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“Oh my God.” She jerked in his grip, an involuntary shudder so close to orgasm that he knew it would be torturous.
He continued the motion. Just enough pressure to make her crazy, never enough to make her climax. He could feel her juices flowing now, knew her pussy would be spasming in desperation.
“Get ready, baby,” he whispered, knowing the climax, though intense and powerful, would only leave her hungry for more.
His fingers rasped her clit, milked, stroked. He felt her tense, her thighs tighten, her syrup flow, then her strangled cry shattered the silence of the game room as she bucked in his arms. Her hips twisted, grinding her clit harder against his fingers as the climax ripped through her body.
She was struggling to breathe, trembling in the after effects of her release as he held her close, his hand cupping the hot mound between her thighs.
“Listen to me,” he growled, his voice strained, desperate lust pumping hard and fast through his system. “Listen to me well, Heather. When I take you, I won’t make allowances for your innocence, or your need for romance. I’m riding an edge that terrifies the fuck out of me. So there’s no way in hell it’s going to be easy for you. Stay the hell away from me, baby, or you could very well get hurt.”
He jumped away from her, stalking from the room and rushing up the stairs. He prayed she didn’t see the wet spot on his pants, the proof of his own climax as she shattered beneath him. Something he had never done before. Something that scared him almost as badly as the nightmares awaiting him.
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning dawned too bright and too damned early. Dressed in Levi shorts and a tank top that barely skimmed the low waistband of the shorts, Heather descended the stairs. The leather sneakers she wore made no sound on the carpeted steps, so it was easy to hear the sounds coming from the family room. She had learned to be certain she wasn’t walking in on an ill-timed moment where that room was concerned.
As she stepped into the entryway, she noticed the door was open and the sounds in the house were in the kitchen. Thankfully it wasn’t moans, but rather the low murmur of male voices. Which meant coffee was on. No one made coffee like the August brothers did.
Pushing the door open, she stopped and damned near turned around and left the room again. Sam stood by the counter with Brock and Sarah. Sarah was being held against Brock’s chest as Sam’s head was rising from what was obviously a lingering kiss.
Cade sat at the table watching them, his gaze sharp, clinical, as he watched Heather now.
“Mornin,’ Heather.” He lifted his coffee cup in a salute as Sam moved unselfconsciously and lifted a mug from the cabinet. Sarah and Brock moved to the table as Sam filled the mug and handed it to her.
“You guys are up early,” she commented, fighting her jealousy as she accepted the cup. “Where’s Marly?”
“Still sleeping.” Cade’s voice was a smooth hum of male satisfaction. Evidently all that moaning and groaning a few hours past had been coming from their room. The August men had too much damned testosterone, that was all there was to it.
“Drink your coffee.” Sam handed her the mug as he pressed her toward the table. “I’ll get you some sausage and biscuits.”
“Don’t you guys eat anything else in the mornings?” She frowned, wondering what they had against ham and eggs and gravy, and her stomach pitched in hunger.
“That would require a cook,” Cade stated firmly. “I don’t want a cook or a housekeeper.”
“It would mean good meals,” she pointed out. “Something besides sandwiches and soup, or steaks and sausage biscuits.”
“We don’t have time to cook.” Cade shook his head.
Heather looked at Sarah. Why the hell weren’t she and Marly cooking?
“Don’t look at me, I can barely boil soup. And Marly’s worse.” She laughed as she sat sideways in her chair, her back braced against Brock’s chest.
“What do you do when you get tired of soup, sandwiches and steaks?” She shook her head in bemusement. She felt as though she were starving to death.
“We go out.” Cade shrugged. “Usually, that is. Remind me to kill that bastard twice for the food we’re missin
g out on.”
Death iced his words. Heather turned to him slowly, seeing the cold, hard menace in his voice.
“You won’t kill anyone, Cade. We’ll catch him, and take him in. That simple.”
“Nice dream world you live in, Heather.” He leaned his elbows on the table and watched her mockingly. “Do you think I’ll let him live after I get my hands on him? He shot Sarah; he scarred you. He’ll die for it.”
She turned to Sam and saw the same cold purpose in his face, then in Brock’s as well.
“That’s murder, Cade,” she whispered.
