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“Don’t,” he growled. “Please, Heather.”
She ground herself against him, sensation flaying her body, piercing her womb as she felt her release building inside her.
“Stop.” He came over her then, holding her still, his hands gripping hers, holding them to the blanket as his hips pressed deep and hard against her, immobilizing hers. “Listen to me, Heather. My control is hanging by a thread, dammit. Don’t make me hurt you.”
“If you don’t fuck me I’m going to shoot you,” she cried out desperately, clamping her vaginal muscles on him, milking him, sucking him in deeper.
Heather felt his muscles bunch, his hands tighten on her hips as a ragged cry was torn from his throat. Her eyes widened as he began to move, a throttled scream ripping from her as he drew back and began to pummel her body with hard, driving strokes.
He was thick. So fucking thick and hard that he tore through her untried cunt with each hard, brutal thrust. But it wasn’t pain, it was a pleasure mixed with a hard bite, the forceful dominance, the hard uncontrolled thrusts that drove her into her first orgasm.
Her body tightened, her cunt spasmed and she was thrown through the release with such violence, such shattering sensation that she could only whimper, her nails biting into his shoulders, her body jerking, shuddering as the whiplash of sensation ripped through her womb, her breasts, her cunt, drenching them both with the excess fluid that rushed through her tight channel.
Tara had assured her that the first time didn’t last long for men. That even an hour later, the second time, that stamina wasn’t always their strong suit. She collapsed beneath Sam, expecting an end. Expecting him to tighten, to spill his seed inside her. But he didn’t.
He gripped her hips harder, groaning against her ear as her cunt tightened further on his pistoning erection. Hard thrusts into the swollen flesh. Muscles tightened from her orgasm were being stroked steadily, harshly, no quarter given to the sensitivity that flared within them.
“Sam…Sam…” She chanted his name, desperate now as she felt the sensation building again, harder, deeper, nearly painful in its intensity.
She thrashed beneath him, fighting to escape, to pull away from the intensity of feeling, the pleasure that was too close to pain, the explosion she knew would destroy her, remake her, bind her to him in a way she would never escape.
“No!” She screamed out the word, pushing at his shoulders, desperate to escape him, to escape the binding that terrified her. She loved him, but God help her, this she couldn’t handle.
“Don’t you fight me!” His voice was a growl, a primitive, feral sound as she fought beneath him. “No, damn you. No, don’t you fight me.”
She fought, bucking against his body, clawing at his hands, desperate to escape the ethereal, unknown emotion as well as the violent pleasure building inside her.
“Damn you!” He threw himself back, and for a moment, just a moment, she was free.
Until he flipped her over on her stomach, gripping her legs between his as his hands gripped her hips, lifting her. He mounted her, thrusting into her hard and fast as her juices gushed between them.
“Sam,” she screamed his name as she fought, but there was no release. Her cunt shuddered, tightened on him further, burned and pulsed and before she could control the sensation, it tore through her with a force that pierced her soul.
“Yes,” he cried out as she tightened on him further, the blast of her release renewing, ripping over her over and over again as her pussy exploded around him.
The sound of wet, sucking flesh filled the silence of the barn as his balls slapped at her swollen clit, firing it, exploding it in time to the contractions ripping apart her vagina. The sensitivity built, but the thrusts never diminished. His cock seemed to swell thicker, harder inside her, his brutal strokes driving her higher. Then his hand slid along her rear, spread her cheeks desperately and two fingers, slick from her vaginal juices pierced her ass.
Heather lost her sanity. There was no other way to describe the explosion that ripped her apart. It hurt, the impalement of her tender anus. Not in a tearing brutal way, but in a way that drove the pleasure higher, tightened her cunt, speared through her mind, and destroyed her sense of self. She couldn’t stop the ragged cry that wailed from her throat, or the tearing explosions in her womb.
Behind her, Sam pushed his fingers deeper, thrust into her cunt, hard, fast. Once. Twice. His cry joined hers as she felt his semen jet hard and hot inside her gripping, milking pussy. It threw her higher, triggered the explosion again until her body was racked by the brutal shudder, her thighs soaked from the hard spray of her own cream deep inside her quaking flesh.
She collapsed. His cock was still throbbing inside her, his spurting release filling her, spilling from her body as his fingers jerked inside her anus. She shuddered again, the pleasure never ending, echoing through her body until she felt herself drift. Drift. Exhaustion closed over her. Desperate emotion, brutal satisfaction taking the last edge of consciousness and freeing her from the confusion as well as the knowledge. The knowledge that she would never be free now. That forever, Sam would hold her soul.
Chapter Thirty
“She fights it, like Marly does.” Cade’s voice didn’t surprise Sam as he pulled from Heather’s exhausted body, his hand running over the perfect curve of her ass as he did so.
He flipped her robe over her nude body, knowing she would be hurt, angry if he allowed Cade to see her, knowing he was looking. He had suspected that one of his brothers was behind him. He always knew. He always had known. Just as they knew when he was watching, taking in the sensuality of whatever act they were engaged in, soaking in the knowledge that there was no jealousy, no greed where the other was concerned.
“I knew she would.” He kept his voice quiet as he rose to his feet, snagging his sweats and pushing his legs into them. “I always knew she would.”
She was independent, fiery. There was nothing like Heather in full rage. When she had come over his body, the muzzle of that damned gun almost cutting off his oxygen, he had swelled thicker, harder than he could ever remember being. She was tired of waiting, tired of wanting, and her aggression had set his own aflame.
He pushed his fingers through his hair before he collapsed on the hay beside her. He propped his back against a bale of hay and regarded her silently as Cade lowered himself at the bottom of the makeshift bed and stared back at Sam.
“Feeling better?” His voice was carefully calm.
“I’m fine, Cade.” He shrugged; he wasn’t about to tell Cade about the nightmares, the blood and the death.
