She plunged two fingers as deep inside her hot cunt as they would go as she moved the vibrator to the side of her clit.
Her h*ps jerked, her strangled moan tearing from her throat as she worked her fingers through the thick cream of her inner juices. She imagined Sam, his fingers working inside her, his tongue on her clit, his breath hot and hard as he licked her, sucked her cl*t into his mouth or pushed his tongue deep inside her pu**y.
Her fingers spread the natural lubrication of her body back, along the puckered opening of her anus. She couldn’t stop her moan of need as the third finger gently pierced her anal opening.
She remembered the one time Sam had touched her there. The one time his mouth had moved over her sensitive pu**y, his fingers invading it as one hard, long finger pushed into her anus.
Invaded from both ends, her body shook. Her eyes were tightly closed, her body shuddering as she worked her fingers inside her, driving her pleasure higher, deeper. The strong vibration of the powerful little device at her cl*t made her release come hard and fast.
She bit her lip, moaning, her h*ps thrusting convulsively on her fingers as the pleasure tore through her, exploding through her clit, her hungry pu**y and echoing along her body.
Heather didn’t bother to try to breathe through the little explosion. She let it tear through her, carry her along until her cl*t protested the strong stimulation of the battery-operated device. She eased it from her as she pulled her fingers free of her twin entrances. Her body still tingled, and though the worst of the
extreme arousal had eased, she was by no means satisfied.
She stared up at the ceiling, ignoring her tears, and cursed fate and reality. In her dreams it was Sam taking her, yet it seemed the reality of it would never come to pass.
* * * * *
Sam stared at the ceiling, arousal and anger moving through his system as he fought to ignore the erection tormenting him. Damn. This wasn’t working out. Heather in the house all day, tempting him, her smile and her laughter teasing him in ways that stretched his self-control to its limits. He remembered finding her the night of the attack. Unconscious, naked, blood staining her thighs from the slashes made across her mound. One had come dangerously close to her tender clitoris. Thin, shallow, but devastating all the same.
His hand lowered, tucking beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, gripping his cock. He could feel his own scars. Razor thin, but even now, twelve years later, easily felt. They crisscrossed the head, the shaft, his scrotum. A madman’s brand. A madman’s revenge.
He closed his eyes, the misty nightmare visions silhouetting behind the closed lids as his heart rate increased and his stomach tightened with tension. The memories were there, so close…
The jarring ring of the phone beside him jerked him from the forming visions of the past. With a curse on his lips, her rolled over and jerked the phone from its base.
“What?” he snarled.
“You like f**king your brothers, August?” Mark Tate’s voice came through the line. Breathless, almost frightened as he spoke. “You have two hours to show up at my place, or I send these pictures I have to every newspaper and law enforcement agency in the country. Interesting pictures of a dead man.”
Sam stilled. A haze of pain and white-hot fury swelled in his gut.
“You’re a dead man,” he whispered.
The line disconnected.
Chapter Five
There was blood everywhere. Like his worst nightmare come to life. The stench of death was like a blow to his chest, taking his breath, stealing the very air from his lungs. Sam could do nothing but stare in
horror. Mark Tate was laid out in the small dingy living room of his mobile home, his body beaten nearly to a bloody pulp. It was Mark, he knew it was, but the features were nearly indistinguishable, his limbs were contorted, bits of flesh and blood splattered walls and furniture alike.
Sam shook his head, fighting for breath. He had seen such brutality before, and felt the violence of it searing his system. He shook, fevered and yet chilled as memory and reality collided, and for a moment, the scene was overlapped by that of another.
I killed him, Sam, Cade screamed furiously through his mind, his expression savage, commanding. Do you hear me? He’s dead. I killed him.
Blood had stained them both, the room in his memories reeking of filth and agony, and the bone-chilling scent of death. Just as it did here.
I killed him, Sam. Cade’s voice echoed around him again.
But Sam had wanted to kill him. Wanted to kill so bad, even now, twelve years later, he dreamed of it.
He felt bones cracking beneath his pummeling fists, blood spraying, a gasp of death in his ears.
He shook his head, blinking. But he couldn’t make himself move. All he could do was stand there, the door opened behind him, staring at the bloody body and the mark of a painful death. This horror of this death didn’t lay on his conscience, yet the previous one did.
“Sam, back away from the door.” The authoritative, cold voice of the sheriff shocked him back to reality.
Sam froze, fear flashing through his mind for a moment. His fists clenched, his mind switching into a primal survival response before he was able to overcome it.
“Sam, I have you covered.”
Sam glanced back slowly, feeling his face pale. He hadn’t even heard the vehicles drive up, hadn’t seen the flashing lights that blinded him now, nor heard any sirens if they had been blaring. But they were there now. Three sheriff’s units, five men with weapons aimed at his back.
He turned around slowly, careful to keep his hands in clear view. Son of a bitch, he could feel the panic starting to overwhelm him. There was a dead man in the trailer behind him. A man he had sworn to kill just earlier that day. A man everyone knew he detested. His hands trembled. Damn.
“Josh, I just got here.” He swallowed past the tight lump in his throat and fought the insidious voice that warned him no one would believe him. He looked at his hands. They were clean. Scratched but not bloody, and the scratches were already healing. “There’s no blood on my hands, Josh. I just got here.”
JoshuaMartinez stood coldly firm, the police issue pistol aimed at his heart. Sam felt the cold bite of reality and the knowledge that, for now, he could do nothing but sweat it out.
“Step down, Sam,” Josh advised him, his voice echoing with menace. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Sam took a deep, hard breath. God help him, he didn’t know if he could let Josh cuff him, he only prayed he wouldn’t. He stepped down slowly, fighting a horror he had sworn he would never visit again.