Heather's Gift (Men of August 3)

Oh God, no. No, don’t hurt me… Sam shook his head, fighting the twisting nightmares that fought to release.

He stared at her, saw her tight hole easing open, stretching around him.

“I won’t hurt you,” he gasped. He couldn’t hurt her. If he hurt her, what was the point? He had to replace the horrific memories with pleasure, only then did they ease. Only then did he regain the control he needed so desperately.

“Sam, why?” She opened farther, and Sam grimaced as half the head buried inside her. She was hot, so damned hot and tight already that all he wanted to do was plow as deep and hard inside her as he could. The scars on the head and shaft of his cock did little to dim the pleasure to be found in a hot, tight anus. The bite of the tight muscles on his flesh was exquisite, the sensations too shockingly arousing to be denied.

“Stop, baby.” He gripped her hip as she tried to jerk from him again. “Please, please, Heather. Stay still.”

“Why?” She managed to jerk to the side, escaping the invasion he had started.

“No.” He jerked her back, held her still as he pressed forward again. “God dammit, Heather, you want it. I know you do.”

“I want to know why.” Her back bowed as he pushed the flared head of his cock inside her ass with a desperate move of his hips.

He gritted his teeth, feeling his control slipping.

“Stop.” He smacked her ass as she jerked again, nearly tearing him free. He watched her muscles flex from the small stinging caress, heard her gasp of pleasure. “Please God, Heather. Please. Take the pleasure, baby. Take it, so I can forget the pain.”

The words that left his mouth penetrated his brain. The shock of it destroyed any semblance of control he might have possessed. A ragged cry, fraught with pain and rage, billowed from his chest as he thrust inside her anus. Hard and deep. The instant heat, like fire on his cock, tightening around him, stroking him as she screamed out beneath him, fighting to accept the full, thick length of the cock buried in her tender depths.

Her back bowed, her head thrashing as the long tendrils of her hair rippled over her back.

“Sam…” He knew that husky sound, vibrant with the shocking pleasure/pain of his entrance.

Dark, primitive lust shot through his veins as she took him. Her scream was one of intense arousal. The point where everything is heightened, mingling and searing in its heat. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t contain himself or his need. He drew back, watching as his cock eased from her tightly stretched hole then thrust back hard and deep. Over and over. He watched her flesh stretch for him, heard her cries echoing around him and felt heaven and hell in her acceptance.

He bent over her then; reason lost, only pleasure, only the white-hot heat of her ass gripping his cock meant anything. His hips moved as he powered his erection inside her, pushing through sensitive tissue, feeling it stretch, tighten to bite at the invader taking it so ruthlessly.

He was groaning as his thrusts became harder, quicker. He could hear Heather screaming beneath him, calling his name, begging, pushing back to him as he fucked her with hard, furious strokes. He throbbed, pulsed. Hurriedly he tucked his hand beneath her hips, his trembling fingers finding the hard, swollen knot of her clit as he began to deepen his strokes.

Her hips were jerking, fucking back at him as the soft syrup that flowed from her pussy coated his fingers and her clit. She was taking him, loving it, accepting it. Lust clawed at his loins then, his scrotum tightening with the excitement, and as he stroked Heather’s clit, he felt the climax that tore unexpectedly through her body.

A howl ripped from his throat as he gripped her hips, laid over her and began to fuck her with hard driving strokes. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t control the driving lust as it boiled through his cock. When his climax came, it was like white-hot death. Streaks of lightning tore through his cock, his body, as he buried himself one last time in the tight depths of her anus and felt his seed explode from the tip of his erection.

Explosive pulse after pulse tore through his body as her anus tightened around him with each jetting release. Her muscles bit at his cock, milked it, sucked the seed from him until he could only lay against her, jerking at each whip of fiery pleasure, gasping for breath, and realizing each gasp came out as her name.

Long moments later he found the strength to draw back, to watch in dazed pleasure as his still hard cock pulled out of her tender, well-fucked ass. The little hole was coated with his cream now. Her body holding it inside her, accepting him, a part of him held within her, at least for now.

She lay still against the mattress, her breathing labored, her small body quivering as he removed the wrist and ankle cuffs that had held her to the bed. His hands caressed the fragile wrists, stroking the skin that the padded cuffs had held prisoner. They were reddened slightly, proof that she had fought the restraints, fought to be free. Free of him? Or free to touch him? Bitterness seared his soul as he realized he was afraid to know the answer.

As she lay there, he moved to the bathroom, wetting a washrag and cleaning himself before wetting another and moving back into the bedroom.

She still lay there, perspiration coating her body as he sat beside her. His hands were gentle as he cleaned her, his heart aching in regret as he glimpsed the slight bruises that now marred the cheeks of her rear, and her slender hips.

He shook his head, fighting the rage that seemed to only build now. He rose from the bed, jerked his sweat pants on and rushed from the room. God help him, he’d hurt her. He had to have hurt her.

“Sam.” Her surprised, slightly angry voice followed him from the room. The husky confusion that filled his name called to him, drawing him to turn back, to return to her. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t face her, couldn’t face the possibility of hatred, the possibility that he had finally stepped over a line that had terrified him for years.

Voices pounded in his head, the remembered scent of blood washing over him as his fists clenched and remnants of terror bit at the edges of his mind. He raced down the stairs, threw open the door and ignored the surprised voice of the bodyguard as he made his way into the night.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Son of a bitch.” Heather came to her feet, jerking her robe from the floor and pushing her arms through it quickly as she heard the front door slam close. “I’ll kill him. I swear to God this time, I’ll just kill him myself.”

Anger surged through her, mixing with an arousal so desperate, so hot, that she could feel the juices from her cunt trickling to her thighs. He had left her again. Left her body raging, on fire, so damned hot she felt as though her pussy was blistered from the need.

She rushed for her bedroom, grabbed the gun from her dresser and then rushed out the door. She gritted her teeth as she met Cade and Brock in the hallway, barely dressed, their expressions concerned as they headed for the stairs.