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Her fingers wandered lower. She thought of the way his lips traveled over her stomach, his tongue licking, painting a portrait of sexual need along her flesh as he touched her. She bit her lip as her fingers paused at the waistband of her bikini bottoms. Did she dare? No one could see. The privacy fencing protected her from even the most curious eyes.
A breathy moan escaped her. She ached. She hurt for him. She needed what she couldn’t have and this was all she had left. Her fingers dipped beneath the soft material moving closer to the wet, desire-slick flesh that pulsed at the memory of Brock’s touch.
* * * * *
Brock almost groaned. He almost gave away his presence as he stood only feet away from her, watching her fingers travel over her upper body, moving lower. When they edged beneath the material at her hips, his cock jerked, his body tightening. Son of a bitch. He felt his mouth go dry, watching her slender fingers travel in agonizingly slow movements down the narrow slit of her cunt. He imagined how hot, how slick it was. How easily his fingers glided through it, drawn inexorably to the dark, honeyed depths of her vagina.
His teeth clenched as he thought of the fiery heat those fingers moved towards. How she gripped him, tight and hot, her muscles like a velvet fist fighting to hold him inside her as he thrust against her.
She moaned his name and his fists clenched. He watched her fingers, covered by the material of her swimsuit, move lower still, her fingers curving. Her hips arched and he knew she was filling her tight cunt with her fingers, thrusting, filling the empty flesh as she thought of him. One hand cupped her breast, the firm mound spilling from the cup of her bikini as her fingers pinched and pulled at the hard tip. Those weren’t light touches either. Her fingers were rougher than he would have expected, pulling at the hard flesh, tightening around it as the fingers between her thighs drove her closer to climax.
Oh, no. No climax. Damn her to hell. She whispered his name as she touched herself, drawing closer. Oh baby, not without me you won’t.
“Sarah,” he groaned her name as he drew closer.
Her breath hitched in her throat, her head twisting on the foam pad as her fingers thrust harder into her body.
“Sarah, stop that before I fuck you on this damned deck,” he growled, his voice harsh.
Her eyes flew open, wide, dazed. She blinked, then her hips jerked hard and he cursed as he watched her shatter, climaxing despite his intrusion.
“Oh, God,” she wailed, embarrassment and heated satisfaction washing over her expression as her fingers finally stilled.
He moved to her as her fingers came from between her thighs. He went to his knees, capturing
her wrist before she could wipe the betraying evidence of her satisfaction from them.
Her fingers were slick, coated with the soft cream of her release. Holding her eyes, daring her to look away, he brought them to his mouth. She jerked, moaning low as he sucked one finger into his mouth, licking it clean. Then the next. Then the third. He groaned at the taste of her, so sweet and warm, more addictive than any drug he knew. He hungered for her. Ached like a man in a fit of withdrawal.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she cried out as his fingers went to her bared breast.
He held the hard point between his fingers then applied pressure. Her eyes closed, her body arched when he tightened around it to the point of pain. He rolled it between his fingers, watching her face flush, feeling her nipple grow harder. She liked the pressure, the edge of pain. He could see it in her face, in the too quick breaths, the way she bit her lip as though she could contain her cries.
“You’re mine, Sarah,” he told her harshly, pressuring the little nipple further, watching her hips raise, her eyes dilate. “Do you understand me?”
“Just yours?” she whispered as his hand went to the material of her suit bottom. “Am I just yours? Or will I be theirs as well?”
His hand halted, the pressure on her nipple eased as he dropped his head. He wanted to lie to her. God help him he wanted to lie, but he couldn’t.
“Whichever you want it to be,” he finally whispered, knowing he would never be satisfied but one way. “I won’t force you. Neither will they.”
Her eyes flared. She read the message in his, read the intent behind his words.
“But you’ll try to convince me?” She jerked away as he moved his hands back.
Rising quickly to her feet she adjusted the bathing suit, staring at him as he came to his feet as well.
“You’ll use my body against me, won’t you, Brock? You’ll try to seduce me into it.”
Brock breathed in raggedly, wanting to wipe the hurt from her expression, wanting to assure her she would never have to face the darker side of his sexuality. But he knew she would. He wouldn’t be able to control it, eventually. The ache would become too strong.
“You can’t seduce someone, Sarah, if the desire isn’t there to begin with,” he said, his voice gentle. “If you don’t want it, then you won’t be forced, at any time. If you don’t want it, then you can’t be seduced.”
Her eyes widened. She had wanted him to lie to her, he could see it in her eyes.
“I have no desire to be a camp whore for the August brothers.” Her fists clenched, tears filling her eyes. “Why don’t you just leave, Brock? Just get the hell out of my life and leave me in peace.”
She turned on her heel, rushing for the door. She had to get away from him. Get away from the need, the pain in his eyes, before she gave in. Before her body forced her into promising him whatever he wanted.
