Loving Sarah (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Read online

  Loving Sarah

  Eight years ago Jesse Colter fled his small town, leaving behind eighteen-year-old Sarah Marshall. Now a retired Navy SEAL, he’s back and he wants only one thing—Sarah Marshall—bound, naked, and kneeling before him.

  Sarah has never forgotten Jesse, the object of all her sexual fantasies since she was fifteen, as well as the star of nightly dreams that have become increasingly erotic over the years. So when he suddenly reappears in her life, she warily agrees to let him introduce her to his world—the world of BDSM. When he also introduces her to his best friend, Adam Sinclair, Sarah faces the challenge of submitting to two powerful, Dominant men.

  But Sarah has an even bigger challenge. A stalker. Someone from her past, determined to destroy any chance she has at happiness. Can Adam and Jesse love and protect her? Or will her world explode in betrayal and violence that will destroy them all?

  Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

  Length: 110,956 words

  LOVING SARAH

  Julie Shelton

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  LOVING SARAH

  Copyright © 2012 by Julie Shelton

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-059-9

  First E-book Publication: December 2012

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Loving Sarah by Julie Shelton from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Julie Shelton’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Shelton’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  LOVING SARAH

  JULIE SHELTON

  Copyright © 2012

  Prologue

  Christ, it’s hotter’n fuckin’ Hades in here! Darting the narrow flashlight beam around the dark interior of the garage apartment, he grunted irritably as sweat trickled down his back, rolled down his chest, and dripped off his chin. Sheets covered the furniture, boxes were stacked everywhere—place is a fuckin’ storage area. Not that he was in any position to quibble over the accommodations. Of course, it sucked that the electrical service had been disconnected, although he would never have been stupid enough to turn on the lights or AC—too risky. But he had planned on watching a little TV. What the fuck was he gonna do with no fuckin’ TV? God damn it, it’s hot in here! He’d been there less than five minutes, and already his jeans and T-shirt were soaked and he was beginning to smell like a warthog’s armpit.

  Oh, shit. Abruptly, he strode over to the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet, exhaling with a loud whoosh of relief. Thank God, the water’s still connected. If he kept hydrated and took a couple of long, cold showers, it’d be okay. After all, he wasn’t gonna be there long enough to worry about getting heatstroke—few hours, tops. And he could always just strip down to his underwear. Or even go naked. Who would give a shit? An evil grin split the lower half of his face, stretching his pierced lips into a grotesque caricature of a smile.

  Shrugging out of his backpack, he tossed it onto a chair, sending a cloud of dust billowing up around his face. Coughing fitfully, he unzipped several pockets and rummaged through them, before finally pulling out several sticks of beef jerky. He ripped one package open with his teeth and spit the plastic wrapping onto the floor. Biting off a chunk of meat, he began chewing noisily. He walked over to the window and pushed the curtain aside with the back of his hand. A silver Prius was parked out in front of the graceful antebellum mansion, but the house was dark. Was she in there? Was she asleep? Does she sleep in the nude? His grin widened into a gargoyle’s grimace.

  To hell with waiting until the wee hours of the morning. Maybe he’d just go over there and snatch her right now. Christ! He was hard just thinking about it. Just thinking about pounding his dick into that wet, hot pussy—the pussy he’d been dreaming about for eleven years. He’d fuck her over and over again until he was too cross-eyed to see. Then he’d take her back to the compound and turn her over to the Brotherhood. Oh, yeah. Paybacks are such a bitch!

  Chapter One

  Uh-oh. She was in trouble now. A quick glance in her rearview mirror confirmed the strobing red-and-blue lights of the unmarked police cruiser behind her, a black Hummer H3 Alpha, powerful and forbidding, with a slight air of menace. Just like its occupant.

  Jesse Colter.

  Sarah’s throat thickened and she suddenly couldn’t breathe. She shut her eyes, trying to calm herself, but her nerves felt like stinging nettles burning her skin. Why hadn’t anyone told her that the newly hired chief of police she was scheduled to meet with today was Jesse Colter? She’d fled from work the moment she heard his name, desperate to avoid this very encounter. I’m not ready, she thought, pushing against the panic that threatened to overwhelm her at the thought of seeing him again after all these years. I’ll never be ready!

  Blowing out her breath, she wiped her sweating hands on her skirt. Her belly clenched as hot juice gathered in her feminine folds. How could he still affect her like this? She hadn’t seen him for eight years. Not since he’d abruptly disappeared the day of her eighteenth birthday.

  At least, she hadn’t seen him in person.

  But she had seen him nearly every night of those eight years. In her dreams. She’d seen him and tasted him and
felt him as if he’d been real. As if he’d been there. She’d seen him rising over her, preparing to enter her. Tasted his full, moist lips and thrusting tongue. Felt his massive cock stretching her, filling her until she was sobbing and screaming out his name—only to wake up on the edge of an explosive orgasm that melted away even as he melted away, like a chalk painting in the rain. Her dreams of Jesse were just that. Dreams.

  Eyes riveted to the side mirror, she watched, dry-mouthed, as he unfolded himself from the interior of the Hummer and rose to his full height of six feet three inches. He stood without moving, just staring in her direction, eyes hidden behind his mirrored aviators.

  God, he was even more gorgeous than she remembered. Gypsy-dark, panther-lean, his magnificent body was taut with the unyielding ripple of tempered steel. Her eyes roamed hungrily over his beloved face, with its strong, square jaw, hawk’s beak of a nose and sensuous, almost cruel lips. And those killer cheekbones—Lord have mercy. To Sarah’s eyes, there had always been something raw and untamed about him.

  There still was.

  She stared into the mirror, unable to tear her gaze away from the powerful muscles bunching and rippling beneath the snug material of his black cargo pants. The soft cotton of his black T-shirt, with its Marshal’s Creek Police Department logo, stretched tautly across the sculpted ridges of his chest and abs, accentuating rather than concealing the power beneath. His forearms were deeply tanned and corded with heavy veins. His thick black hair, cut shorter than she’d ever seen it, feathered neatly across his forehead. Biceps flexing and bulging, he reached back inside the car, lifted a black Stetson to his head and closed the door.

  Her chest constricted as she watched him stride toward her, purpose in every step. He looked so good, so good…exactly the way she remembered. Except completely different.

  So much bigger than he had been. So much broader. So much harder. So much…more. He had been sexy. Now he was positively lethal.

  With supreme effort, she kept herself from moaning aloud. No longer dry, her mouth began watering like Niagara Falls. God, she’d missed him so much. She hadn’t realized just how much until this minute. Heart thundering in her ears, she waited until he drew even with her before lowering her window. She turned her head to look up at him, ready with what she hoped was an impersonal, self-confident smile.

  Except he wasn’t smiling. His expression was blank, almost scowling. Her own smile slid away as the breezy greeting she’d prepared died on her lips.

  “License, registration, and proof of insurance, please.” The rough grit of his deep baritone voice was still there, but his tone was flat and impersonal. The soft southern drawl she’d loved so much was edged with steel.

  She stared up at him, trying to jump-start her brain. That’s it? After eight long years, that was it? No “Hello, Sarah, how’ve you been?” No “Nice to see you”? Just “license, registration, and proof of insurance”? Her lungs froze; she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She felt hot and cold all at once, goose bumps racing like fire across her skin. Here she was, creaming her panties at the very sight of him, the very thought of him, and he was acting as if he didn’t even recognize her.

  “I—I beg your pardon?” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, biting down hard. God, Jesse, why did you have to come back here, stirring up all these unwanted emotions? Why couldn’t you have just left me with my dreams and fantasies?

  “You heard me, Ms. Marshall. License, registration, and proof of insurance.”

  She recoiled as if he’d struck her. Ms. Marshall. Not “Princess,” or “darlin’ girl,” or “sugar,” or any of the other pet names he’d called her over the years. Not even Sarah. She might have been any stranger he’d pulled over on the highway for speeding. Her throat closed up. Wrenching her gaze away from him, she snatched her purse up off the passenger seat and pulled it into her lap, groping blindly inside to grab her wallet. “I—I—just a minute, I have them right here…”

  Pride stiffened her spine, but nothing could stop her hands from shaking as she tried to pull the requested items from their slots with fingers that suddenly felt as thick as sausages. She struggled to make sense of his attitude. Was he angry because she’d skipped out on their appointment? If anything, she was the one who should be angry. After all, he was the one who’d walked out on her eight years ago. He was the one who’d taken her father’s payoff money and disappeared with no word of explanation or good-bye.

  Jesse…It was a silent cry of anguish, ripped from her heart. Why did you leave me? Why couldn’t you love me? Why—

  Abruptly she clamped down on her traitorous thoughts, but could do nothing about her body’s traitorous reactions. Feeling his eyes on her like a caress, she couldn’t prevent her breasts from swelling within the lacy confines of her bra. Her nipples hardened into tight, achy peaks, throbbing with need, as if they could still feel his mouth upon them, licking, suckling—she swallowed painfully. Feelings she’d thought long dead and buried came spilling like a tsunami from someplace deep inside her, wiping out the past eight years in an instant. All of a sudden, she was eighteen again, loving him with all the desperation only eighteen-year-olds are capable of. Wanting him. Needing him. Craving him with a hunger that threatened to consume her.

  A hunger, she now realized, that had never abated. Never stopped. A hunger that was even now thundering through her body like a herd of stampeding buffalo. And suddenly her hands weren’t the only things that were shaking. She was shaking all over. How dare he do this to me? How dare he come back into my life after eight long, silent years and treat me like this—like some stranger he’s never laid eyes on before? Just—just—how dare he?

  She lifted her chin defiantly. Damn it, she was not going to let him do this! She was not eighteen anymore. She was twenty-six, a grown woman, for God’s sake! And she certainly did not need Jesse Colter messing up her well-ordered life. She refused to need him. Her life was perfectly fine exactly the way it was, thank you very much—no strings, no commitments, and no hassles. He’d walked out on her eight years ago, leaving her crushed and hollowed out with grief. Damned if she was going to let him just walk right back in and act as if nothing had happened.

  Not that he wants to just walk right back in, she reminded herself acidly. If he did, he would have contacted you somehow—letter, email, postcard…something. And he wouldn’t be treating you like a complete stranger now.

  With one last, supreme effort, Sarah finally managed to jerk her license out of its tight slot. Blinking back a rush of tears, she shoved it out the window, along with her insurance card and registration slip. As Jesse’s long, hard fingers brushed against hers, the heat from his skin seared into her body, crackling and snapping as if lightning had jolted between them. Swallowing a gasp, she jerked her hand away, curling it tightly in her lap.

  “Wait here,” he snarled, turning on his heel and striding back to his car, his long legs making short work of the distance. He jerked open the door and sank into the driver’s seat.

  She waited, numb and miserable, her addled brain only registering his return when the bits of paper and plastic fell through the open window into her lap, as if he couldn’t bear to touch her. She didn’t even try to stuff them back into their proper slots, just dropped them loosely into her purse. She’d put them away later, when her hands weren’t trembling quite so badly. “Are we done here?” she asked stiffly, staring straight ahead, her jaw muscles working as she clenched and unclenched her teeth. She wanted to scream with sheer frustration. She wanted to hurt him for all the pain he’d caused her.

  But mostly, she just wanted to cry.

  Without answering, he held out a clipboard, careful to avoid touching her as she automatically reached up to take it from him.

  “What’s this?” She glared at it as if he’d just handed her a live, wriggling snake. He’s giving me a ticket? “You’re giving me a ticket? What for?”

  “For failing to signal a right-hand turn.” He waggled his index
finger in the general direction of the clipboard. “Just sign where I’ve indicated at the bottom.”

  “Is this a joke?” She stared uncomprehendingly at the citation she was holding. “This is a joke, right?”

  “Your signature is not an indication that you agree with the charge,” he recited in a singsong voice that irritated the hell out of her. “It merely acknowledges that you received the citation. If you wish to fight this in court, you still must pay the fine within thirty days or risk having your license suspended.”

  She gasped. “You’re giving me a ticket?” She knew she was practically screeching, but couldn’t seem to help herself. Nor could she help the sudden explosion of fury that punched through her. “Why, you arrogant son of a bitch! I was in the Right Turn Only lane, what more of a signal do you need?” Both her voice and her expression hardened as she struggled to speak around the painful thickness in her throat. “This is nothing more than harassment, Chief Colter.” She practically spat his name. “And I intend to file an official complaint against you with the Town Council first thing tomorrow morning. You can count on it.”

  “And the next time you duck out on a meeting with me, Ms. Marshall, you will not like the consequences. I can guarantee it.” His voice was a steel blade, carving wounds into her soul.

  Grabbing the pen he held out to her, she signed her name jerkily, then threw both items out the window. While he was juggling awkwardly to keep them from clattering to the ground, she drove off, tires squealing. When she got to the corner, she found herself risking one last glance back at him in her rearview mirror.