currents of arousal pulsing through her body now.
His lips moved to her abdomen, tongue stroking, then teeth nipping as she tossed against him. His touch moved lower then, his hands spreading her thighs as he went between them.
His head was moving below her hips, his breathing a hard, rumbling groan as he moved lower, then lower.
“Brock?” Sarah stilled, forcing her eyes opened, her breath catching at the hungry look on his face.
“I’m going to eat you like candy, Sarah,” he whispered, his voice deep, dark. “Just liked I’ve dreamed of for months now.”
His head moved, lowered, his hands arching her closer as his tongue swiped through the curl shrouded, slick folds of her cunt. Sarah cried out, her fingers clenching in the blankets as he did just as he promised her. He ate her. Every inch was stroked, licked, sucked. His tongue pushed inside her pu**y with a slow, even stroke, drawing yet more of the thick liquid from her pulsing center.
Sarah was insane with arousal now. She bucked against him, pleading for more, desperate to still the raging fires burning through her body. Each second she could feel her body tightening further, reaching higher. She shuddered, gasping, begging. Then his lips enclosed her swollen clit, suckling lightly as his finger sank shallowly inside the humid depths of her throbbing pu**y.
Sarah felt herself exploding, coming apart. Her eyes flew open, her first sight that of the doorway at the far side of the room and Brock’s twin, Sam as he turned from them. In an instant she saw his arousal, his assurance, and Sarah knew the rumors about the August men were true.
She stiffened, fear washing over her, the hot slide of depraved excitement flaring inside her.
“No,” she cried out desperately as Brock rose over her, pushing between her thighs, his c**k stroking over her moist cunt lips as he positioned himself.
“Sarah?” He was breathing hard, fighting for control when her hands went to his shoulders.
She was desperate to escape. She had to leave, get out of here before he possessed her forever.
Because God help her, she would never find the strength to deny him anything he wanted otherwise.
“No,” she cried out again, mortifying tears brimming from her eyes, fear shaking her body as the thick, bulging head lodged at the entrance of her cunt.
“God, baby. Sarah.” His voice was a cry of pain, a desperate dark plea that shook her to soul. “Please, Sarah. Don’t do this.”
“Let me go.” She couldn’t control her cries, the soul shocking pain and fear that assaulted her now. “I can’t. I won’t, Brock. I won’t do it. Please don’t make me. Promise me you won’t.”
All he would have to do was ask her. She knew it. The flare of added arousal she had felt at the sight of Sam had shown her that.
“No, Sarah.” He dropped his head, his expression tortured, tormented. “Don’t do this.”
She pressed at his shoulders, fighting to escape not just Brock, but also the dark needs rising inside herself. She was sobbing now, unable to stop the fear that overshadowed her arousal.
“God damn.” His curse was fierce, angry as the head of his c**k parted her, throbbed at her entrance.
“Son of a bitch.”
He jerked away from her. His curses sizzled the room, his fury was a like a beast, wild untamed.
“Go, damn you! Get the f**k out of here!” he yelled at her, his expression so angry, so dark and so filled with pain that Sarah couldn’t bear the sight of it.
She jerked her dress from the floor as she jumped from the bed, stumbling in her haste, barely catching herself from falling. She struggled into it, crying, shaking as she rushed for the door.
“You’ll be back, Sarah,” he bit out as she rushed from the room. “I swear to God, I won’t let you go.”
CHAPTER ONE
Six years later
The bar was crowded, the music pulsing. The crush of bodies on the dance floor moved in a strange synchronization that amazed Sarah. After nearly a full hour hiding in the shadows, she was still in awe of the limber bodies on the floor. When she wasn’t watching the man she had come to find, that is. She sat in the corner, nursing a warm bottle of beer, her gaze flickering from the dancers to the object of her lust who stood a good twenty feet away from her.
Tall and well muscled, he exuded testosterone. A perfect male in his prime, his muscular body shown off to perfection in the snug jeans he wore, and the gray striped, cotton dress shirt. A wide leather belt circled his slim h*ps and hard stomach. Propped against one of the wide, wooden posts that separated the dance floor and the table area, his casual position shouted confidence. The position he assumed was mouth-wateringly sexy. All that hard muscle lounging comfortably, arms crossed over a wide muscular chest, long, masculine legs crossed at the ankle, leading to muscled thighs that framed a more than impressive male bulge. She swallowed tightly. She knew exactly how impressive that bulge actually was.
Turning her gaze from him, Sarah remembered years ago, a stolen night, hard, hot kisses in the silence of his room, and the thick, hard erection beneath those well-worn jeans. It made her body heat alarmingly, remembering his touch. His hands, work roughened on her sensitive young br**sts, between her thighs.
His fingers sliding through thick moisture, his voice humming with approval as his fingers penetrated, then stopped at the evidence of her innocence.
Then his mouth. Her eyes closed as she remembered that hot, seductive mouth and the fear that washed over her as he threw her into her first and only orgasm. He had lapped at the rush of moisture, holding her h*ps still as his tongue dipped into her vagina, penetrating her, eating her decadently. His mouth had been hot, his tongue voracious, the sounds of his pleasure vibrating against her cl*t in a manner that had her crying out in bliss over and over again.
She had opened her eyes then and behind him she had seen the identical version of the man whose tongue had lapped so desperately at her flesh. Brock’s twin, Sam. He had been turning away, but Sarah had seen a look, an assurance in his eyes that terrified her.
You’ll be back, Sarah. I won’t let you go! The memory of his last words to her six years before whispered through her mind.
She shook her head, fighting the betraying weakness that she had assailed her then as well. She took a long drink of the beer, grimacing at the warm taste. What the hell was she doing here? What made her think she was any braver now than she had been then? That she was any more accepting. What made her think he would even want to touch her now, an older version of that scared little girl, helpless in the face of her own passions and the fears that made her run? She had been eighteen, Brock had just celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday. Six years. She sighed. He was more handsome at thirty-one than he had been when he was younger. More handsome and decidedly more dangerous.