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She was desperate to escape. She had to leave, get out of here before he possessed her forever. Because God help her, she would never find the strength to deny him anything he wanted otherwise.
/> “No,” she cried out again, mortifying tears brimming from her eyes, fear shaking her body as the thick, bulging head lodged at the entrance of her cunt.
“God, baby. Sarah.” His voice was a cry of pain, a desperate dark plea that shook her to soul. “Please, Sarah. Don’t do this.”
“Let me go.” She couldn’t control her cries, the soul shocking pain and fear that assaulted her now. “I can’t. I won’t, Brock. I won’t do it. Please don’t make me. Promise me you won’t.”
All he would have to do was ask her. She knew it. The flare of added arousal she had felt at the sight of Sam had shown her that.
“No, Sarah.” He dropped his head, his expression tortured, tormented. “Don’t do this.”
She pressed at his shoulders, fighting to escape not just Brock, but also the dark needs rising inside herself. She was sobbing now, unable to stop the fear that overshadowed her arousal.
“God damn.” His curse was fierce, angry as the head of his cock parted her, throbbed at her entrance. “Son of a bitch.”
He jerked away from her. His curses sizzled the room, his fury was a like a beast, wild untamed.
“Go, damn you! Get the fuck out of here!” he yelled at her, his expression so angry, so dark and so filled with pain that Sarah couldn’t bear the sight of it.
She jerked her dress from the floor as she jumped from the bed, stumbling in her haste, barely catching herself from falling. She struggled into it, crying, shaking as she rushed for the door.
“You’ll be back, Sarah,” he bit out as she rushed from the room. “I swear to God, I won’t let you go.”
CHAPTER ONE
Six years later
The bar was crowded, the music pulsing. The crush of bodies on the dance floor moved in a strange synchronization that amazed Sarah. After nearly a full hour hiding in the shadows, she was still in awe of the limber bodies on the floor. When she wasn’t watching the man she had come to find, that is. She sat in the corner, nursing a warm bottle of beer, her gaze flickering from the dancers to the object of her lust who stood a good twenty feet away from her.
Tall and well muscled, he exuded testosterone. A perfect male in his prime, his muscular body shown off to perfection in the snug jeans he wore, and the gray striped, cotton dress shirt. A wide leather belt circled his slim hips and hard stomach. Propped against one of the wide, wooden posts that separated the dance floor and the table area, his casual position shouted confidence. The position he assumed was mouth-wateringly sexy. All that hard muscle lounging comfortably, arms crossed over a wide muscular chest, long, masculine legs crossed at the ankle, leading to muscled thighs that framed a more than impressive male bulge. She swallowed tightly. She knew exactly how impressive that bulge actually was.
Turning her gaze from him, Sarah remembered years ago, a stolen night, hard, hot kisses in the silence of his room, and the thick, hard erection beneath those well-worn jeans. It made her body heat alarmingly, remembering his touch. His hands, work roughened on her sensitive young breasts, between her thighs. His fingers sliding through thick moisture, his voice humming with approval as his fingers penetrated, then stopped at the evidence of her innocence.
Then his mouth. Her eyes closed as she remembered that hot, seductive mouth and the fear that washed over her as he threw her into her first and only orgasm. He had lapped at the rush of moisture, holding her hips still as his tongue dipped into her vagina, penetrating her, eating her decadently. His mouth had been hot, his tongue voracious, the sounds of his pleasure vibrating against her clit in a manner that had her crying out in bliss over and over again.
She had opened her eyes then and behind him she had seen the identical version of the man whose tongue had lapped so desperately at her flesh. Brock’s twin, Sam. He had been turning away, but Sarah had seen a look, an assurance in his eyes that terrified her.
You’ll be back, Sarah. I won’t let you go! The memory of his last words to her six years before whispered through her mind.
She shook her head, fighting the betraying weakness that she had assailed her then as well. She took a long drink of the beer, grimacing at the warm taste. What the hell was she doing here? What made her think she was any braver now than she had been then? That she was any more accepting. What made her think he would even want to touch her now, an older version of that scared little girl, helpless in the face of her own passions and the fears that made her run? She had been eighteen, Brock had just celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday. Six years. She sighed. He was more handsome at thirty-one than he had been when he was younger. More handsome and decidedly more dangerous.
“Hello, Sarah.” She froze at the sound of that dark, male voice. There was no mistaking the rough timber of it, the dark intoxication of hearing it roughen with lust.
The breath stilled in her chest, birds wings, not butterflies, beat at her stomach. She felt the wet evidence of her desire for this man pulse from between her thighs. Sarah swallowed past her nerves and allowed her eyes to rove over his masculine form. Up. Up. Past the thickened bulge, noticeably larger now, over the flat abdomen and wide chest, up to the dark, blue-gray eyes that watched her with arousal.
The muscles in her stomach bunched, tightened. Fingers of arousal danced over her breasts, teased her inner thighs. She felt her breathing deepen as lust lanced through her body. It was like a mild electrical shock being sent through her entire system.
It had been years since she had allowed herself to be anywhere near him. She had avoided any place he could be, went the other way if she saw him coming. She had avoided him for so long that it became a habit. A need. She knew if she was in his company for longer than a second, then she would be begging him to fuck her. It amazed her that he had approached her now. Amazed and terrified her.
“Hi, Brock. It’s been a while.” She tilted her beer in a small, courageous gesture before tipping it to her lips and taking a long drink. False courage. She needed it badly.
She wasn’t normally a bold person, or a forward one. She had always been the one hugging the corners at parties, reluctant to step out. How she managed to get up enough nerve to come to the bar in the first place, she wasn’t certain. It had been an impulsive move to take this one night for herself. Just one night. A night to remember, to hug close to her during the long, lonely nights to come.
“Have a cold one.” He set a chilled bottle in front her, then swinging a leg over the back of the chair, sat down across from her.
The graceful male movement had her breath catching in her throat. The loose limbed straddle, the shrug of his shoulder, the wry tilt of his lips. Not quite a smile, but the hint that it could be if he could get past the shadows that lurked in his eyes.
Sarah slid the empty bottle over and picked up the cold one. She lifted it to her lips and sipped. The bitter bite wasn’t pleasant, but she knew the much-needed salve to her nerves would be welcome when it hit. When breaking out of one’s shell, one needed to do it right.
