Heather's Gift (13 page)

“The house is too crowded sometimes.” She finally shrugged. “I’ve been sneaking out a bit myself, as a matter of fact.” She grinned at him, as though the secret mattered. It did matter, but he’d be damned if he’d tell her that.

“Why?” he finally asked when she said nothing more.

Her gaze never left his. “Because, I can’t bear listening to the others together. Terrified you’ll go to one of them again, instead of me.”

He wanted to hit something. His fists clenched at the naked vulnerability in her gaze, the need, sweet and hot that glittered in her eyes. Need that he knew was leaving a searing sweet cream along her cunt lips. His mouth watered. He wanted, no, he needed to taste her. To feel the soft juice that ran from her pussy onto his tongue, rather than his fingers.

“You don’t take warnings very well do you, baby?” he growled, wondering what it would take to scare her off, to make her see just how dangerous he could be for her. Hell, a madman’s scalpel hadn’t done it, what the hell was left?

Her lips lifted in a grin. A sad little knowing grin.

“If your cock wasn’t trying to burrow out of your jeans, I might pay more attention to your protestations, Sam.”

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.

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“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.

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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.

“Suck me, Heather, harder,” he whispered, poised on the edge of a lust so sharp, so desperate, he wondered if he would survive it. “Suck it, baby. Give me what I need.”

He pulled back, moisture glistening on the flesh she had held within her mouth as her teeth and her tongue raked again. A delicate prickling of almost pain that had hard shudders of pleasure racing over his body.

Fucking her mouth was exquisite. Watching, staring down at her as she enveloped his cock in her mouth was paradise. He pushed in again, feeling her tighten on him, suck him in, her tongue a heated brand as she whimpered around the engorged flesh.

“I have to fuck you.” He was nearly mindless. Control was nothing more than a memory as he gripped her head with both hands, feeling her hands wrap around his cock, silken cool hands, an erotic contrast to the hell’s-hot mouth sucking hungrily at the head.

He held her head still, fucking his flesh into her suckling mouth, groaning at the pleasure, fighting himself, fighting the needs ripping through his body. He didn’t want to take her like this. He wanted soft and easy, but God help him, when he got around Lora Leigh

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her, all he could do was take. Take like he was taking now, fucking into her mouth over and over again, feeling his seed boil in his scrotum as it tightened, his cock pulsing, throbbing.

He wanted to hold off. Wanted to wait. Wanted to enjoy every damned minute of it. Wanted to commit the expression on her face, the feel of her lips, to memory so he could have it to hold him when she was gone. Because she would leave eventually. He knew she would. He wanted to thrust inside the hot depths of her mouth forever. But one of her hands moved, tucked between his thighs, then her nails scraped. Scraped flesh scarred and nearly insensitive. They scraped over his flesh, a pleasure/pain that seared his cock, shot up his spine and destroyed any chance of waiting for the release building inside his balls.

He heard his own cry shatter the stillness of the stables. He thrust hard, burying himself as deep inside her mouth as her tight hand along the stalk allowed. Once. Twice. Fire streaked through his body, traveling to the base of his spine, then back to his bursting cock.

He couldn’t hold back his release. “Heather. Take me. Take it all, baby.”

His back arched as he shattered. He felt the hard spurting jets of his seed erupting from the tip of his dick. Flooding her mouth, shooting to her throat as she sucked, swallowed, her lips tightening as his cock jerked in time to each hard eruption into her mouth.

He held her head to him, his release rippling through his body as she continued to suckle his still hard flesh. Not enough. God help him, he would never get enough of her.

He pulled back, watching her, the glazed fire in her eyes, her swollen lips, and knew he was a dead man. A dead man because he couldn’t let her go. Because he knew how she could be hurt, and how easily she could die, and he knew it would kill him.

“I’ll fuck your ass first,” he growled, unwilling to let her enter into anything without knowing what was coming. “I’ll tie you down, Heather, because I need to see you, hear you, control you, rather than the other way around. And I’ll fuck your ass until you’re screaming for release, until you’re begging. And it won’t stop there. I’ll fuck you until you can’t move, and then I’ll fuck you some more. Because I’ve waited too damned long, and fought too damned hard to stay the hell away from you.”

He drew her to her feet, watching her eyes widen as he talked. He leaned in close, staring into her dazed expression, his cock still throbbing for her; still so damned hard he was in pain.

“And then, Heather. Eventually. When I can’t take the pressure anymore. When the demons are like snakes twisting in my guts, striking like knives through my nightmares, then I’ll share you. I’ll watch you. I’ll hold you, Heather, as Cade fucks you. As Brock fucks you. As you scream and beg to come, because you’re that important to me. So important to me, so much a part of me, that I won’t have a choice. No choice, Lora Leigh

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Heather, because that’s what we are. That’s who we are. And I pray to God we both survive it.”

He had fastened his jeans as he talked. Armed himself as her eyes narrowed, fire flashing in the green depths. But before she could curse, before she could accuse him of being the vile, depraved monster he knew he was, he turned and stalked from the stables. She had no idea what she had set in motion. No idea the needs he held back, even from his family. But she would find out. And she would find out tonight. Lora Leigh

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Chapter Eighteen

The front door slammed. Cade, Sam and Brock turned in unison to meet the fury Heather directed at them all as she stood in the entryway. She was enraged. Her body throbbed in arousal and anger. It pumped through her blood stream, tightened her muscles and eroded her self-control.

“Heather.” Sam’s eyes were dark as he watched her, filled with grief, with apology. She didn’t want to see either. She didn’t care if he was hurting, didn’t care about the wounds to his soul. She would be damned if she would allow him to wound hers further.

She advanced on the three men, her eyes narrowed, her breathing rushed as her heart raced in her chest. Damn him. She had spent a year fighting his withdrawal from her, a year fighting her own needs in her attempt to better understand him. There was no understanding such sheer male stubbornness.

“It occurs to me.” She straightened her shoulders, her jaw clenching as she watched the latent sensuality that filled Sam’s expression and began to peak in the other two men’s gazes. “That the three of you are just a little spoiled for what I consider fair.”

“Heather.” Sam’s tone was warning, his body taut.

“Going to tie me down are you, big boy?” she bit out. “And tell me, who will help you in this little chore? These two?”

Her tone was more than insulting. The interest that filled their eyes was infuriating.

“I wasn’t aware I would need help,” he said softly, his gaze flickering over her body. “I’m quite a bit stronger than you are, sweetness.”

The very tone of his voice had her womb quivering in lust almost as hard as the rest of her body was trembling with anger.

She snorted. “And quite a bit dumber too, but we won’t go there.” She looked back to his brothers. “Do the three of you ever get tired of living through your dicks?”

Surprise, shock, filled their expressions.

“That’s enough,” Sam bit out, his own eyes narrowing as anger began to cloud the lazy sensuality that had filled his gaze.

“Were you informing your brothers of your plans?” Her fists clenched. “Did you tell them how hard you came in my mouth, Sam? How you left me sitting in the fucking hay with only a warning of what was to come?” She threw the accusation in his face.

“What ever possessed you, darling, to believe that I was so weak that I would just put my head down and submit to your plans?”

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She was yelling at him and she didn’t give a damn who heard. She watched Cade as he stared up at the ceiling as though praying for strength before he cast Sam an accusing glare. Brock shook his head and stared at the floor, though she could have sworn he was hiding a grin. Sam crossed his arms over his broad chest, and though the sight of him was mouth watering, she was so pissed she wanted to kick him rather than fuck him now.