Sarah's Seduction (Men of August 2)

“Hell, Sarah, if I knew you wanted to play the whore, I could have accommodated you.” Mark smiled maliciously. “I have brothers. They liked you well enough to fuck you.”

Sarah set her coffee cup down on the table carefully, watching her ex-husband with mingled amazement and anger.

“You’re insane,” she bit out furiously. “Why don’t you take your coffee and just get the hell out of my house. I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“Like you asked August?” He followed her when she rose to her feet and stalked to the sink. “Dammit, Sarah, I thought you learned your lesson the night him and his brother nearly had you at that barbeque. What, did the thought of it turn you on as you got older?”

“Get out!” She was shaking with fury now. Fury and fear. She didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to hear the truth of what she was trying so hard to walk blindly into.

“Sarah, I don’t hate you. I don’t want to see you hurt.” His voice was soft, edged with faux confusion. She didn’t understand this game or its rules. “Dammit, we were married for six years.”

“Six cheating, lying years for you,” she bit out, rounding on him. “We weren’t married, Mark. You just lived here.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I always liked you, Sarah,” he breathed out roughly, trying one of his charming, shy grins on her. They didn’t work anymore. “Dammit, you’re not like his other women.”

“Look, Mark, I don’t want to discuss this with you,” she told him again, shaking her head as she tried to get away from him. “I want you to leave. This is none of your business.”

She made to move around him, to stalk from the room and pray he would just leave. Surprise shot through her system when he grabbed her arm painfully, jerking her around. Sarah stared into the flushed, more than furious face of the ex-husband who had never shown any violence towards her, until now.

“Let me go, Mark.” She tried to jerk away from him, then cried out painfully when he pushed her against the kitchen wall. Hard.

“Dammit, you will listen to me, bitch,” he snarled in her face, his nose inches from hers.

Sarah was in shock. She had never seen this side of Mark. She had been aware it existed, knew of his barroom brawls, but he had never brought it home.

“Mark, you’re hurting me,” she whispered, straining against the hard hands that held her arms to the wall. “Let me go.”

He was breathing hard, his hazel eyes glittering with his anger as he watched her.

“Do you bend over and let him give it to you up the ass like the other bitches did?” he growled harshly. “Bend over and let me have it then.”

Sarah nearly choked on her incredulous fear. She couldn’t believe the rage reflected towards her. He acted as though she had somehow wronged him, instead of the other way around. Then, fear drove sharp and deep as he ground his hips against her.

“God. Mark, don’t do this.” She pushed against his chest, feeling the erection against her stomach, seeing the anger driven lust in his eyes. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Your ignorance,” he lash

ed out at her. “You think I want my friends telling me about that bastard shoving his fingers up your pussy at that bar? Did you think no one would check what he was doing for me?”

Her face flushed in embarrassment. No one could have seen, but they could have guessed.

“It’s none of your business.” She shook her head, fighting the fear washing over her.

His abrupt fury, the violence surrounding her made her choke on the words. She wanted to push away from him, escape the flushed, contorted features staring down at her, but he wouldn’t let her go. He held her hard and fast to the wall, his body, not as muscular or as strong as Brock’s, yet still more than enough to control her.

“You stink of him,” he bit out roughly. “I can smell him on you, Sarah, and you stink.”

“Then get away from me.” She shrank back from him, turning her head aside as his face pressed closer.

She struggled against him, fearing the irrational anger that seemed to have a hold on him, driving him to want to hurt her. He hadn’t gotten this angry when she had slapped the divorce papers in front of him.

“You had the sheriff drag me out of my home,” he bit out. “My home, Sarah.”

“It’s my home,” she argued uselessly. “It always was, Mark.”

“My fucking home, my fucking wife.” He jerked her arms, pulling her forward then flinging her across the room.

Sarah caught herself on the kitchen table, backing away from him, her eyes flickering around the room, searching for an escape route. The back door was the closest means of escape. It was still cracked open and would be easy to get past. If she ran to the neighbor’s or if they heard her, they would call for help.