Heather's Gift (27 page)

She was filled, overfilled, and couldn’t help the intense cry that escaped her throat as Cade surged those last inches inside her ass. She was impaled, taken, possessed. She was the center of three hearts, and the holder of one desperate man’s soul, and she gloried in it all.

As though the last impalement behind her was all that was needed, the three men began to move. Perfectly synchronized, their bodies rising and falling, pushing in, pulling out, in perfect accord. A natural, heady dance of such sensuality, such erotic excess that Heather lost all sense of reality. A pulsing tempo of desire, passion, lust and love filled the air. Heated male groans, whispered entreaties, and thick hard flesh stroking her most sensitive, tightest regions was more than her system could process at one time.

Her mouth tightened on Brock’s cock, her hands tightened in Sam’s hair as his mouth latched on an engorged nipple, sucking it deep and hard into his mouth. And Lora Leigh

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farther below, as thick, throbbing cocks began to power hard and deep inside her, she tightened sensitive muscles, growling as the hot flesh stroked delicate tissue in ever increasing thrusts.

She was fighting for breath, fighting for sanity as electricity began to travel through her body, lightning arcing, sensation ripping through her spasming womb as Cade and Sam began to fuck her harder, groaning, cocks throbbing as Brock gripped the halfway point of his cock and began to stroke harder inside her suckling mouth. She was going to come. She was going to explode. Disintegrate.

Her body stiffened, tightened, her gaze darkening as she lifted her eyes to Brock in supplication. She couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t bear it. The pleasure, the sensations, the very depth of emotions were rocking through her like a tidal wave of ever increasing pleasure.

As though that connection, that pleading glance lit a fuse, she felt Brock stiffen.

“Sam, I can’t wait.” His body bucked, his cock drove into her mouth again, then again as behind her, below her, Cade and Sam increased their thrusts, the pleasure, and she died.

She was only vaguely aware that the sound of suckling lips was overly loud to her dazed senses. The sound of wet thrusts, male groans and heated adoration was too much. She exploded as Brock pulled free of her mouth, a cry tearing from her throat. She felt her body jerking, convulsing, her juices spraying from her cunt as her body shuddered in hard, involuntary spasms. Her womb rippled, clenched, her anus tightening as Cade groaned behind her a second before he blasted the hot depths of her ass with his desperate release.

Sam cried out below her, words of love, of need, emotional, intense as another climax tore through her, pouring over his cock as he thrust harder, deeper inside her. And still her pussy milked him, clenching on his flesh. She could hear Cade behind her, a last groan tearing from his chest as her muscles continued to tighten on him, on Sam, before he slowly pulled free of her. Then amazingly, shockingly, Brock gripped her hips, his still hard cock thrusting into her ass as Sam stilled for only the time it took for his brother to begin a series of hard, quick thrusts inside her.

“Sam, Sam…” she chanted his name. “God help me, I love you, Sam.”

Pivotal, intense, the words shattered his control. He heaved beneath her, burying his cock deep and hard inside her as Brock blasted her with his own release. Sam filled her. His seed jetted to her womb, triggering another harder, deeper climax that had her body tightening to a point that she felt she would shatter. And then she did. Like a veil of night, the pulsing emotion and deepening, agonizing pleasure overwhelmed her senses as she slumped against the man that she knew would hold her, heart and soul, for eternity.

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Chapter Thirty-Seven

Sam held her close, still a part of her body, unable to pull himself free, to move her fragile weight from his chest. The scent of sex and semen, and raw, unbridled emotion still filled the air. But there was no scent of blood. For the first time in his life, he could smell the raw, earthy scent of sex, and smell no blood. Her body was soaked with her own release, as well as theirs. Her hair was thoroughly damp, falling over her shoulder and his to trail to the mattress beneath them. He pretended that the moisture on his face was his own sweat, but he knew it for the tears it was. He held her close, rocking her, and let them fall. It wasn’t the sexuality or the lust that fulfilled him in sharing her. It went deeper, further than that. She knew a pleasure now that he alone could never give her. It was an unselfish giving from his soul. In sharing her with the men who were as much a part of him as any other human could be, he gave her more than he could ever give her alone. Sensations, emotions, a protection and an acceptance that would never dim. In his soul he realized now why one of his brothers could walk into a room, smell the scent of the other on his woman, and know pride rather than jealousy, regret or guilt. They would be there when he couldn’t be. She would have three measures of support, rather than just one. She would have three of him.

“Sam?” Cade’s voice was soft, relaxed. Sam hadn’t heard that quality in his voice in years.

He shook his head, the weakness of his tears hidden. He wasn’t a kid anymore, but a grown man, and still his greatest joy, his greatest sense of security was in knowing that all he was, all he cared for, was being watched over by the brothers who had been his salvation throughout his life.

“When you’re holding Marly, touching her, loving her, I know in my soul it’s the same as if it were myself,” he said softly. “I know what you’re feeling, and it’s okay. I’ll be damned if I didn’t cry in her arms when I bathed her after that first time.”

He smoothed his cheeks over Heather’s shoulder, feeling her even breathing, knowing the exhaustion that gripped her.

“She needs to be bathed, Sam,” Brock advised him gently. “So she won’t be too sore, or wake up uncomfortable.”

He moved her gently, aware of the hands that helped him. His brothers. They laid her back on the mattress, and Sam could only smile gently as she cuddled closer to his warmth, a slight chill rippling over her skin from the air-conditioning for a moment before Cade jerked the blanket over her.

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Ready hands to see to her comfort if he couldn’t. To see to her pleasure, her happiness. He sighed deeply as he rose to his feet and dragged his jeans wearily over his legs. It was a ritual, a necessity. She had given them the greatest gift a woman could give, and now it was time that he saw to her comfort and her well being. He wrapped the blanket carefully around her as Cade and Brock dressed. They would return to their own rooms now, shower, and then love their women, either separately or together. There was no censure, no sense of doubt or possessiveness among the women, or the brothers. Sarah loved Brock, but she understood that sometimes Cade needed her as well, and there were times, Sam knew, that Sarah had sought out that connection as well. Just as Marly did. As Heather would soon learn to. It wasn’t pushed on them, it wasn’t taken for granted, the gift they gave. Each woman set her own limits, and without argument, without disapproval, each of the brothers accepted those limits.

As he left the family room, he drew up warily, stopping outside the door as he glimpsed Tara standing militantly by the stairs. He expected rage, expected a screaming fit. But it was sadness that marked her features instead.

“If she gets hurt, I’ll kill you,” she whispered, and Sam knew she meant it. “Some way, Sam, somehow, I’ll kill you.”

He held Heather closer, glancing down at her slumbering features as joy pulsed in his heart. When he looked up at Tara, there were no doubts, not in his heart, not in his voice.

“If she gets hurt, Tara, you won’t have to. I’ll take care of that myself.”

Her lips firmed as she drew in a ragged breath. She said nothing more though, merely stepped aside and allowed him to carry his woman to his room. The pain that marked her features worried him, for Heather’s sake. He knew that pain would concern her, would weigh on her. Despite their differences, the two women were close, almost as close as he and his brothers were. Almost, but not quite. He stepped into the darkened bedroom, flipping the light on as he kicked the bedroom door closed, then came to an abrupt stop. Nightmare and reality collided. Hopelessness, horror scarred his soul.

“Hello, Sammy-boy.” The voice whispered demonically. “Been a long time ain’t it, son?”

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Chapter Thirty-Eight

Sam prayed that Heather continued to sleep. He laid her on the bed as directed, tucking the blanket carefully around her, tucking her hair back from her face as he stared down at her with a sense of agony. If he could just get the threat out of the room, out of the house, then the rest of them would be safe.

“You dirtied her,” the voice sneered. “You and those bastards touched her and soiled a good, decent woman, just like you did Marly. You were supposed to protect them, Sam. Protect them, not turn them into camp whores.”

“Yes, I know.” He stilled the rage and the denials that rose in his soul. He would do whatever it took to keep Heather safe, no matter what he had to say, what he had to do. He rose slowly and turned back to face the past.

She wasn’t the beauty she used to be. Her long, black hair was cut almost manly short. Her eyes, once a deep blue, now seemed faded. The once pure, creamy skin was mottled, with small scars along her cheeks. She was pitifully thin, almost emaciated.

“You killed Tate.” He shook his head, knowing it was true.

“Of course I did,” she sneered. “He was a blight on society, no better than Reginald was.”

“Was?” Sam asked her carefully.

“Was.” Cruelty reflected in her gaze. “He’s dead Sammy. Poor bastard, thought he could help Jack take me, punish me for running away. I showed him. I killed him just like I killed Tate.”

Sam swallowed tightly.

“This will kill Marly, Anna,” he whispered painfully. “Did you think about that?”

She grimaced, her lips twisting with an ugly sneer as she aimed the gun at his heart.

“Marly will never know,” she sneered. “I’ll kill you, Sam, and remove your influence forever. It’s your fault. All your fault. If you hadn’t killed Jedediah, then he would have kept Reggie under control. Would have kept him from hurting me. He controlled Reggie and Jack, and you killed him. Then, when I would have forgiven that, you turned my baby into a whore. Made her as diseased and dirty as you are.”

“Do you know what he did to us, Anna?” he whispered bleakly. “For God’s sake, he would have destroyed us.”

“Of course I knew,” she growled. “I lived there, Sam. I heard every scream, every plea out of your pathetic mouths. Whining bastards that you were.”

Shock shattered his system, weakening his knees, sending his stomach dipping with horror. He could only stare at her, his body tightening with ragged, enraged fury. Lora Leigh

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He remembered how he had once looked up to this woman. When he was younger, before his father’s abuses, his mother’s death. Remembered how she would come to Cade when Joe’s screaming rages first started, huddling in a bed with the three boys, trembling in fear.

“You’re insane,” he whispered. “You’ll never get out of here. Never get away with this.”

“Of course I will,” she cooed almost gently. “We’re going to walk out of here, Sam, and go to the back door. The guard there is sleeping his final sleep. And we’ll walk out into the night. You’ll never return, and neither will I, until Rick’s crew pulls out, and Heather will go with them. No one will know me then. No one will suspect when I return.” She waved the gun to the door. “Let’s go before your little whore wakes up and I have to kill her, too.”

He moved to the door, praying for a chance to catch her off guard. He couldn’t do it in the house. Couldn’t take the chance that Cade or Brock, or one of the women would be hurt. His best chance would be outside, in the dark.

“Don’t try to screw me over, Sammy,” she snarled as he reached the door. “Make sure no one’s out there. If they are, they’ll get hurt.”

He paused, opening the door slowly.

“You first,” she hissed, waving toward the hallway.

He stepped from the room, his body tense, tight, desperate to get Anna from the house before anyone else, especially Marly, saw her. He stayed where she could see him, knowing he had to get her away from Heather, then away from the house. After that, he would make damned sure she paid for the hell she had put them all through. She stepped carefully from the bedroom, tucking the gun in the pocket of her light jacket as she motioned him forward. He headed for the stairs.

“Sam, is Heather awake yet?” Cade’s bedroom door opened and Marly stepped from the room. Between him and her mother.

Sam swung around, moving in front of her, placing his own body between her and the crazy woman intent on death.

“Momma.” Her voice was dazed, confused as she fought Sam. “Move, Sam. Move. It’s my mother.” Joy lit her voice as it rose in volume, until she glimpsed the gun Anna had jerked from her jacket and aimed at Sam’s heart. “Momma?”

“Stay back, Marly. Get the fuck back in your room.” He fought to crowd her to the open doorway, as Brock moved from his own bedroom behind Anna. Sam glanced at his brother, seeing instant understanding as Anna started to dart back to Sam’s room, and Heather. Brock moved quickly, placing his body between her and the room, ignoring the gun wavering between him and Sam, and the desperateeyed woman watching them with hatred.

“If you fire that gun, you’ll wake her up,” Sam warned her. “You can’t get to her, Anna.”

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“Momma, what are you doing?” Marly fought Sam as he held her back, terror thickening her voice. “Damn you, Sam, get out of my way.”

“No, Marly.” He pressed her against the wall, turning to her, holding her in place.

“Baby, she’s fucking crazy. Please. Please God, Marly. Stay behind me.”