Heather's Gift (22 page)

Each ripple around his thick flesh was a sensuous bite of sensation that became nearly orgasmic as he ground himself deeper inside her.

“Sam.” Her head thrashed against the blanket as he pushed his knees closer together beneath her thighs, angling her harder onto the thick spear piercing her tender flesh.

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“Do you like it, Heather?” he whispered sensually. “Your cunt’s so tight it’s almost painful on my cock. Burning me, Heather. Your hot, wet pussy is burning me alive.”

She whimpered in protest as she felt him moving back then. Her hands gripped his arms; his fingers tightened on her nipples. Her eyes flew open, staring into his face again as he massaged the little peaks firmly. Fire bit at her nipples, agony resounded through her vagina as he drew back until once again only the head of his cock penetrated her.

His face was taut, his eyes blazing as he stared down at where his flesh met hers.

“You’re so wet for me, Heather.” He sounded amazed, as though he had never expected her to need him as desperately as he needed her.

“Sam, please.” She arched to him, trying to press his cock deeper into the heated depths of her vagina. She was on fire, so achy, so desperate for an end to the incredible arousal that she felt like howling out her demand.

“Easy.” His hand pressed against her abdomen. “Easy, Heather, just lay there, baby. Just lay there and let me show you how much I’ve wanted this sweet little body of yours.”

He pressed in, grimacing as she stretched around him. Heather’s thighs trembled, ached as she fought to take him deeper, harder.

“Harder,” she whispered. “Harder now, Sam.”

“Shh baby.” His hand moved from her breasts, cupping her hips as he controlled the desperate thrusts against him. “Slow and easy, baby.”

He began to move inside her, long slow thrusts that pushed her apart, stretched her with exquisite patience. Her muscles protested the thick intrusion as much as they greeted it. Nerve endings she had never known she possessed screamed out in sensation.

She felt perspiration soak her flesh, felt her cunt spasm around his erection, spilling more of the slick juices that lubricated the tight channel for his invasion. Over and over. Not even giving her the full length, but torturing her with the half thrusts that pierced her vaginal tissue, pressing it apart, teasing her with the pleasure/pain, the threat of the hard brutal thrust that she knew she needed to send her over the edge. And Heather wasn’t willing to be tortured. Months, agonizing arousing months of waiting were going to come to an end. Her heels locked around his lower back, giving her the purchase she needed to thrust herself onto the slow impalement. She cried out as he sank to the hilt, a curse blistering from his lips as his hands tightened on her hips.

“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. Lora Leigh

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“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.

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“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. Lora Leigh

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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.

I did it, Sam! I killed him!
Sam looked at Cade’s hands. He didn’t remember seeing blood on them. But he remembered seeing the blood, thick and brilliant, staining his own.

He stilled the tremor that wanted to wash over his body. He was exhausted, drained emotionally and physically, the aggression that had raged through his body relayed through his lust and his need for Heather.

He met Cade’s penetrating look and gave his brother the crooked smile he knew Cade needed. He was good at that, he thought bitterly. Allaying the fears of his brothers, easing their consciences, their own demons. Cade flicked a look at Heather. “She’s a hard one to figure.” He nodded at her. “She put a gun under my chin tonight, Sam. I wouldn’t want to piss her off too often.”

Sam grunted and looked around. He found the gun beside her shoulder and lifted it gingerly.

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“Son of a bitch,” he breathed out softly as he thumbed the safety over. “She had it cocked and ready, too. She had the damned thing under my chin about the same time she was working her cunt on me.” He shook his head and laid the gun carefully out of the way.

Cade’s face reflected his own surprise, then he shook his head, his lips tilting in a grin. “She said only an August would have a hard-on with a gun under his chin. Maybe she was right.”

“Yeah.” Sam tried to laugh, he wanted to, but the laughter wouldn’t come. He watched Cade closely, seeing the strain on his brother’s face, the worry in his eyes.

“Sam?” Cade questioned him softly.

Sam bit back an oath. His brothers had spent twelve years trying to protect him, to ease the pain, the horror of what had happened to them all in that dirty basement. His own memories of it were distant, as though it had been a dream, but lately, lately they had been clearer, returning with a vengeance and magnified by the scent of death.

“What happened that night? The night he died.” He hadn’t meant to say the words but they rumbled from his chest as his body tightened at the injustice of reminding Cade of those horrific days.

He watched Cade draw within himself. His eyes iced, growing cold, his expression emotionless.

“It’s better forgotten, Sam,” he bit out. “I told you that.”

Sam laid his head back against the hay, watching Cade, his heart breaking for them all.

“But it’s not forgotten,” he said softly. “We still wake up shaking from the nightmares, and we never talk about them. We punish the women who love us enough to tolerate our perversions, and still, we never talk about it. Neither of you have even asked me why the bastard hated me so much. Or why he punished you along with me.”

“There’s no sense in discussing it,” Cade growled, moving restlessly to his feet. “Let it go, Sam.”

“No, Cade.” He stood as well, facing his brother over the helpless, naked form of the lover he had just taken. The lover he would eventually share. The need was there, rising within him, to see Heather between the three of them, screaming in pleasure, begging for them. For all of them. “We have to discuss it. I’m remembering things…”

“Forget it.” Cade shook his head desperately. “Whatever you’re trying to remember Sam, forget it. It’s over.”

The tone of voice was well remembered. It brooked no refusal, no argument. But Sam wasn’t a kid anymore, and Cade was no longer the final word in any of their lives. In a flash he realized how he and Brock had given Cade what he needed at that time. Control. They followed his lead, did as he said, and let him guide them through the horrific days after the death of the monster. He had killed for them, hadn’t he? He had, Lora Leigh

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with his bare fists, defended himself against the knife-wielding psychopath who had held them helpless. But Cade’s hands weren’t scarred. Cade’s weren’t, but Sam’s were.

“It’s not over, Cade.” He stared his brother in the eye, seeing the pain, the shame that seared the other man’s soul. “It’s not over, because we still haven’t accepted it.”

“Wrong.” Cade’s voice was harsh, tempered with steel, hot with fury. “You’re wrong, Sam. The bastard is dead and we’re still alive, so it’s over.”

“And some fucking maniac is trying to destroy it all again.” Sam’s voice rose with his own anger, his own pain. “Every fucking bit of it, Cade. He’ll take it all away from us if he can, and if he’s caught, he’ll tell the world. He’ll tell them how we were held, how we were raped and how we were forced to fuck each other, goddammit. We can’t hide from it anymore.”

He watched Cade’s face pale as fury blackened his gaze. Cade’s fists clenched at his as sides and he snarled with a violence Sam hadn’t seen in him in years.