Sarah's Seduction (Men of August 2)

“If we gave you what you needed, where would be the punishment?” Cade asked her a second before the dildo plunged home.

Sarah’s back arched. She no longer had the ability to watch Brock and Marly, or the sense to understand anything but the incredible fullness, the stretching, driving pleasure erupting between her thighs. Then, hot, destroying, his mouth latched on her clit, sucking it in time to the smooth strokes inside her clutching cunt as lust slammed through her system so hard, so fast, she wondered if she would lose her last grip on reality. She shuddered; cried out, her flesh tightening on the thrusting device as he rode her through such torturous pleasure she felt she was dying. Yet she couldn’t climax. She cried. She begged. She twisted on the driving device and still it only built higher.

She heard Marly. Screaming. She was coming. The other woman was exploding, screaming Cade’s name, her climax throbbing in her voice. Sarah’s head tossed. She was dying. Dying to cum.

“Brock,” Sarah gasped out his name as Marly’s cries began to subside. She jerked, her head tossed as she fought for release.

Then he was there. His hand took the dildo as Cade strode to the bed. He drove it in hard, his head lowering, his lips latching onto her clit, hot and hard as he sucked it with a steady pressure. One thrust, a flick of his tongue. A second hard thrust, a firmer stroke, and she exploded. Over and over, her hips raised high, her orgasm tearing through her.

As it eased, Brock pulled the device from her, then moved to her head, his cock, huge, thrusting towards her mouth.

Brock didn’t ask. He went to his knees, his eyes meeting Sarah’s, then he was pushing the head of his erection past her lips with an agonized groan. Sarah enclosed the thick head, her hand going to grip the base, turning to her side, taking him hungrily as he watched her, his eyes bright, filled with promise as she drew on his flesh, matching the hard, quick strokes into her mouth.

He came with a shout. His body jerked, his semen exploding from the tip with hard, hot jets into her mouth. His hands clenched in her hair, his back arched and her name was a harsh, brutal shout of satisfaction.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Brock and Cade were sitting on the patio that evening when Sam returned from the hospital. He walked onto the sheltered concrete area, a fifth of whisky in his hand, his face haggard.

The vine-draped iron and wood enclosure provided a measure of protection from anyone with a binocular or rifle scopes, but as Brock looked into his brother’s eyes, he realized there were other ways to kill a man.

Sam sat down heavily in a padded chair, staring up at the vine-covered opening as though the pattern of greenery twisting about the thick wooden beams required concentration to decipher. He lowered his head long enough to bring the bottle to his mouth, drink deep and grimace, then go back to the perusal.

“How’s she doing?” Cade’s voice was as haunted as Sam’s eyes.

Sam shrugged. “Tara says she fine. She won’t see me. She won’t talk to me.”

Brock took a deep breath. Rick returned earlier, rage glittering in his eyes when he reported her injuries. She had been tied and gagged, the clothes cut from her body. Then the knife had sliced small, hairline cuts into her thighs and the flesh of her genitals. As far as pain went, it was tolerable. The mental and psychological damage was great though. The bastard had recounted how Sam had been similarly cut and the abuses he had suffered through. She had been warned she would suffer the same if she came back to the ranch. She had been told that she was paying for the lust Sam felt for her.

They hadn’t even known Sam was attracted to her. Had no idea their brother had been slowly courting her, seducing her. The woman was a damned wildcat. Or at least, she had been.

Sam was alone. Isolated in silence and liquor, staring into the evening sky as though searching for answers. There was no laughter in him now, no wise-assed comments, no sense of joy. The very qualities Cade and Brock had sacrificed everything they were at one time, to preserve a part of, had been snatched away as though it had never existed.

Sam took another long pull on the liquor. His body was tense, wired. He almost vibrated with the rage and pain swirling inside him.

“Don’t get drunk, Sam,” Brock warned him quietly.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Sam asked him, his tone unconcerned, cool.

Brock glanced at Cade.

“Sam—”

“I want your woman, Brock.” Sam looked in his eyes and Brock almost winced at the shattered look there. “I need her.”

Brock shook his head, he wouldn’t tolerate Sam touching her while he was like this. “You should have gone to her before now.”

Sarah would accept him, Brock knew. She was slowly accustoming herself to Cade’s touch. Brock knew she would grow used to Sam’s as well. The idea of it. Once, she had warned him, only once. And only for him. But he saw the excitement in her eyes, the same excitement he felt at the thought of it.

“I frighten her.” Sam lifted the bottle, his glance surprised as though he should have drank more, or hadn’t drank enough. Brock wasn’t certain which. “I don’t blame her for being frightened.”

Brock frowned.

“What do you need, Sam?” he asked him carefully.

Sam swallowed tight, grimacing.

“Fuck it,” he growled. “I need to leave her the fuck alone.”