by Lora Leigh
Sarah swallowed nervously. “My horizons are plenty wide enough to suit me, Brock,” she promised him carefully.
“Too fucking bad.” He pulled her over his body, settling himself into the cushions as he arranged her thighs to straddle him intimately.
Sarah gasped.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never done this.” His look was wickedly sexy.
“Well, Mark and I never experimented much,” she gulped. “So, no. Straight missionary. That was enough.”
“He never ate that sweet pussy?” he asked her, his voice deep, husky. “Never lapped the honey from between your thighs?”
Oh hell, she was in some deep trouble here. She shook her head.
“No. Just you. No one else.”
The beginnings of a smile shaped his lips. For the first time since she had known him, Sarah saw a measure of joy reflected in his eyes.
“Oh Sarah, you have a lot to learn,” he promised her. “What about dildos? Surely you’ve used one.”
She shook her head, her face flaming, then she gasped as he lifted her, lodging the head of his penis between the hot lips of her hungry cunt.
“No dildos huh?” he asked her, considering, though his voice was husky and tight as he slid slowly into her. “I’ll get you one.”
“That’s okay.” She breathed harshly. “Who needs one with you around?”
“I do,” he growled, his hands gripping her hips as he filled her, grinding against her. “I want to teach you how to use it. Watch you fuck yourself with it.”
Sarah whimpered, her womb contracting almost painfully at the erotic words.
“That’s so perverted, Brock.” She was shocked, aroused at the thought.
“So much pleasure, Sarah,” he promised her. “I would watch you, tell you how, let you find the ways of pleasing yourself. “
Her head tossed, her hips jerked as she fought to ride him harder. He held her still, the hands at her hips keeping her locked to him.
“How could that be better…” she gasped, “than this?” She clenched her muscles around him, hearing him groan in pleasure at the small movement.
“It’s a different pleasure,” he promised her, watching her from beneath lowered lids, his eyes glittering with sexual promise. “I promise, baby, you’ll love it.”
His hands loosened on her hips, his thighs bunched as he pulled back, then drove into her. Sarah lost her breath. Her hands braced on his chest, her head tossing in an agony of need and fiery sensations.
“Ride me, Sarah. Like this.” He stilled, his hands moved on her hips again, teaching her how.
She lifted her hips, feeling the glide of silk enclosed steel along her vaginal walls. He stopped her an inch from total retreat.
“Now, lower yourself slowly,” he whispered. “Ride me like that, Sarah, slow and easy until you get a feel for it.”
A feel for it? The feel of it was slowly killing her. She rose by slow degrees, her breath heaving from her throat at the forced reduction in the pace she so loved. She wanted him driving into her, throwing her into climax. This was too much, too many sensations rioting through her body. The slow steady impalement as she lowered herself had her tossing her head, moaning brokenly.
She felt the slow pinch of his thick cock stretching her, filling her. The bulging head flared, pushing past sensitive tissue. It slid slow and easy through the natural lubrication of her body until it lodged, tight and hard at her womb. There, it throbbed against such sensitive flesh that she wanted to scream at the pleasure.
“Oh, Sarah,” his moan sounded awestruck.
She opened her eyes, staring down at him. His face was flushed, his eyes glittering with emotion. So much emotion. So intense, so filled with—adoration?—that it made her heart clench. Did she really do this for him? Make him as wild for the building explosion as she became?
“You like this?” She was surprised. More than surprised, actually.
She rose on him again, watching him grimace as her flesh gripped him, suckled his straining cock.
“No, baby. I don’t like this. I fucking love the hell out of it.” His teeth were clenched hard, the muscles of his neck and shoulders bulging as he fought for control. “You’re killing me with pleasure, and I promise you, I’m a willing damned sacrifice.”
His voice was strained, gasping.
She lowered herself again, a keening wail of excruciating sensation had her nails digging into his hard chest muscles. His hands flexed on her hips, his thighs bunched, lifted, driving his flesh deeper, harder inside her.
“Sarah, baby,” he gasped. “Find that fucking rhythm soon, sugar, before you kill us both.”
She lowered her lids, fighting the need to ride him hard now. Her lips lifted.
“You don’t like this?” she asked him, her voice soft, wondering as she watched him.
“Hell no,” he growled. “Oh shit, Sarah.” She rolled her hips above him, moving languorously as she twisted on the thick intrusion of his cock.
Her stomach clenched, her womb vibrated with shudders of impending orgasm.
“You sure you don’t like it?” she panted, rising up again.
He didn’t give her a chance to torment him further. With a lurch of his hips, a swift motion of his hands on hers, he drove her body onto his, his cock like a battering ram, tearing through her with such a mind numbing intensity of pleasure that she exploded the minute it struck the back of her throbbing pussy.
She screamed, jerked and began to thrust against him mindlessly as she felt his cock explode, spewing his seed deep, deep inside her body, flooding her with the hot release as his arms wrapped around her, dragging her to his heaving chest.
“God. Sarah.” His voice was tortured, emotion spilling through it as his arms spasmed around her body.
Her body continued to tremble, shudder. Small explosions shaking through her as she fought for a measure of control now. It was the most sensual, erotic experience of her life. She was still gasping for breath, still enjoying the small, brutal pulses of orgasmic delight.
Minutes, hours, days later, he shifted her body and allowed her to collapse beside him once again.
“Let me stay and I’ll let you ride my cock again first thing in the morning,” he bargained with a drowsy sigh.
“Get dressed, cowboy.” She yawned, tucking her head more comfortably against the couch cushions. “You’re out of here until I personally call you and ask you to return.”
He sighed deeply.
“Sarah, you forget to call and I’ll tan your hide when I get you naked again,” he promised her, his threat followed by a slow caress over her rounded buttocks.
“I promise. I’ll call, Brock.” She smiled lazily. “Now go home.”
He grunted with grouchy emphasis and rolled until he could find a sitting position.
“Never seen the like, Sarah. Running me off this way.” He snagged his pants from the floor and began to drag them over his legs.
Sarah sat up on the couch, pulling the afghan from the back and wrapping it around her shoulders. Brock dressed in silence, his expression quiet now, thoughtful. When he had his shirt buttoned over his broad chest, he turned to her, watching her out of somber, dark eyes.
“You going to be okay?” He touched her cheek gently. “Don’t worry over the things from the past, Sarah,” he whispered of his abuse. “It’s over.”
Sarah took a hard breath.
“It won’t be over until you can live with it normally, Brock,” she told him gently. “Until then, the bastard has won. Because he’s stolen that from you.”
Brock shrugged. “We survived. We’re sane. He’s dead. That counts as winning to me.”
He rose to his feet, then pulled her up behind him.
“Go onto bed. I’ll lock up as I leave.” He nodded to the stairs. “Don’t wait too long to call me, Sarah. My patience isn’t at its best these days.”
She smiled up at him. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed his swollen lips with a soft movement
.
“Go home, Brock. I’ll call soon.” Her hands tightened on the afghan and she moved to the stairs.
She was almost to her room when she heard him leave. He closed the door soundly and long minutes later she heard his jeep start and pull from the drive. She shook her head, lowered it, and headed for her room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was still dark when Sarah awoke, groggy, uncertain what had disturbed her. She blinked, staring in confusion at the ceiling when she heard it again. The stairs were creaking. Slow, measured steps, but the creak of the wood in the silent house was easily heard.
Her heart jumped in her chest, nearly strangling her with her fear. Brock? Would he attempt to sneak into her bed after she had asked him to leave? To give her time to think? It didn’t seem his style. He would be the one pounding on the door, demanding that she let him in. That she make the choice to allow him to enter. He wouldn’t try to steal in on her while she was asleep. Defenseless.
It wasn’t Mark. She knew the sound of him sneaking up the stairs. She had lived with it for years. She swallowed, nearly strangling on her fear as they creaked again.
She slid silently from the bed, grabbing the cordless phone from the cradle and crept across the room. She dialed nine one one quickly, knowing the call would go directly into the sheriff’s office.
“Sheriff.” Joshua Martinez answered the phone on the first ring.
It took long seconds for her to speak. Panic welled in her chest, made her stomach boil with fear. She was shaking, naked and fighting to hold onto her control
“Joshua, it’s Sarah. Sarah Tate.” Her voice shook. Another step was breached. Nearly to the top.
“Sarah. You okay?” Joshua was instantly on the alert, his voice cool, precise.
“I need you over here, someone’s in the house.” Her teeth were nearly chattering as she heard the last step reached. “Hurry. Hurry.”
“Sarah, I’m on the way. You stay on the line with Mary here.” She heard him lay the phone down, the rush of feet. She heard a footfall outside her bedroom door.
“Sarah, hon. Give Josh five minutes. He’ll be right there. Do you know who’s there, Sarah? Sarah, talk to me honey. Is everything still okay?”
Sarah couldn’t speak. The steps paused outside her door. Clutching the phone to her stomach, she slid across the floor, sliding quickly beneath her bed as the door began to inch open. She couldn’t breath. She could barely hear Mary’s frantic voice yelling through the phone pressed to her breast. She clearly saw the black sneakers that entered the room. She heard sirens in the distance, and knew Joshua was coming. What if he didn’t make it on time?
“Sarah, you’re in here.” The voice was mechanical, distorted. “Come out, come out, sweeting, wherever you are.”
She couldn’t breathe. She was terrified he could hear her heart pounding in her chest, threatening to smother her with terror. She shook with dread; with the impotence of realizing she was totally at the mercy of a stranger until the sheriff arrived. A stranger intent on causing her harm. She could feel the sick premonition of danger in the pit of her stomach, the stench of her own fear. Her hand covered her mouth as she fought the screams building in her chest. Dear God, why hadn’t she let Brock stay?
“Sarah, I’m gonna get you.” He didn’t move from the door but his voice wrapped around her with sinister threads of malice. “Come on out, bitch, let me see the Augusts boys’ new plaything.” The voice was soft, amused, yet filled with hatred.
He spoke the August name as though it were a curse. A vile, tarnished word that he had to force past his lips. Tremors of terror shook her body. She clenched her teeth hard to keep them from chattering, her eyes closing tightly as she fought the reality of this danger.
“Come on, whore. I know he’s fucked you. Let me show you what a man can do.” Sarah heard the sneer, the growl of obsessive loathing in his voice.
The sirens were getting closer. Josh would be here soon, she assured herself, fighting the screams welling in her throat. Just a few more minutes, that was all.
“Whore, did you call the cops on me?” Fury filled his voice now as the sounds began to fill the night. “I bet you did, didn’t you? That’s okay, bitch. You’ll pay for that too. Get ready, whore. To die.”
She screamed as the shots blasted through the room, the vibrations to the bed, the maniacal laughter as feet pounded down the hall and out of sight. The phone fell to the floor as she felt a burning pain across the top of her shoulder, felt the fear explode in her head like dynamite. She pushed her way out from under the bed dragging the comforter from the bed around her body. She shook so hard she couldn’t stand, she could only scoot in jerky movements to the opened door. She hid behind it quickly, her hand clamped over her mouth as she fought her hysterical screams. The shriek of the siren was in her yard, in her head. Raised voices, curses, the sound of gunfire echoing around the house.
She pressed herself closer into the corner, clutching her shoulder, wondering why it hurt so bad. She was cold. Or was she hot? She knew for a fact she was on the verge of hysteria.
“Brock,” her whimper shocked her. The need for him terrified her. She wouldn’t be safe again until Brock found her.
* * * * *
The ringing of the phone brought Brock from a restless sleep, lending ire to the growling curse that escaped his throat. Hell, he had hardly closed his eyes and already the damned phone was ringing?
“What?” He pulled the phone to his ear, checking the hands of the clock blearily.
“Brock August.” The official voice asked without hesitation.
“Yeah.” He frowned, hearing raised voices, imperative shouts.
“This is Sheriff Martinez. Josh.” He and Josh had been friends in school. A long time ago.
Then it hit him.
“Sarah? Is she okay?” He was out of the bed and jerking his jeans from the chair before the words were out of his mouth.
“Hell if I know.” Frustration edged the sheriff’s voice. “ She won’t let anyone check her. She’s been shot though, I can tell you that much. We’re at the house. She’s refusing treatment and damned near hysterical. I need you to get here as soon as possible.”
“I’m bringing the chopper. I can land in her back yard.” There was no question of it. It more than an hour’s drive away. He would kill himself before he made it there.
“So I figured,” Josh informed him. “Just get here. She needs treatment and she’s in shock. And I don’t know if there are any other injuries.”
Brock’s heart jumped to his throat.
“Meaning?” he asked.
“Meaning all she’s dressed in is a comforter she has wrapped around her body and she refuses to let any of us near her. I don’t know, man. But she keeps asking for you, so I called you.”
“I’ll be there.” He disconnected. “Cade!” He threw open the door, yelling his brother’s name as he jerked on his boots.
Seconds later both Sam and Cade were in their doorways.
“Someone attacked Sarah. I’m heading to town.” He rushed down the hallway.
“Sam, get the jeep ready. Marly get dressed.” Cade called back to Marly.
“I’m taking the chopper.”
“Then you’ll wait on one of us.” Cade caught him as he made to pass.
“Think, Brock. Five minutes. That’s all. Sam can go out in the chopper with you and Marly and I will follow in the jeep. Don’t be a fool.”
Cade’s expression was savage, imperative. Brock knew Sarah was his soul, and he knew that made her more than important to his brothers as well. They had no choice but to fight to protect her now, for it made her their heart.
“Get going then,” he growled. “Hurry up, Sam, I’ll have the chopper warming.”
He didn’t want to spare five minutes but hell, he knew it would take that long to get the helicopter ready to fly. He ran from the house, his heart pounding, fear clogging his throat. She was hurt. It was all he could think about. He
had to get to her, and he had to get to her now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Brock wanted to kill when he saw her. She was huddled in the corner of the bedroom, a bloody comforter wrapped around her, surrounded by enough damned men to send his possessive instincts into overdrive.
Her head was lowered, her silken honey colored hair falling around her, mussed and tangled, stained red on her left shoulder.
“This is how we found her.” Josh stood back as Brock entered the room. “She only shakes her head and cries when we try to treat her, Brock. We have to find out how bad she’s been hurt.”
Brock ignored him. Fury, raw and ripe traveled through his body, made him want to scream out in rage.
“Get a handle, bro. Doc’s on his way here.” Sam laid his hand on Brock’s shoulder warningly. “Cade was calling him as we left the ranch. Just help her pull it together.”
Brock shrugged his hand away.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” he growled at the EMT’s and various deputies huddled around her. “Dammit Josh, why are you letting them crowd her this way?”
Her head came up. Son of a bitch. He was going to kill someone. He could feel the rage traveling through his system, heating his blood. She was white as a sheet, her whisky colored eyes nearly black with shock, dark circles lying thick beneath them. She was on the verge of hysterical collapse and all the fucking morons around her could do was try to get closer to her.
“Brock?” Husky from her tears, her fear, her voice shattered him.
“Get the hell out of my way.” He pushed at a reluctant EMT, going to his knees in front of her huddled form.
“God, Sarah-love,” he whispered desperately, his hand touching her white cheek. “Are you okay, baby?”
“Bastard shot me.” She tried to smile, but her lips trembled in violent reaction to the attempt.
“Is that all?” His hands went to the comforter at her shoulder, pulling it back enough to see the long, jagged gash in her shoulder.
