CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(83)

"That's how I felt about my brother. I used to ask: what did we do wrong? But we didn't do anything wrong."

"No, you didn't," he says. "Sometimes fate is a bitch."

My throat catches. I've thought that so many times.

I realize he's looking intently at my eyes. "Sorry," he says. "I shouldn't get so depressing on a first date."

"It's okay. I understand. I know how hard it is to try to talk about unimportant stuff when you're worried about someone."

"I want to find out more about you, Claire. That's really important to me."

Under the table, my knees quiver. Seriously.

When we leave the restaurant, he slips his arm around my waist. Walking  beside him, I feel tiny. My head reaches his shoulder. A cool autumn  wind whirls leaves around our feet as we walk. We leave his car, as it's  only two blocks to the theatre.

Westingham's movie theatre is in an old clapboard building and it plays  up the small New England town feel. Movie posters are tacked up outside.

Sawyer says it's my choice-he's happy to watch anything I want. There's a  romantic comedy, an action movie, and a serious drama. I go for the  comedy. I figure there should be enough raunchiness built into it to  make it guy-acceptable.         

     



 

We take a seat near the back. I have the popcorn on my lap and I'm  munching (it's drenched in that gooey buttery stuff-oh yeah), when  Sawyer puts his arm around me again. My heart leaps as his fingers  stroke my shoulder.

Does he think this is the lead up to a one night stand? What if he does? I asked him for one. Could I actually do it?

The truth is, I really, really want him. But to jump right into bed with him?

I ache to do something physical to him in the theatre. Run my foot along his? Touch his leg? Kiss him?

I'm paralysed by a lack of daring when suddenly a woman on screen yanks  off her shirt and two of the largest breasts in history bounce toward  the camera. She's supposed to be attempting to seduce the hero. I guess  the hero's struggle is that if he's true to love, he doesn't get to play  with the huge boobs.

I squirm a little in my seat and shoot a glance at Sawyer. A lot of the  guys in the audience are laughing, obviously attempting to deal with the  sudden shot of arousal over being faced by boobs that could smother  them.

Sawyer looks … bemused. That's the only word to describe it. He has one  brow raised. Then he bends over to me. "Sorry. I had no idea it was this  kind of movie. You okay with it? We could go."

"Uh, I'm okay."

His mouth is so close to mine. Then he leans in that last inch and his  mouth covers mine. He tastes of butter-stuff from the popcorn. Of heat.  His lips are so soft, but firm too. He captures my lower lip between  his, tugs lightly, lets me go.

Desire rushes through me. I really squirm on the seat.

On screen, the large breasts are bouncing over the hero's head. Sparkly  red heart-shaped pasties cover her nipples-to get the appropriate  rating, I guess. If the nipples aren't bare, all that wobbly naked flesh  is okay.

Sawyer isn't paying any attention to the defy-gravity boobs. His lips  brush my ear. It is barely a touch, but I feel like he just stroked me  with a sparkler. Hot, tingly, sizzling.

I turn and kiss him on his gorgeous, sensual lips. In my excitement-and  nervousness-I do it too hard. His kiss was slow and seductive. I know  mine is clumsy.

His hand comes up and I expect he's going to break the kiss. Instead, he  tenderly cups my cheek and guides me, turning my awkward attempt into a  hot, sensual open-mouthed ecstasy of a kiss.

I'm necking in a theatre. I've never done this.

I always thought it was weird that kissing is acceptable-that no one  thinks much of it, and it's okay to do it in public. It's your mouth  engaged with someone else's mouth. It seems like the most intimate thing  in the world, since your mouth is part of your head. When I think about  it, joining private parts seems like a more distant form of contact  than mouths.

Of course I would never voice these things. I would sound geeky, weird, socially strange.

Sawyer's kiss makes me spin. I feel like I'm whirling in dizzying  circles. And I want more. Daringly, I touch his forearm. It's like  stroking iron, even through his jacket.

"I should put the popcorn on the floor," I murmur against his mouth.

He moves it for me, then his strong arm slides around me and he draws me into a deep kiss that sets me on fire.

His seductive mouth melts me, turns me into a gasping, moaning puddle of  desire. I'm floating in the heat he exudes, in the sexy, unique scent  of his skin. He moves from my mouth and nuzzles my jaw, then my neck. My  head falls back as I go weak with desire. I moan way too loud.

People turn. I clamp my hand over my mouth. Look at Sawyer with horror.

"I'll stop," he murmurs.

"No. Let's get out of here."

"My place?" he says.

Maybe this is it. Where our date moves into a hot sexual encounter and I  get to try everything I've dreamed of with the most gorgeous guy on  earth. Not to mention a guy who kisses like a god. A guy who saved a  little boy's life by being smart, observant, and having quick reflexes.

"Yeah. Your place sounds good," I say. This could be it-my night to  experience sex, if I want to. Inside, I'm trembling with uncertainty.



We reach his house, and three of his roommates are sprawled on a large  sofa in the living room, watching a horror movie. The fourth, who has a  shaved head, large dark eyes, and copper-brown skin is in the kitchen,  stirring pasta. A girl watches him cook, while she drinks a huge glass  of red wine. Sawyer introduces me to them all, but I'm so fixated on  wondering what is going to happen next-trying to guess what Sawyer wants  and decide what I want, that I don't remember their names.

Sawyer holds my hand, threading his fingers through mine. "Do you want to go to my room?"

I am struck dumb by the physical contact. Then stutter. "Y-yeah."

I guess this is how the one night stand happens. His room is the only  place we'll have privacy. I want to be alone with him. I want to kiss  him more. I want him.

The problem is that I want him, but I never dreamed of going to bed with  a guy I barely know. If I do it, I do it with the acceptance that this  will probably be just for this night. No matter how exciting and  thrilling it is, it may never happen again.

I like Sawyer. That's what makes my stomach clench in knots.

I want to see him again. Have a date with him again. Talk to him again.

Definitely kiss him again.

He opens the door to his room and I step inside.

So many things hit me at once. His bedroom is huge. So is his bed. I'm  in the room he does the most intimate things in, like sleep. Get naked.  Has sex.

One glance at the bed and I picture Sawyer on top of it. On top of me. I  can imagine how beautiful his naked back would be. Wide, wide  shoulders. Big muscles beneath smooth, velvet skin. And my hands  clutching his back as he thrusts into me-

I almost sway on my feet as desire streaks through me.

He closes the door and leans his elbow against it, bending down to me. I  have my back against the door, gazing up at him. I barely come up to  his shoulder.

With his full, soft lips that are almost pouting right now, he has the sexiest mouth I've ever seen.

That mouth touches mine.

Sparks more than fly. They shoot though my body and burst into flame.

Sawyer presses me back against the door. The kiss gets so deep, it's  bottomless. I wrap my arms around his neck, press my breasts to him. For  once, I'm pleased I have fairly generous breasts.

We kiss forever. It feels endless. With each second, I grow hotter and  hotter. My heart races. Races because I love kissing him, I'm so aroused  I could scream, and because I'm certain, at any minute, he's going to  lead me to the bed.

And I might lose my virginity.

Other than in wild fantasies, I always thought my first time would be  preceded by a relationship. But I've never wanted a guy with such  ferocious lust. Not even Trey.

My hands glide over Sawyer's shoulders. I breathe in the scent of his  skin, his hair. Musky but clean. I want to be underneath him while he  pounds wildly into me.

Sexual need actually hurts. It hurts bad.

Tension tightens inside me. Say yes. Say no. The warring battle in my head is going to consume me.

I'm about to scream, and in wild desperation, I pull back from his  mouth. He's gorgeous and I'm tired of waiting for a relationship. I'm  nineteen. "I know you just do one night stands," I say. "And I want  one."

He looks at me, his arm braced against the door over my head. "Not with you, Claire."

Not with me?

Then he leans down and he kisses me like a god. I've read in romance  novels about kisses that are scorching. Masterful. Steamy. Dizzying.

Orgasmic. His are almost orgasmic. I'm panting into his mouth, so hot and needy that I fight not to whimper.

Is it because I haven't really kissed before? Or is this all Sawyer?

He stops and strips off his shirt. I watch the hem slide up, revealing  his flat washboard abs, his navel, then the taut, hard muscles of his  wide chest. He's lean and hard. He's … perfect.

But what does he mean-not with me? "You want me to go?" My voice catches.