Heather's Gift (Men of August 3)

“Then leave.” She lifted her hand, waving her fingers to the connecting door. “Marly and Sarah brought me some new toys today, so I don’t even need you. That bunny promises to make men obsolete anyway.”

His face flushed with sexual promise, though his eyes flared with anger.

“A Rabbit,” he growled. “It’s a fucking Rabbit.”

“Bunny, rabbit, whatever.” She shrugged. “I’m certain it will do everything but give me someone to cuddle up with, and I know where the electric blankets are kept if I get cold enough. So just run along to bed, hon. I’m sure me and Bugs will get along fine.”

“Bugs?” His voice sounded strangled as she pushed her tangled hair back from her shoulders then leaned on her elbows as she watched him. She was aware that his eyes latched instantly on her up thrust breasts and hardened nipples. Arguing with him made her tingle. Her cunt, her nipples…hell, her toes. Every cell in her body seemed primed and ready and more than willing to take the rough, dominant touch he could give her.

“Oh really, Sam, who cares what I call it?” She shifted her legs beneath the corner of the blanket, causing it to fall away until it covered only her lower hips and mound.

She felt more than a little naughty as his jaw tensed, his body became tenser, harder, as his sweat pants tented with the heated length of his erection.

“Stop pushing me, Heather,” he growled.

She allowed her fingers to play lightly over her abdomen.

“Pushing you?” His eyes followed her fingers as his fist clenched by her hip. “I told you to go ahead and run away, Sam. I have Bugs and something called a Snake. Plenty of company. Why would I need you?”

“You know, Heather, if I weren’t very well aware of the fact that your ass

couldn’t take another pounding, I’d show you exactly what you’re pushing me into,” he growled as he came over her, dark, hungry, his eyes no longer bleak and barren, but filled with a sexual intensity that had her body heating in instant response.

“Excuses, excu…” The sound broke off as his lips covered hers.

Hard, greedy, his tongue pushed between them as he forced her back on the bed, his body coming over her, holding her still beneath him as his hand clasped her head.

Heather moaned in surprise, in pleasure, shocked at the hoarse, desperate quality of the sound. Her arms went around his shoulders, her fingers gripping the hard muscles as his tongue plunged into her mouth, his lips moving over hers with a lustful intensity that sent her blood pounding through her body.

No sooner than she was beginning to luxuriate in the feel of his muscles rippling over his broad back, his lips moving on hers with such naked need it tore through her soul, then he jerked her arms down, holding them flat to the bed as he tore his lips from hers.

His hips were between her thighs, his own spreading her wide as he stared down at her with dark, hungry eyes.

“Keep your smart mouth shut,” he bit out as she started to speak. “No toys. No Rabbit, no Snake, no fucking Pocket Rocket, no sex. Go to fucking sleep so I can.”

He rolled off her, then in a smooth, powerful display of rippling muscle, pushed his sweat pants from his hips and threw them onto the floor. He jerked the blankets over her, pulled her roughly in his arms then leaned over and shut the light out.

Heather lay silently for long moments, listening to his heart thunder, feeling his muscles bunch, tense as he fought to keep from taking her. She gave him just enough time to almost, almost reach that comfort level where it would take another confrontation to fire his blood. Just enough time to think she would really sleep.

“Sam,” she whispered. “What are the nightmares about?”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sometimes, some nights, a man’s only friend was his whisky bottle. Unfortunately, night had long passed. The morning was edging bright and hot as Sam sat in the shade of the vine-covered lattice patio as he stared at the still pool. He was dressed in sweats and sneakers, his chest still bare, his fingers rubbing at a particular rough section of scars on his abdomen as he took another healthy drink of the liquor.

Sam, what are the nightmares about?

His eyes narrowed as he stared into the crystalline blue of the water. What were the nightmares about? He remembered the screams, the horror and the blood, but like his memories, the details seemed to be lost in a mist that his brain couldn’t penetrate.

“Well, I can see you’re back to your old habits.” He turned quickly as Marly stepped onto the patio and took the chair in front of him.

He pushed his fingers roughly through his hair and sighed wearily. “Don’t start, Munchkin. It’s been a hell of a night.”

“For all of us,” she bit out. “Cade had nightmares all night, Sam. What the hell happened in that barn?”

“He didn’t fuck her.” Pain resonated through his body. God, how much more could they hurt the women they loved before it all came apart around them.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You think I’m upset because I think he fucked her?” She rolled her eyes then, shaking her head. “Hell, I would have gotten some sleep, Sam, if that had been the case. Instead I sat up and cried the better part of the night while the man I love tossed and turned in the grip of the horrible dreams the three of you share. What the hell is going on?”