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He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing on her.
“What the hell made you so damned forward?” he bit out. “What happened to the sweet little blushes you used to get a year ago?”
She lifted a brow. Just like that, a single brow, much as Marly did when she knew something they didn’t and wasn’t about to tell.
She shrugged, the gesture reminding him of a dare.
“You make me wetter than the toys.” Her answer floored him.
Sam clenched his teeth, fighting for control.
“But I won’t throw myself at you again, Sam. I’m not a whore, and I’m damned sure not willing to pamper your feelings like everyone seems to want to do.”
“Pamper my feelings?” he snarled, knowing that was what they did, but he hated admitting it.
“Yes, they pamper your feelings,” she said softly. “They pet on you, make you laugh, encourage your pranks and your jokes while they try to let you pretend that nothing’s wrong inside. And you try to go along with it. Because it makes them smile. Because it eases their pain.”
“Armchair psychology,” he snorted. “Just what I need, a wannabe psychologist.”
“Doesn’t take a psychologist, Sam.” She shook her head slowly. “I’ve been a part of your life for a year now. We were friends before you ever touched me. But once you touched me, I was yours, and you knew it. You knew it, Sam, and you walked away.”
“You’re a virgin,” he bit out, forcing himself to keep distance between them, not to touch her. “Goddammit, Heather, what I want to do you is illegal in every state in the country and you’re bitching because I won’t do it.”
“Bullshit.” Her voice deepened then, her own anger coming through. “I’m not arguing this with you, Sam. You’re a coward, that’s your problem. Terrified of caring for anyone or anything that might touch you too deeply. Too scared of what I make you feel to reach out for what you want.”
“You want me to reach out, Heather?” His control snapped. Her accusation, his need, the truth of her statement, all hitting him where it hurt. His heart. His soul.
He moved before he really intended to. Beside her, an empty stall waited, and it was there he dragged her. He slammed the half door shut, pushing her against the partition, watching the excited gleam that filled her eyes.
One hand gripped the back of her head as his lips slammed down on hers. He made no allowances for any innocence she might have. Made no concessions for the needy whimper that escaped her throat. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, licking over silken lips, groaning in hunger at the taste of her.
His other hand tore at the buttons of his jeans. His cock was raging, the blood pumping hard and fast through sensitive tissue until he was harder than he could remember being in his life. Heather was arched to him, her head bent back, her lips opening to his, her tongue tangling with his. And he couldn’t help but remember. Remember the feel of that hot mouth sucking his cock, her teeth and tongue torturing, tormenting him.
“You’re killing me,” he panted as he nipped at her lips, his erection straining in his hand as he fought the impulses flooding his body.
It would take him hours, days, by God, weeks to take her in as many ways as he wanted to. As he needed to. And he couldn’t wait. Couldn’t bear the pressure exploding in his mind, ripping through his body.
“I’m sorry.” He hated himself. Hated the needs that tore through him, made him no more than an animal in rut. And yet he still couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t halt the demands, the need for release, not just of the sperm building in his nuts, but the agony in his soul.
“Sam.” Her longing cry shattered his senses.
/> He gripped the braid at the back of her head, his eyes staring into hers as he applied pressure, pulling her down as he gripped the thick stalk of his cock in his hand.
“I need to fuck you,” he whispered desperately as he watched her go to her knees. “I need to fuck you, Heather, until you’re screaming out for me to stop.”
“Never.” Her voice was strangled. Then she licked her lips. A slow, longing sweep of her tongue that moistened the silken curves, preparing them for him, for his cock.
She didn’t wait for him to press the bulging head of his cock to her lips. They opened, but it was her tongue, a hot lash of white-hot heat searing his flesh that had him crying out as it probed at the underside of the thick head, stroking ultra-sensitive, unscarred flesh with the moist fire of her tongue.
He watched her, watched the pink flesh touch him an instant before her lips touched the bulging head, then slowly, God help him, so slowly enveloped the head as her teeth raked the engorged tip.
Sam gripped the braid at the back of her head, pulling her close, watching her, staring down at her as her eyes nearly closed in pleasure. Pleasure? He trembled. This wasn’t his brother’s woman, taking him because of her love for another man. This was his. His woman, taking his cock into her mouth, and loving it.
He pressed his flesh deeper, watching her lips stretch, her pouting little mouth envelope him as he felt her groan against the pulsing head.
“Ah, Heather,” he whispered, pressing his cock harder between her lips, sinking into the velvet depths of her mouth as her teeth scraped, her tongue rippled and her soft little mouth suckled at him hungrily.
She moaned again, the sound vibrating on his flesh as he halted at the entrance of her slender throat. She wasn’t taking enough. His hands clenched in her hair again, hearing her groan, one of greedy need, rather than pain.
