He was silent for a long moment, and Sarah had to forcibly still a gasp of protest as his eyes darkened in agony. The pain was so deep, so raw, she wanted to scream for him. He swallowed tightly, then he glanced away from her as he took a deep breath.
“How do you justify complete silence?” She flinched at the grating tone of his voice when he turned back, but still didn’t understand until he continued. “How do you explain that the only time you were allowed to be a brother was when you shared a cup of rice or a drink of water from the same cup or plate? That to save your brother, you were forced to give up your pride, your self-respect and your manhood?”
His body was strung tight. He stared down at her with rage glowing in his eyes. His fists clenched with the agony of whatever memory boiled in his soul.
“What are you saying?” she gasped, horror filling her as his words sank into her mind.
“It’s the way we were trained” he sneered, his voice raspy, so agonized she wanted to scream at him to stop. “We were sent away during our late teens, to a friend of our parents. For training, my father said. We were forced to share everything and always in silence. Our dinner, our glass to drink from, the fork to eat from, and our bodies. If we didn’t do as we were ordered, then one of us was beaten. Never the one who refused, but the one that was innocent, the weakest one. The one that had already suffered too much. We weren’t allowed to speak to each other, and we were monitored constantly. Forced to hurt each other, Sarah, trained to hate each other.”
Sarah flinched at the fury, the indescribable pain in his expression. There was no shame, no sense of having done wrong, just acceptance, and an aching fury mixed with it. And pain. Dear God, the pain she could see radiating in his body, in his heart. He stared down at her, so tense, so wary. Expecting another blow. Expecting disgust. She could see it in his face, in his tormented eyes.
“Don’t, Brock.” She couldn’t bear this. Couldn’t bear to humble him, only to turn him away later. She wouldn’t, she couldn’t give him what he wanted.
“We swore to each other, we wouldn’t let him make us hate. So we shared willingly, everything, no matter how angry it made that bastard. When he held the whip at Sam’s back, Cade and I touched each other, we fucked each other, no matter how much we hated it. Then we did the same to Sam, knowing it was the only way to survive. Knowing we loved each other enough to get through it. But it hurt us, Sarah. It scarred us. When we came out of there, there was no sense of affection, of closeness left in us. Despite it all, he had taken it from us. We were alone inside and it was slowly killing all of us.”
“Please, Brock.” Her stomach was tight, nausea building inside her at the thought of such pain, such incredible abuse.
“For a long time, we weren’t even sexual,” he continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “Then Cade brought home a woman. A prostitute he said would help us get it back. We were so fucking young. He was barely twenty, Sam and I were only eighteen. But as we started touching her, sharing her, it brought it back, Sarah. We were close again. Without pain, without fear, with no shame, we were together again. We survived, we could fuck a woman and enjoy it, and we were brothers again. I don’t understand it. I can’t ask you to. But it’s something we’ve had to have to survive.”
No, it didn’t make sense. They should have been warped, broken men, instead they were sexual, smiling, productive men. Sarah shook her head. It didn’t make sense, but she understood.
“I can’t—” She shook her head.
“Sarah, I want you, not just for a few nights.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers in the reflective glass of the mirror. “I don’t want to let you go.”
She trembled under his touch.
“It’s wrong,” she whispered. “If you love someone, you don’t share them.”
“I know it’s hard for you,” he said gently, his eyes incredibly sad. “I don’t blame you, baby, not at all. All I’m asking you for right now, is to be with me. Just me, Sarah. Give me a chance.”
“A chance to convince me?” Her laughter was nearly hysterical.
God, he didn’t know. She could never let him know. If it would wipe the memories and the pain from his eyes she would fuck whoever he wanted her to and never regret it. How could anyone be so cruel, so soulless as to torture anyone in such a terrible manner.
“To seduce you. To show you how good we can be, how much I need you. The rest will come in time.” He rubbed his chin against her hair, his hands moving slowly against her back, pressing her close.
“You’ll still fuck Marly.” She knew he would. She wanted to cry when she saw the knowledge in his eyes.
“Marly is a part of my brother. I love her, as surely as I love him. I can’t stop that, Sarah. Don’t ask me to. If Cade needs me, if he needs that to still his demons, then I will. I won’t refuse him. Don’t hurt me by demanding that I do.” He was vulnerable and she had never imagined he could be. She didn’t like the power it gave her, or her inability to use it.
“How are you different from Mark?” she asked him, confused by his obvious need for her, and yet his need for Marly as well. “You’ll be having sex with another woman, Brock. Just like he did.”
“I’m different Sarah, because I offer you everything I am. Inside and out,” he pleaded with her to understand. It was in his eyes, the throb of his voice. “I don’t just offer myself, but my brothers, their love for me, given to you. Their only aim in life to provide for you, to care for you, just as we do with Marly. Just that, Sarah. That’s all. All we are and all the love we have left in us.”
Sarah wanted to cry. She wanted to reach into his soul and wipe away the loneliness, the ache, the torment he had endured and replace it with laughter. Had he laughed, in all the years she had known him? Had she ever seen laughter in his eyes? Amusement. Self-mockery. But never laughter. Never joy. Did he even know what joy truly was?
“What if I can’t give you what you need, Brock?” she questioned desperately, agonizingly. Fantasizing was one thing. Reality was another. “What makes you think I can share you, let alone let you share me?”
“Because you’re curious, aroused,” he accused her, though his voice was gentle, understanding. “That’s why you ran six years ago, Sarah. That’s what scared you so damned bad. Sam told me he was there. That you saw him. You were afraid you wanted it, so you ran and married Tate to escape it.”
“No!” He was lying. She didn’t. Had she?
Sarah moved away from him, needing distance between him and the vibration of needs, arousal and pain emanating from him.
“You did, Sarah.” He stalked her slowly from the room. “Lie to me if you have to. I don’t blame you. What I’m asking has to be hell on a woman. But don’t lie to yourself. Not now. Not after all this time. The thought of it arouses you. Just as it does me. Admit it.”
“Stop.” She shook her head desperately, ignoring the ache between her thighs, the plea in his voice. “That’s not what I want.”