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 f**king 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.
Sarah stilled. Breath suspended, eyes opened wide in disbelief, she stared at him as his fingers plunged inside her. Sarah cried out harshly, wondering if she should be ashamed that she was so wet, so desperate that the sticky fluid seemed to gush over his fingers.
“Son of a bitch,” he groaned, his eyes dark, his face flushed. “Too f**king late for the bedroom now, Sarah.”
He dropped to his knees as she stared at him in surprise. His hands pushed her thighs apart, then as one hand held the dress to her waist, the other slid out of her hot entrance and his mouth consumed her.
Sarah shuddered, crying out desperately as she felt his tongue swipe through the slick folds of skin. He was licking her. Oh God, like a cat licking at cream, he was licking her, groaning in pleasure at her taste.
He was making hot, desperate sounds of hunger as he drew the wetness into his mouth, savoring it. She felt her womb tighten, spasm and more of the hot cream seeped from her vagina.
She couldn’t stand it. Sarah felt her knees weakening as the pleasure rose inside her. It gripped her stomach, tightening it almost painfully as the waves of near ecstasy washed over her again and again. Her hands were clenched on his shoulders, her thighs spread wide, his lips and tongue playing with her cl*t as his fingers thrust repeatedly into the hot channel that wept with the attention. She knew she was spiraling out of control. The fires searing her body were making her buck against his mouth, thrust into his fingers, tightening her body, drawing her into a vortex of such mind numbing pleasure that she exploded.
Sarah heard her own keening cry as she felt her body come apart. She tightened, thrust against his immoveable mouth and lost her breath as extreme pleasure flooded her entire being, bursting over her flesh and leaving her shaking, gasping in completion as she slowly wilted.
Brock was there to catch her. His arms went around her as he stood to his feet, his eyes staring down at her in stark lust.
“Where is the f**king bedroom, Sarah, before I take you here in the middle of the hallway.” His voice was dark and rough, rasping with the force of his own need.
“Upstairs,” she gasped as he swung her into his arms.
He took the stairs quickly, his big body sheltering her smaller one. He glanced around the hall, then turned to the first door. He pushed it open, then stopped abruptly.
“Who the f**k is that?” His tone was only mildly curious, but the pulsing fury underneath it concerned her.
Sarah glanced in confusion at the bed, then her eyes widened in horror. He hadn’t. He wouldn’t. But he had.
Mark was entwined, in her bed, with his young lover. The room reeked of alcohol and sex. Her bedroom was in complete disarray. Clothes were thrown everywhere, the lamp had toppled to the floor and a chair lay on its side. She shook her head, unable to believe it.
“God, this could only happen to me.” She shook her head as Brock set her slowly on her feet.
Her knees were weak, so it took her a moment to steady herself, and all she could do was stare in shock at Mark and what was her name? Sarah could never remember. But there they were, nude, enfolded in each other’s arms, snoring softly.
Tears filled her eyes. Not from pain at seeing her husband, or ex-husband in her bed with his lover. But the deeply humiliating pain of knowing the man behind her was slowly, furiously aware of the situation.
Sarah fought to draw the bodice of her dress back over her body. She struggled with the small sleeves, dragging them up her arms, all the while more than aware of Brock’s tense anger.
“Where’s your clothes?” He surprised her when he went to the closet and began rummaging through it.
The dresser drawers were lying on the floor, her underwear, bras and T-shirts scattered along the carpet.
It would be hard to find anything salvageable in that mess.
Brock jerked several dresses from the small closet, laid them over his arms and came back to her. He took her arm and pulled her quickly from the room. Sarah followed him in a daze, nearly stumbling as he strode from the room and back downstairs.
“Your purse.” He picked the small handbag up and pushed it into her hands. “Anything else you have to take?”
She shook her head quickly, blinking up at the harsh features of his face.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked curiously as he dragged her out the front door and slammed it behind them furiously.
Brock didn’t stop, he didn’t ask permission to drag her out of her house, away from yet another of Mark’s humiliations of her. Not that it mattered as much now. They weren’t married anymore and she was more than thankful for that. Still, she couldn’t believe the lengths he had gone to this time to shame her.
“To the ranch,” he bit out. “I’ll take care of that bastard in the morning. But I’m telling you, Sarah, I’m so damned hard and hurting tonight that you may be days getting back in that house.”
He threw her dresses into the back seat of the jeep, then pushed her into the interior with hard hands.
“Buckle up, or would you prefer to stay here with hubby and company?” His eyes bore into her in the dim light of the jeep. Anger pulsed; lust arced like white hot, invisible strands of electricity between them.
She shook her head desperately, fumbled for the seat belt and snapped it in.
Her dress was still unbuttoned. As Brock started the engine, she fought to re-fasten the tiny pearl buttons that held the front of the cream-colored sundress together.