Sarah's Seduction (Men of August 2)

His hand was at her knee, his voice turning sensual, heated with arousal. Sarah came to her feet with a deep breath.

“I need to find Brock.” She went to move around him, but he was too fast. He stopped her, not forcing her to stay, his hand on her arm warm, not hurtful.

He stared down at her, his hand soothing, smoothing over her skin.

“Just a kiss,” he whispered, his lips tilting in a smile so similar to Brock’s it broke her heart.

She trembled, desperate to get away from him, wondering why she wasn’t running from him. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, shivering despite the heat of the night as his hand cupped her cheek. Nerves tightened the muscles of her stomach, made her suck her breath in roughly.

His head lowered. He watched her, his eyes dark, lonely, need whispering through the night. His lips were a breath from hers, his eyes narrowed, arousal pulsing in the air around them when she found the strength to jerk away.

“Brock,” she gasped out, moving jerkily around him, rushing for the door.

“Brock wouldn’t care, Sarah,” his voice was soft, so somber it tore at her soul. “You’re a part of him now. He loves you. Return it to me.”

“No.” she gripped the door handle, shaking her head desperately. “I can’t. God help me. I can’t.”

She pushed the door open, rushing into the family room, past Brock and Cade, Marly and Tara. She hid her tears, fought her overwhelming fears, and ignored the damp need collecting between her thighs.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Sarah?” Brock followed her to their room, concern edging his voice and his expression.

She stood at the large window, knowing it was bullet proof, knowing the precautions that had been taken two years before in case the family was ever threatened again. Good precaution she thought, because it appeared they knew nothing but the fear and disquiet of evil.

She looked out at the night, fighting tears, sadness, needs. Needs she shouldn’t have. They were getting to her, each of them. Slowly, insidiously, their needs, their pain was wearing away her resistance, tearing down the fabric of her objections. She didn’t care much for the fact that she was so weak in the face of it.

“How did it happen?” she asked as he closed the bedroom door. “How did your father get away with sending you to that madman?”

She watched the pain twist his expression at her reminder. She hated bringing that expression to his face, hated hurting him. But she needed to know. She needed to understand before she made the biggest mistake of her life. She loved Brock. She knew she did. She always had. Now she just had to figure out how to live with it.

“He was our father. We thought we were going to work for another rancher for the summer. We found out better when we got there. When he locked us in cages after drugging us during our first meal. We understood though, the first time one of us was dragged out and raped.”

His voice was cool, his expression tortured. Sarah closed her eyes tight, fighting the overwhelming fury that something so terrible could have happened to him.

“Sam was first.” He glanced away from her, swallowing hard. “He tortured him for hours. He still carries the scars from it on his body. And in his mind. He was just eighteen. We both were. ”

Sarah trembled violently. God, how had they survived? How had they managed to ever survive such horror?

“He blames himself,” she told him. “Why?”

He seemed surprised by that.

“I don’t know.” He frowned worriedly. “It wasn’t his fault. Not at all. It was Joe’s decision to send us there. He swore he didn’t know what was going on. But he did. We all knew he did.”

Sarah wrapped her arms over her chest, unable to turn to him, watching his reflection in the glass. He stood still, straight, tense. His body vibrated with sorrow and pain.

“I feel like I’m drowning here, Brock,” she whispered tearfully. “The three of you are killing me. It’s too much pain, too much need. Too much pressure.”

He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, a sigh heaving from his chest as he watched her. He watched her with warmth, with love. She knew it was love, she had seen Cade watching Marly with the same expression, knew she often carried it in her own eyes.

“In what way?” he asked her, tilting his head, watching her curiously.

“The three of you and your desires,” she groaned, dragging her hands through her hair. “It’s like being in the middle of a sexual soup, the tension is so thick anymore.”

“It arouses you.” There was no heat in his tone, he was past arguing with her. He had given her the choice, just as they had given Marly.

“It arouses me,” she admitted starkly. “And it terrifies me too, Brock. He’s almost broken. You and Cade are little better. Sharing Marly hasn’t helped, how will sharing me help?”