“No one can see, Sarah,” he promised her. “Just sit here a minute, that’s all.”
His fingers moved again to the edge of her panties, burrowing under them, touching the soft curls that shielded the hot, wet folds of her feminine flesh. Sarah’s eyes fluttered.
“Watch me, Sarah,” the order was rough, growling in intensity. “Don’t close your eyes. Watch me.
Her eyes met his. A gasping moan escaped her throat. His dark face was set in lines of concentrated desire, the edge of his control reflected in the dark depths of his pupils.
She felt his fingers, coated now with the creamy essence of her need. Her moisture lay thick and hot along the lips of her cunt as it flowed from the hot depths of her vagina.
“Damn, you’re wet,” he growled. “How much wetter can you get, darlin’?”
Sarah knew she could get much wetter. She did often, thinking about his touch, his kisses. When her fingers stole to her hot flesh, she dreamed of Brock, his touch, his possession, and she got much wetter.
“Brock, please—” she pleaded, snared by his eyes, by the fingers entering the narrow cleft he caressed.
Was he punishing her? Would he tease her here, then leave her as she had left him, begging for more?
“I’m going to fuck you, Sarah,” he told her as his fingers moved slowly over the drenched lips of her quivering cunt. “But I won’t be left begging again, do you understand me?”
She wasn’t able to answer. Her eyes widened, she gasped, moaned. Where she was empty, she was suddenly filled, stretched, long broad fingers were testing her, plunging deep as the hand at the back of her neck kept it from falling back in ecstasy.
“I wish you could see how pretty you are, trying to hide what I’m doing, all flushed and shy and aroused.” His fingers moved deeper, spreading her, testing the tight, inner recess of her body.
“Brock,” she gasped his name, unable to say more as her flesh clenched over his fingers, drenching them further.
“So wet and ready for me.” A smile tipped his hard lips.
She whimpered in need as his fingers retreated, pulling away from her, leaving her gasping, nearly begging him for more. Then slowly, his movements teasing, taunting, he filled her once again. Her nails bit into his arm, her heart raced out of control, making breathing more than difficult. Small whimpering moans escaped her throat, helpless desire flooding her system, washing over his fingers to drench the silk of her panties. Each time he retreated she felt empty, where she had been filled before. Achingly aware of the brief moments where the edge of release taunted her, made her reach, yearn for more. Then she was filled again, pushed ever close to the mind consuming moment where she knew her body would explode into a pleasure so intense, so violent it would shatter her sanity for those brief moments.
“Will you leave with me, Sarah?” he asked her softly. “Right now. We’ll leave. Go wherever you want. But when we get there, I’m going to rip those panties off you and thrust so hard inside that tight, wet pussy that you’ll scream out your orgasm.”
Her vagina spasmed. Sarah felt the betraying muscles clench in hunger at the vivid images that hit her brain. Brock, rising over her, the thick expanse of his erection pounding into her. She fought for breath. She was so close to orgasm right now that she could feel her cunt grasping in an anguished plea for it. Her juices trickled over his fingers, making her inner body slick, accessible to whatever he desired to do to her.
“Yes.” The betraying sigh was so filled with longing that Sarah knew she would writhe in shame later.
His eyes narrowed, his own breathing rough now as he watched her.
“Where?” he asked her, his voice hard as his fingers slowly pulled completely from her, then plunged home forcibly.
Sarah bit her lip, fighting a scream of pure, electrified sensation. Her hands gripped the edge of the table in desperation, her thighs quivered with the hot flash of impending release. She gasped, whimpered. Tears came to her eyes as the pulsating demand for more had her almost begging. She wanted to beg. She wanted to plead with him, here, now.
“My house.” She saw the surprise flare in his eyes. “My bed.”
He smiled slow and sure, approval reflecting in his expression. His fingers pulled free of her body with a slow, regretful motion. He carefully tucked the silk of her panties back over her protesting cunt, watching her intently as he did so. He stood to his feet; a slow, graceful movement that made her breath catch in her throat. Then he was holding his hand out to her, watching her carefully. She placed her hand in his, allowing him to draw her to her feet, then lead her slowly from the bar and into the starry night.
His hand rode low on her back, never breaking contact with her. His broad chest brushed against her as they walked, she had never been so aware of another man’s body next to her. Even years ago, he had done this to her. Made her frighteningly aware of her femininity, her weakness and his strength.
“Did you bring your car?” he asked her as he led her into the dark parking lot. He kept his hand at her back, moving her to the jeep with the trademark August Ranch logo on the side.
“No. Cab.” She could barely speak; the need pulsed so heavy in her body.
When they moved to the side of the jeep, she gasped harshly as he suddenly turned her, pressing her into the side of the vehicle.
“Six years,” he bit out, lifting her against him as his head lowered. “Six fucking years, Sarah.”
His voice was tormented, his lips were hot, hard as they covered hers, his tongue sinking into her mouth as he wedged his erection hard against the soft pad of her cunt.
Sarah’s self-control was never at its best with Brock. She cried into his kiss, her hands locking desperately into his hair as she fed on his passion. Their tongues twined together, licking at each other, groaning in their need. He ground his pelvis against her, his cock a hard, throbbing heat beneath the jeans that separated them.
“I could take you here,” he growled. “I should.”
His lips and teeth were nipping at her jaw, then her neck.
“I should rip those panties from you and fuck you now before you have a chance to beg me not to.” His voice was rough, hungry. Sarah had never heard such a sensual sound in her life.
She moved against him, her head falling back as his lips went to the neckline of her dress, caressing the swollen mounds of her breasts. She didn’t care. He could take her anywhere he wanted to, it didn’t matter as long as she got his cock inside her, deep, hard, sating the hunger that had tormented her for so long.
“So soft, Sarah.” His raspy voice was a low, agonized groan. “So soft and sweet. God baby, if you’re not serious about this, tell me now. Tell me, Sarah, because I don’t know if I can stop later.”
He raised his head to stare down at her, the dark, gray-blue eyes were heavy lidded, his face shadowed, his breathing rough.
Sarah raised her hand to touch his lips, feeling the exciting warmth, the swollen curves that tempted her as nothing else could.
“Take me home, Brock,” she whispered. “Take me home to my bed. I want you there with me, all night.”
The silence of the night was filled with nothing now but their harsh breaths, their needs.
“I won’t let you go tonight,” he growled. “All night, Sarah. I’ll keep my cock buried in you all night long.”
She took a deep, hard breath. “The night is moving fast, Brock. If we waste any more time, that won’t be for long.”
He moved fast. He jerked the door to the jeep open and helped her quickly inside before closing her door carefully and moving quickly to his own. The jeep started and within seconds he was pulling quickly from the driveway.
Heavy intent lined his expression, tautened his powerful body. They rode in silence, and as each minute drew them closer to her house, Sarah realized the ache in her body only grew. Grew until it was a hunger, a need, something she was terrified she would never be free of.
CHAPTER THREE
Maybe it
was the beer. Maybe it was the fact that today she had signed away the last six years of her life. She had finally convinced Mark to sign the divorce papers. Waiting until he was furious, outraged at the fact he believed he had finally gone through the last penny of her inheritance. He wasn’t aware he had only gone through the portion bequeathed to her by her mother. Or maybe it was the fact that Brock was so dangerous, so sexual, so intensely male that she just couldn’t forget, nor resist his touch any longer. She had spent her adult life so far fighting the attraction, the need, until she was weak, starved for his kiss and his touch as she had never starved for anything.
Whatever the reason, Sarah found herself letting them both into her home late that night, and trying to stem the attack of nerves that left her hands shaking. Could she satisfy him? Of course, she knew it wasn’t possible. But she knew she would try. She knew she had to.
“You’re trembling.” Brock August took the keys from her fingers and laid them on the small antique desk just inside the door.
Sarah shrugged. Why was she shaking? It wasn’t like she was a virgin with her first man. Or was she? Brock August was definitely not in her league, so wouldn’t that qualify as a cherry of sorts? She stifled her runaway laughter at that thought.
“I’m not used to bringing men home with me,” she finally sighed as she turned and faced him. Damn, he was gorgeous.
Sensual knowledge glittered in his eyes, sexual intent lit the banked fires that were said to burn hot and bright. Rumors of his sexual prowess, his carnal desires had been running rampant through Madison for years. Sarah was under no illusions that she could hold this man’s attention longer than it would take for him to climax and walk back out of her life. But the illusion he gave her satisfied her need to believe, just for a little while.
“Women perhaps?” He angled his head as he asked the question, watching her curiously.
Sarah felt the heat that seared her face at his question.
“No,” she bit out. “Not women. Why would you ask me something like that?”
He sighed, a small smile quirking his lips.
“You are a very beautiful woman, Sarah. There are no rumors of you taking lovers, or wild weekends, despite your husband’s infidelities. I was merely curious if you had a female ‘friend’ instead.” He stressed the friend part. The look in his eyes said the thought would do little to dampen his desire. Sarah had a feeling it would only heighten it.
She shook her head. “No lovers, male or female.” She nearly choked on the words as he began to crowd her slowly against the wall. He was big and broad, hot and hard. Her hands flattened on the tight muscles of his stomach as he pressed against her, feeling them clench, tauten in anticipation.
“You have one now,” he whispered, his hands going to her hips, his fingers testing the flesh there. “Or at least, you will have if you don’t shake yourself to death first.”
He was almost smiling at her. His full lips were tilted in a sort of half grin, his expression was patient, if a bit amused. He was so handsome he took her breath.
“I didn’t expect you to still be interested,” she said a bit desperately, staring up at him, wondering at the sudden flare of intensity in his eyes. “You’re very much out of my league, Brock. Then and now.”
“There’s a class system, then?” he asked her gently as his head lowered, his lips smoothing over her jaw line as her breath caught in her throat.
“Just for you and your brothers,” she gasped weakly.
His lips were warm, his breath moist and caressing as a hand framed her face, tilting it so he could stroke his lips under her jaw. His soft laughter raced through her blood stream, pooling between her thighs as the muscles clenched in arousal. She couldn’t believe Brock August was touching her. That his mouth was sipping at her skin as though he found the taste of her pleasant.
Quiet, unassuming Sarah Tate had drawn the interest of this man, for this night, once again. She could barely comprehend it. But he was definitely here, holding her, one hand caressing her hip above the light cotton of her sun dress, the other holding her neck lightly as he tilted her head so he could experiment with the soft skin beneath her jaw.
She was shivering with the pleasure. She couldn’t contain her gasps, her little whimpers of delight as his tongue reached out and stroked her skin. She couldn’t stop her hips from lifting against him when he pressed his jean-covered erection against the softness of her lower belly. She couldn’t stop her strangled cry when his lips finally covered hers heatedly.
He took her mouth as though he needed her taste to survive. His lips moved over hers, his tongue stroking past them, tangling with hers as he groaned against them. Sarah’s hands rose to his shoulders, her nails bit into the soft shirt he wore as she pressed her breasts desperately against his chest. His kiss was addicting, the taste of his lips, his tongue like a dark, seductive liquor.
His body, hard and carefully controlled, moved against hers. The muscles were tense, his hands moving her. His kiss overpowered, washed over her with darting shafts of electric sizzles throughout her body. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She wanted to relish each moment of it. Every touch, every kiss. Oh God, was he groaning like that because her touch pleased him?
She stroked her fingers over the side of his neck again, gasping as he bent his knees and drove his hips against the vee of her thighs, his moan dark. Dangerous. Like an animal anticipating the coming meal. The sound exhilarated her, made her bolder, more confident. She had spent too many years in a sexual void. Mark’s infidelities had ruled out sex with him. His claim that she was frigid, that her body did nothing to excite him, had left her too unsure to seek another lover. Until now. Until the dreams and the need and the sexual cravings had pushed her further than her fragile control could bear.
Brock’s lips moved from hers and swept over her jaw again. He asked for nothing. He took, he stroked over her, claiming her, stealing any resistance she may have thought to have. She angled her head, desperate to taste the tanned flesh of his neck as his mouth ate at her skin. Her tongue stroked and he stilled, a shudder wracking his body.
“I’m sorry.” She drew back, suddenly frightened. Why had he stopped? What had she done wrong?
“Sorry?” He was breathing roughly as stared at her. “Why are you sorry? Damn, Sarah-love, why did you stop?”
“You liked that?” She couldn’t stop her incredulous whisper. Mark had hated to be touched on his neck.
Brock’s face was sexually flushed, his eyes glittering behind heavily lashed lids.
“I don’t know,” he growled. “Do it again, for a long time, so I can decide.”
She saw the gentle teasing in his eyes and moaned in longing. He bent close again, rubbing his neck against her chin, and it was all the encouragement she needed. Her lips rubbed over the heated flesh of his neck, her tongue licking delicately as she savored the taste of his skin, her teeth nipping at his flesh, hearing him groan deep and low as his hands roved over her back, her hips, then began to draw the material of her dress to her thighs.
His taste intoxicated her. She couldn’t get enough. Those strong fingers seared her flesh as he stroked the skin of her outer thigh, and the way his thigh tucked itself between the bared flesh of hers sent a feminine thrill of sexual heat pulsing through her body. She felt fevered, each taste of him making her crazier by the second as her mouth moved along his neck, her fingers pulling at his shirt frantically as she fought to taste more of him. His chest. She needed to stroke her tongue over the hard muscles of his chest, test and taste the resiliency of his skin.
“Sarah-love,” he growled as her fingers fought with the buttons of his shirt. She trembled, shaking so hard she couldn’t manage to release the slippery little devils from their mooring. “Easy, baby. We have all night. It’s okay.”
“I can’t wait,” she cried out, mortally ashamed of the clawing need that had her humping his thigh with tight, desperate movements.
It had been so long since she
had known a man’s touch. Had she known a man’s touch after Brock’s, all those years ago? Her husband had never made her feel this way. The touch of his hands on her body had been moist, not firm and dry and work calloused. She was burning alive, crying out as she fought desperately to release the burning tightness in her lower body. The harsh, driving ache that made her aware of her own emptiness, the ache in her clit, and the desperate rush of moisture soaking through her panties.
She felt the perspiration that dotted her skin, the sudden fullness of her breasts as his hands whispered over them. Oh God, he was releasing the small buttons, his movements deft and sure as the edges fell apart and her full breasts were revealed. She closed her eyes, terrified of seeing the same disappointment she had seen in Mark’s eyes. Her body bucked. She cried out, her fingers clenching at his shoulders as she felt the heated moisture of his mouth on her nipples.
It was too much. She fought for air as the little bud hardened to the point of pain. She fought to still the racing of her heart, but the scrape of his teeth wouldn’t allow it. She was desperate for him. Dying, aching inside unlike anything she had known in her life. If he didn’t take her soon she knew she would die.
“Bedroom,” he growled as he moved to the next breast, covering it, nipping at the sensitive bud as she arched in his arms, her hands holding him tight to her.
Who needed a bedroom? Her head fell back against the wall as his thigh ground against the moist center between her thighs.
“Now, Sarah. The fucking bedroom.” He jerked the dress to her waist as his lips went to her neck, drawing the flesh between his lips, licking erotically, biting at her skin with hot, desperate nips.
She couldn’t think. Where was the bedroom? She felt her panties tear. She heard the rend of the material as his lips covered hers harshly, his tongue sweeping in possessively as his fingers pushed between her thighs.