Page 6 of Capture Me (Capture Me)

I can’t even manage a nod, but he doesn’t seem to need my confirmation. And why would he? I can feel the slickness inside me, the wetness that coats those rough male fingers—fingers that he withdraws from me slowly, watching my face the whole time. I want to close my eyes, or at least look away from that penetrating gaze, but I can’t.

Not without letting him know how much he frightens me.

So instead of backing down, I study him in return, seeing the signs of arousal on his strong features. His jaw is clenched tight as he stares at me, a tiny muscle pulsing near his right ear. And even through the sun-bronzed hue of his skin, I can see heightened color on his blade-like cheekbones.

He wants me badly—and that knowledge emboldens me to act.

Reaching down, I cup the hard bulge at the crotch of his jeans. “Itwasnice,” I whisper, looking up at him. “And now it’s your turn.”

His pupils dilate even more, his chest inflating with a deep breath. “Yes.” His voice is thick with lust as he uses his grip on my hair to drag me closer. “Yes, I think it is.” And before I can reconsider the wisdom of my blatant provocation, he lowers his head and captures my mouth with his.

I gasp, my lips parting from surprise, and he immediately takes advantage, deepening the kiss. His hard-looking mouth is surprisingly soft on mine, his lips warm and smooth as his tongue hungrily explores the interior of my mouth. There’s skill and confidence in that kiss; it’s the kiss of a man who knows how to please a woman, how to seduce her with nothing more than the touch of his lips.

The heat simmering within me intensifies, the tension rising inside me once more. He’s holding me so close that my bare breasts are pressing against his sweater, the wool rubbing against my peaked nipples. I can feel his erection through the rough material of his jeans; it pushes into my lower belly, revealing how much he wants me, how thin his pretense of control really is. Dimly, I realize the robe fell off my shoulders, leaving me completely naked, and then I forget all about it as he makes a low growling sound deep in his throat and pushes me against the wall.

The shock of the cold surface at my back clears my mind for a second, but he’s already unzipping his jeans, his knees wedging between my legs and spreading them open as he raises his head to look at me. I hear the ripping sound of a foil packet being opened, and then he cups my ass and lifts me off the ground. Instinctively, I grab at his shoulders, my heartbeat quickening as he orders hoarsely, “Wrap your legs around me”—and lowers me onto his stiff cock, all the while holding my gaze.

His thrust is hard and deep, penetrating me all the way. My breathing stutters at the force of it, at the uncompromising brutality of the invasion. My inner muscles clench around him, futilely trying to keep him out. His cock is as big as the rest of him, so long and thick it stretches me to the point of pain. If I hadn’t been so wet, he would’ve torn me. But Iamwet, and after a couple of moments, my body begins to soften, adjusting to his thickness. Unconsciously, my legs come up, clasping his hips as he instructed, and the new position lets him slide even deeper into me, making me cry out at the sharp sensation.

He begins to move then, his eyes glittering as he stares at me. Each thrust is as hard as the one that joined us together, yet my body no longer tries to fight it. Instead, it brings forth more moisture, easing his way. Each time he slams into me, his groin presses against my sex, putting pressure on my clit, and the tension in my core returns, growing with every second. Stunned, I realize I’m about to have my second orgasm... and then I do, the tension peaking and exploding, scattering my thoughts and electrifying my nerve endings.

I can feel my own pulsations, the way my muscles squeeze and release his cock, and then I see his eyes go unfocused as he stops thrusting. A hoarse, deep groan escapes his throat as he grinds into me, and I know he’s found his release as well, my orgasm driving him over the edge.

My chest heaving, I stare up at him, watching as his pale blue eyes refocus on me. He’s still inside me, and all of a sudden, the intimacy of that is unbearable. He’s nobody to me, a stranger, yet he fucked me.

He fucked me, and I let him because it’s my job.

Swallowing, I push at his chest, my legs unwrapping from around his waist. “Please, let me down.” I know I should be cooing at him and stroking his ego. I should be telling him how amazing it was, how he gave me more pleasure than anyone I’ve known. It wouldn’t even be a lie—I’ve never come twice with a man before. But I can’t bring myself to do that. I feel too raw, too invaded.

With this man, I’m not in control, and that knowledge scares me.

I don’t know if he senses that, or if he just wants to toy with me, but a sardonic smile appears on his lips.

“It’s too late for regrets, beautiful,” he murmurs, and before I can respond, he lets me down and releases his grip on my ass. His softening cock slips out of my body as he steps back, and I watch, my breathing still uneven, as he casually takes the condom off and drops it on the floor.

For some reason, his action makes me flush. There’s something so wrong, so dirty about that condom lying there. Perhaps it’s because I feel like that condom: used and discarded. Spotting my robe on the floor, I move to pick it up, but Lucas’s hand on my arm stops me.

“What are you doing?” he asks, gazing at me. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned that his jeans are still unzipped and his cock is hanging out. “We’re not done yet.”

My heart skips a beat. “We’re not?”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. To my shock, I feel him hardening against my stomach. “We’re far from done.”

And using his grip on my arm, he steers me toward the bed.

4

Yulia

My mind in turmoil, I sit on the edge of the bed and watch Lucas undress.

First, he pulls off his sweater, revealing a tight T-shirt stretched across his muscular chest. Next, he takes off his shoes and pushes down his jeans and black briefs. His legs are as powerful as they’d appeared through his clothes, thick with muscle and as darkly tanned as his face. His cock, already hard again, is jutting out from a nest of brownish-blond hair at his groin, and as he pulls off his T-shirt, I see sharply defined abs and sculpted chest.

Lucas Kent has the body of an athlete, beautiful in its uncompromising strength.

As I watch him, I become aware of a strange urge to touch him. Not in an effort to please him or because it’s expected of me, but because I want to. I want to know how his muscles feel under my fingertips, whether his bronzed skin is smooth or rough. I want to lick his neck, tongue the hollow above his collarbone, and find out how that warm-looking skin tastes.

It makes no sense, but I want him. I want him even though I’m sore from his rough fucking, even though he should be an assignment, nothing more.

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