your tight little cunt. Feel me come inside you. I want to come inside you, Sarah. I want to feel you milking me, squeezing my cock as we explode together.”

  Her face flamed, her vagina ached.

  “No,” she lied.

  He chuckled, the sound a velvet rasp at her ear.

  “Lying to me or to yourself, baby?” he asked her, gentle, soft, his voice like a caress over her body as his fingers began to smooth over her waist.

  Sarah hated the light, gray-blue silk of her dress that kept his fingers from touching her skin.

  “This isn’t going to work.” She gasped for breath. Damn him, why didn’t she have any resistance against him? “You know it won’t, Brock. You know why.”

  “I know you won’t let me talk to you.” His teeth nipped at the skin of her neck in an erotic bite.

  Sarah whimpered. It felt so good. She wanted more.

  He bit her again, experimentally. A shudder wracked her body, her muscles weakened, flowing against him.

  “Sarah, I want you. Bad.” He licked the small wound, whispering against her skin. “Let me inside you again. Let me show you how much I need you.”

  She could feel how much he needed her. His cock throbbed beneath his jeans, searing into her lower back. His hands moved along her waist as he pulled her behind the high counter separating her work area from the main library.

  “Brock,” she protested as he turned her in his arms, lifting her to the desk as he moved quickly between her thighs.

  She stared up at him, wide-eyed, uncertain in the face of such strong sexual intent.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His hands clasped her face, his head lowering, his lips sipping at hers. “You make me crazy, Sarah, remembering how hot and wet you get for me. How your screams echo around me.”

  “Brock, please.” Her hands gripped his, her lips opening, seeking more of the light touches he bestowed.

  “Please what, baby?” He licked her lips, making her heart stutter in excitement. “Tell me what you want.”

  He pressed his hips against her, grinding his cock in the vee of her thighs.

  “You’re taking me over,” she cried out, her hands gripping his shirt now, fighting for strength.

  “I want to take you, period,” he growled. “Right here, right now, Sarah.”

  “Oh God. Someone will see.” But she couldn’t deny him as his hands pushed her skirt up her thighs, smoothing over her flesh, heating her.

  His hands clenched at the bend of her legs.

  “Ashamed of me, Sarah?” he asked her, his voice expressionless.

  “Of you?” Surprise filled her. “Not you, Brock. Of being seen. Please, I don’t do this. I don’t want everyone seeing me.”

  She felt the heat in her face, knowing gossip would go wild. Sarah Tate, seen in the arms of Brock August, which wasn’t that bad. The bad part would be if he were seen taking her.

  He moved back fractionally.

  “Let me take you home then. Let me make love to you, Sarah.”

  He didn’t release her, didn’t give her room to think. His voice pitched low, his expression filled with male arousal, a male plea as old as time.

  She wanted to. She wanted to so bad it was a physical ache centered hot and sharp between her thighs, deep inside her body.

  “It will only make it worse.” She was desperate to make him see reason. “Don’t you understand, Brock? I can’t accept what you’ll want from me. I can’t do it.”

  “You don’t understand, baby.” He ran his fingers over her cheek, his thumb glancing her lips. “ I just want to touch you. Hold you. That’s all I want, Sarah. Just you and me. No one else.”

  “What about later?” She pushed away from him. If she didn’t get away from him, she would have no resistance left. “What will you want from me next, Brock?”

  She saw what he wanted in his eyes. They darkened at the thought, flaring with a heat that nearly seared her.

  “Why are you so scared?” He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her with those hot eyes. “It seems to me you’re more scared that you’ll want it, Sarah.”

  Sarah ignored the hot flare of guilt that surged through her. That wasn’t it, she assured herself. She didn’t want it. And she sure as hell knew she couldn’t h
andle it.

  “You’re insane,” she burst out in shock. “That’s not true.”

  “I want you to remember one thing, Sarah, and remember it well,” he warned her with pseudo-tenderness. “I didn’t come looking for you. You came looking for me. You gave up the right to deny that you suspected what was coming.”

  “I wanted one night,” she protested. “That was all.”

  “That’s bullshit.” His hand sliced through the air as he advanced on her once again. “You aren’t a one night stand, Sarah. You never were. I knew that six years ago and I knew it the other night. Don’t start pretending now.”

  He pulled her back into his arms, giving her no chance to fight, to protest. His lips came down on hers, his big body backing her against the wall, out of sight of windows or doors as he lifted her against him.

  His tongue speared between her lips, tangling with hers as she moaned, nearly mindless with the addictive taste. Her hands clenched at his shoulders, her legs spreading willingly for the hard thigh inserting between it.

  “You’re wet,” he accused, raising his head to stare down at her angrily. “So wet it’s already sinking through my jeans, Sarah. Don’t try to tell me you don’t want me.”

  Sarah felt tears fill her eyes. Her emotions were in such chaos, her fears filling every part of her. He was forceful, dominant; he would destroy her life if she let him.

  “I do want you,” she whispered, feeling a single tear fall down her cheek. “I want you so much I ache with it, Brock. But I’m scared. I’m too scared to face what I know will happen.”

  He stared down at her, tormented, tortured.

  “I can only give you who I am, Sarah,” he whispered. “Everything I am. And everything inside me screams out for you.”

  Sarah trembled at his confession, at the hot desire in his look, the feel of his hard, hot body against hers. She wanted him, more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

  “Please, leave me alone,” she begged him. “If you really do care about me, you’ll just leave me alone.”

  He shook his head. A sigh heaved from his chest.

  “For now,” he whispered. “Only for now, Sarah. I won’t be able to stay away for long.”

  He turned and walked away, leaving her the peace she pleaded for. But there was no peace. Her heart broke for him, for the lonely pain she saw in his eyes, for her own needs eating her up inside. But she knew; knew to the bottom of her soul, if she didn’t stay away from him, then she would end up giving him exactly what he wanted. Anything he wanted. Anything he needed to still the pain inside him.

  She pressed her lips together, tamping down the rising cry forming in her chest. The one that would beg him to stay. The one that would plead for him to make her understand. The one screaming out silently that he touch her again, that he ignore her protests and take her, hard and fast, wiping away her inhibitions.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He was back the next day. Not at work, but coming up beside her as she jogged along the deserted sidewalk where she took her run every morning. She nearly stumbled as he came along beside her. He was dressed in sweat pants and leather jogging shoes. It was the first time she had seen him out of his boots and jeans. She had wondered over the years if he owned anything else.

  His black hair was tussled, his muscular arms and chest bare.

  She rolled her eyes, ignoring him, thinking he would give up or maybe run out of breath before long. But he didn’t. He jogged easily beside her, not speaking, keeping a careful distance, only glancing at her occasionally.

  She jogged past the little street she lived on, then headed along the concrete path that led through the deserted maze of juniper stands and dust covered dunes. The morning was warming up and she could feel the glaze of perspiration that began covering her skin. Not too much further ahead was a rest area, a few park benches and a water fountain.

  She was panting when she reached it, but Brock was barely winded. He walked beside her as she paced around the shaded area, catching her breath, letting her body cool down.

  “I bet you could fuck all night,” he mused, his voice pulsing with lust. “You just jogged over three miles without stopping. Stamina, Sarah, means a lot.” He flashed her a wicked look. He was pushing her on purpose.

  “What are you doing here?” she bit out, walking over to the water fountain.

  She bent to the stream of water that came on a touch. The stream was cold, refreshing. After drinking, she held her cupped hand under the arched spray, then splashed it on her face.

  “Courting you.” The information had her turning slowly, raising to her full height and staring at him in shock.

  “Courting me?” she questioned him.

  “Yeah. You know. Getting to know you, getting you used to me.”

  “Seducing me.” She nodded. “That’s not courting, Brock. It’s seduction.”

  “Baby, I already seduced you. I keep trying to get you to remember that.” He shook his head at her, his expression patient, tolerant. “Now, we’re getting to know each other.”

  He gave her that boyish, endearing grin that set her heart to racing. The one that said he knew he was winning, but was willing to play it her way for a while. The one that made her entire body ache for his touch.

  She looked around the secluded area, wondering if there would be witnesses if she decided to brain him out of sheer frustration.

  “Brock, I know plenty about you. You’re a local commodity, remember?” she said bitterly.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes on her.

  “So, you want to be the one that got away?” he asked her curiously. “I can understand that, sugar. Really, I can, but there’s such a thing as cutting off your own nose to spite your pretty face. There are things I could do for you. Real good things.” His voice lowered suggestively.

  “I’m going to cut something off if you don’t—“ A gasp escaped her as he pulled her into his arms, his lips coming down on hers with all the power and erotic sensuality he possessed. And he possessed a lot.

  Sarah was nothing if not susceptible to it. His tongue speared past her lips and hers met it heatedly. Her arms wrapped instantly around his broad shoulders, her breasts swelling, her nipples beading at the heated feel of those hard muscles. Her thighs parted as he bent, lifted her close and drove his swollen cock into the vee of her thighs.

  “Damn, you’re more addicting than drugs,” he swore as he backed up, sitting on the bench then dragging her body over his, her thighs surrounding him, her cunt cushioning his erection through the layers of cloth that separated them.

  She arched in his arms as his lips went down her neck, caressing the mounds of her breasts above the scooped neckline of the spandex running top. His hands were on her bare waist, his fingers teasing the waistband of the running shorts.

  He held her close, his tongue delving into her cleavage, licking at her roughly as her hands speared into his hair, her hips grinding against him as he thrust toward her.

  “Yeah, ride me like that, Sarah,” he growled roughly. “Just like that, baby.”

  He was panting along with her now. His hands were work roughened and sensual along her bare back, his lips and tongue licking at the small beads of perspiration that dotted the upper mounds of her breasts.

  “Don’t talk.” She lowered her head, her lips running over his brow, his cheek. “Don’t talk, Brock, just kiss me.”

  His lips took hers. Her hair fanned around them as they ate at each other. Sarah rocked against him, feeling the secretion, the preparation of her body as his cock burned through her shorts and panties, his hand cupping her breast above the top, thumb raking the sensitive bead of her nipple.

  She didn’t know how much longer she could stand the torment. She didn’t know if she could protest, or would even want to if he stripped there and drove into her.

  His hands moved down her body, cupping her buttocks. They clenched in the smooth curves, lifting her closer as he groaned into
her mouth. His tongue was like an invader, a conqueror. His cock was a steel hard spike of heat she was dying to impale herself on. He was the worst sort of warrior. A seductive, addictive taste of lust in its purest form. He had no inhibitions, no lack of eagerness. He would give her whatever she wanted and more, then push her to the very edge of depravity. She knew it. She accepted it. And there didn’t seem to be a damned thing she could do to fight it. She was drowning in him, on the verge of begging him to take her now, this minute. To drive hard and fast in her body, making her scream.

  Her cunt clutched emptily, a pulsating plea leaking from between the lips as she moaned into his mouth. His cock pressed against her, teasing her, tormenting her. She wanted him. Wanted more and wanted it now.

  “Enough,” he growled, pulling back from her, staring into her eyes. “Not here, Sarah. I won’t let you off that easy.”

  She breathed hard, fighting to drag enough air into her starved lungs as she stared down at him.

  “What do you want?” she whispered, tormented with the needs of her own body. “What more do you want, Brock?”

  “I want it all,” he told her desperately. “All, Sarah. I won’t have you for just one more night and then have the fight begin again. If I take you again, you have to understand, it won’t end.”

  Shock entered her expression.

  “Why do you want this?” Her whispered cry was dragged from the depths of her soul. “Why do you want a woman who’s terrified of what you want from her, Brock?”

  “Because she’s the only woman I’ve dreamed of for six years,” he bit out, pressing his cock against her again. “The woman whose image I jack off to on a nightly basis and I wake up searching for each night.”

  Sarah felt her face flush at his guttural admission. Her image of him, his eyes closed, his cock hard and straining, enclosed in his hand, became an image of her, leaning over him, taking the bulging head into her mouth. She wanted to taste him. Wanted to feel him thrusting past her lips, stroking clear to her throat as she laved the hard flesh with her tongue, felt him jerk, the hot release of his seed splashing into her mouth.