CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(87)

I didn't expect this. I never thought this was what he wanted tonight. But I say, "Okay. I'd like to do it with you."

His mouth takes mine again, in another hot, caressing, intense kiss.

With his booted foot, he pushes open his door and draws me inside.



I'm lying naked on his bed and the covers are a tangle at the foot of  the bed. The room is dim and shadowy. Only moonlight spills in his high  windows. His gorgeous, muscled body is silvery-blue in the soft, pale  light.

Sawyer is going down on me. He grips my bottom to lift my pussy to his mouth.

His tongue does magical things to me. Seriously enchanting things.

He rasps it over my clit, making circles on my sensitive nub, and my  fingers are almost tearing the sheet beneath me. But I relax and let  pleasure take me.

I keep thinking. In high school, I was considered a ‘brain' because I  spent all my time thinking about math and science; about homework,  lessons, projects.

Now I can't turn off my brain. I keep thinking that Sawyer could have  had an accident. I keep wondering: what happened to his friend? How did  the accident happen? Is Sawyer going to race again? And weren't there  cops there afterward? How did Sawyer escape getting arrested?

Stop thinking.

I reach down and tap him on the shoulder. He keeps teasing my clit with  his tongue. I'm writhing and wriggling on the bed, trying to stop long  enough to get his attention. It's so intense, so good, but I want him  inside me. Even though I haven't come yet. I want to hold him in my  arms. I want to wrap my body around his hot and gorgeous body. Kiss his  mouth and his neck and his ear, and have my body pressed as tight to his  as it can be.         

     



 

His tongue strums my clit and I scream. Pleasure bursts. I scream  through the orgasm that ravages me. I flop back on the bed. I'm laughing  and almost crying.

He starts licking and suckling me again.

I tap his shoulder again. Finally, I tug lightly on his hair.

He looks up. "Can I help you?"

I have to giggle. I'm so amazed-he's being natural and normal just for  me, I'm sure. But though he's teasing me, the pain in his eyes is  staggering. "Yes. I want you inside me. I'm aching for you. Now.  Please."

This is totally new to me. The breathless moment as he moves over me.  His hands brace on either side of my head, his long legs lie between  mine. His cock touches my belly. And leaves a dribble of sticky fluid.

He reaches for something on his bedside table, supporting his weight on  his elbow. The small foil package tears. I watch, eyes wide, as he  touches the condom to the tip of his cock. He arranges it, unrolls it,  leaving a gap at the end. The end of the condom is only about two-thirds  of the way down his cock.

I gaze into his violet eyes as he touches his cock to me, stroking it  between my pussy lips. He parts them, releasing a flood of juice from my  orgasm.

"You're so wet," he murmurs.

"For you. Because you just made me come like crazy."

I lift my leg and wrap it around his hip. That pulls him down and his cock sinks into me.

Oh. Wow. Oh. God. This is what it feels like. I'm stretched. Full. It's  perfect. But strange-I'm sensitive enough to feel him, to be aware of  him, but not so aware that I can feel everything.

Then he thrusts, his hips moving, his crotch touching mine, rubbing my  clit which is soooo sensitive. He draws back. I lift to him but my  rhythm is wrong, I move too far back, and his cock falls out. We both  reach down to push him back in.

In he goes, thick and full. I love having him inside. It's so intimate.  He's deep in me, deeper than I've ever felt inside me, I think. I can  touch him all over while he thrusts in me. Running my hands over his  shoulders, I marvel at how strong and broad they are. My fingers scratch  down his beautiful back. I grip his ass. I hold his taut cheeks and I  work him as he drives into me.

I arch to him and let his rhythm guide me.

He slams his cock deep into me. Then he arches up and I gaze into his eyes.

His cock strokes somewhere inside me, touches something so intense, my  brain blanks out. I'm swirling in sweet, delirious pleasure. I'm-

Coming with another huge scream.

"Claire," Sawyer murmurs, and his voice is throaty and ragged.

I run my hands all over him, savoring the way I've made him so sweaty.

His forehead touches mine and we stay still, trading fast, hard breaths.

He draws out and lies beside me.

I'm exhausted. And sore. I had no idea my inner thighs would hurt so much from stretching wide around his hips.

Suddenly I realize he's still hard.

He didn't come.

What did I do wrong? Why can't he come with me?

Logic tells me it must be because he's upset. But the insecure part of  me, the part that descended into depression when I got teased in high  school, fears it's because he came to me to use sex to feel better and  he's realized he's not into me.

"Can you-?" I can't ask that, can I? I don't want to hurt him or his  masculine pride and give him a performance anxiety issue. "I'm sorry," I  say finally. "I don't have experience. I'm not any good at this."

"You are amazing. I just can't get there." He kissed my forehead. His  chest moves fast with shallow breaths. "I thought I could blank out my  head with sex with you, since I want you so much. I guess it doesn't  work that way. I really apologize because you are fantastic."

True? Or is he just trying to be nice? In high school, I lost  familiarity with the concept of trying to be nice. Yes, I kept it up,  but once I was bullied, other people seemed to lose kindness. It was as  if it was okay to pick on me because you were just being part of the  crowd.

"Did you get off?" he asks. "I thought you did." There's such anxiety in his gorgeous violet eyes.

"I did. I-I've never done that before."

"I gave you your first orgasm?"

"I mean … uh … with someone. While making love with someone."

A wicked grin curves his mouth. "Someday I'd like to watch you make yourself come."

My face blushes hot. Though I realize I would love to watch him jerk  off. I would learn an incredible amount about what a guy likes. And when  I think about seeing his strong hand wrapped around his shaft, I get  all weak, achy, and hot inside.

"Do you think you could … jerk off and come? Maybe if you're doing it, it  would happen." This isn't about learning from him or even the fact I  think it would be wildly erotic to watch. He wanted an orgasm to ‘blank  out his head'. I couldn't give him one.

"I don't think I can get off."

I put my own doubts aside. How would I feel if I'd lost a friend? Hurt.  No, more than that. Actually in agony. I'd feel sick. The first time  Charley was in the hospital, when he was first diagnosed, I overheard  one of the doctors say he should have an operation immediately or he  could die. In that instant, I felt like I'd turned to ice. The fear and  shock and pain were so much, it was like my brain exploded. I took care  of Mom and I was with her when she talked to the doctors. But all the  while, it was like I couldn't really think. My brain would not allow me  to encompass the whole truth of the situation.

In the end, an older, more experienced doctor said to wait. And they  did. And Charley was okay. I mean, he has a condition, but he didn't  lose any of his colon and he's been able to keep the disease under  control since then with medication.

What Sawyer needs is to be taken care of. "Why don't you try going to sleep?" I say. "Just rest, at least."

"Will you stay with me?"

"Yes, of course. I'll look after you."



A couple of hours later, I wake up. Gray light filters in through the  two high windows-since Sawyer has a basement room, the windows are close  to the ceiling. You can't really see out of them. I roll over, to see  if he's okay.

He's not there.

Panicked I sit up. Where did he go? I get up. I don't want to get  completely dressed so I pull on his robe. I walk upstairs to the main  floor.

Sawyer is sitting on the couch in the dark living room, wearing nothing  but silk boxers. His head is bowed, his shoulders shaking. He clasps a  beer between his outstretched legs. As he lifts the bottle to his mouth,  tipping back his head to drain it, I see the pain in his eyes.

I slip out of the shadows and go to him. Padding across the carpet, I go to him and curl up at his feet between his legs.

"Claire-" His voice catches. He sounds shaky, raw.

I stroke his bare leg. Then get up on my knees and caress his hands. I  stroke the side of his face, his stubble tickling my palm. He lets the  empty bottle drop to the carpet. He makes the strangest sound, and it  takes me a minute to realize tears have dropped to his cheeks.

"Oh Sawyer, I'm so sorry." I stand up and wrap my arms around him,  holding him as close as I can. He turns, burying his face into my  breasts in the neckline of his terry cloth robe.

To soothe him, I stroke his hair and kiss the top of his head. I've never heard a guy cry like this and it breaks my heart.

He pulls me close so I sit, straddling his leg. For a long time, we sit  like this, twined together. His shoulders stop shaking. He looks at me.  In the moonlight, his eyes are mysteriously dark, his face rendered  beautifully by silver-blue light and deep shadow.