Claim Me(Capture Me: Book 3)(45)

The second orgasm catches me by surprise, and I pant into the mattress as waves of pleasure ripple through me. I haven’t forgotten what awaits me, but it’s hard to cling to fear when one’s brain is swimming in endorphins. And Lucas is not done pleasuring me yet. His hand finds my pussy entrance, and one long finger pushes inside, unerringly locating my G-spot. Before long, the tension coils in my core again, and another orgasm, albeit a weaker one this time, rocks my body.

“No more, please,” I moan when his finger withdraws from my spasming channel and circles my swollen clit. “I can’t do it again.”

“Yes, baby, you can.” His teeth graze my neck, and then he whispers in my ear, “Again and again, as many times as it takes.”

It takes two more orgasms, as it turns out. Or at least that’s how many Lucas forces on me before my muscles turn to mush and I’m too exhausted to come again. By that point, I’ve stopped worrying about the dangerous slickness between my ass cheeks—I’ve stopped thinking, period. So when his fingers withdraw from my dripping-wet pussy and slide up between my cheeks, I just lie there, dazed and limp, barely reacting as two of those long fingers push into my ass, one after another, gliding in with almost no resistance.

“That’s it, sweetheart. There’s a good girl,” Lucas croons as I remain relaxed, accepting his two fingers without clenching. It’s still not my favorite sensation; the fullness feels odd and invasive, but there’s no pain and I’m too drained to resist as he begins to fuck my ass with those fingers, pumping them in and out slowly. “Such a good girl…” The smooth, gliding rhythm is strangely hypnotic, making me feel like my mind is disconnected from my body. Dimly, I’m aware that I should be afraid, that I should be protesting this violation, but it doesn’t seem worth the effort, particularly when Lucas’s other hand presses gently on my clit again, coaxing a twinge of pleasure from my overstimulated flesh.

I’m so immersed in that disconnected state that it doesn’t frighten me when his fingers withdraw and something smooth and thick presses against my back opening instead. My body remains limp and relaxed, even when I feel a massive, stretching pressure and hear Lucas groan under his breath, “Fuck, baby, you’re tight…” The pressure intensifies, edging into pain, and it’s only then that some of my fear returns, along with the urge to tighten against the intrusion.

“No, sweetheart, don’t tense. Just breathe through it.” The command comes in a low, strained voice, and I realize what this self-restraint is costing Lucas, how tightly he’s reining himself in to avoid hurting me. Oddly, the knowledge calms me somewhat, and I take slow, deep breaths, trying to keep my muscles relaxed.

“Yes, that’s it,” he praises hoarsely, and I feel him begin to penetrate me, the broad head of his cock stretching the tight ring of muscle at my entrance. It burns, the urge to clamp down almost unbearable, but I continue to breathe evenly, and slowly, he advances, working his massive cock into me millimeter by millimeter.

When the head is all the way in, he pauses, stroking my hip soothingly, and after a few moments, I feel the stinging burn subside. I’m able to relax a bit more, and Lucas resumes his slow advance. As he pushes deeper into me, however, my calm flees. He’s big, far too big. My heartbeat picks up, my breathing turning shallow and frantic. The slickness of the lube reduces friction, but it doesn’t alter his size, and my insides churn as Lucas forces more of himself into me, stretching me past my limits. Overwhelmed, I whimper into the mattress, and he kisses my nape, the tender gesture a stark contrast to the merciless invasion of my body.

“Just a little more,” he murmurs, and I realize that I inadvertently tightened around him, trying to prevent him from going deeper. “You can take it, baby.”

No, I can’t, I want to protest, but all I can do is make an incoherent noise, something between a grunting moan and a whimper. I’m shaking and sweating, my hands clutching at the metal pole I’m handcuffed to. This is nothing like the horrific pain Kirill inflicted on me that day, but in its own way, it’s just as agonizing. Lucas’s slow, careful movements allow me to feel his length fully… to absorb the immense, overwhelming pressure forcing my insides apart. His cock seems to fill every part of me, violating and possessing me at the same time, taking me to a place where darkness and eroticism collide, twisting together in some perverse symphony.

“Fuck, Yulia, you feel amazing,” Lucas groans, and I realize he’s in me fully, his balls pressing against my sex. His hand is still between my legs, his fingers putting pressure on my clit, and I bite back a cry as he shifts inside me, my stomach roiling at the strange sensation. “You’re tight… so fucking tight.” He presses harder on my clit, two of his fingers catching it in a scissor-like grip, and sharp, unexpected pleasure jolts my core, making me gasp out loud.

“Yes, there it is, beautiful…” Lucas’s voice brims with dark satisfaction. “You can do it. Come for me one more time.” His fingers begin to move in that scissoring motion, and to my shock, my body tightens on a wave of heat. The extreme fullness inside me both hampers and enhances the sensations, the pulsing ache from my clit warring with the agony from my overstretched ass. His cock feels like a steel pipe inside me, but the way his fingers are touching me makes my insides cramp in a different, distinctly pleasurable way. I cry out, trembling at the impending rush of orgasm, and Lucas grips my clit harder, pinching it almost painfully.

“That’s it, just like that, baby…” He pinches my clit again, and helplessly, I explode, my abused nerve endings electrified by his rough touch. My body spasms over and over again, clenching around his thick length, and I sob at the painful ecstasy, at the scorching wrongness of it all. The pleasure is dark and brutal, and when he begins to move inside me, the thrust and drag of his cock sends me spiraling higher, the foreign sensations enhanced by the blindfold and the cold steel around my wrists. I don’t know how long it takes before Lucas comes, his hot seed flooding my raw insides, but by the time he withdraws from me and unlocks my handcuffs, all I can do is lie there, weak and shaking, my ass burning and my clit pulsing with residual aftershocks.

Silently, he draws me into his arms, and I cry against his chest, feeling both broken and freed.

The past with Kirill is officially behind me. Every part of me now belongs to Lucas, for better or for worse.





44





Yulia



At breakfast, Lucas is unusually quiet, his gaze trained on me thoughtfully, and I have to fight a blush every time I look up from my plate and see those pale eyes watching me. I want to ask him what he’s thinking, but some bizarre shyness keeps me silent. It doesn’t help that I’m sore, my every movement a reminder of what occurred between us. He didn’t tear me like I feared, but I’m still very much aware that something large and thick had been inside me, taking me places I never knew I could go… making me feel things I never knew I could feel.

To expedite the meal, I make quick work of my mushroom-spinach quiche and get up to take my plate to the sink. When I return to the table to get Lucas’s plate, he surprises me by catching my arm, his long fingers closing around my wrist in an unbreakable grip.

“Yulia.” His eyes glint with something indefinable. “That was delicious, thank you.”

“Oh.” I blink. “You’re welcome.” I expect him to let go of my wrist at that point, but he continues holding it without saying anything else.

“Um, let me get your plate…” Awkwardly, I reach for it with my other hand, but he moves it to the side, out of my reach.

“I’ll get it myself, don’t worry. Yulia…” He inhales deeply. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” My face burns all the way to the roots of my hair, but I force myself not to avert my gaze like some blushing virgin. “Everything’s fine.”

“Good.” His eyes darken. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” I swallow. “Not much, at least.”

Lucas studies me for a few more moments, then nods, seemingly satisfied. Releasing my wrist, he stands up and carries his plate to the sink. He washes it along with my plate, and I just stand there, unsure whether this odd conversation is over. Finally, I decide to leave the kitchen, but before I can walk out, Lucas wipes his hands on a paper towel and turns toward me.

In a few long strides, he closes the distance between us, stopping less than a foot in front of me. “Just so you know,” he says quietly, “I’d never truly harm you. You are mine, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever abuse you. Your happiness matters to me, Yulia. You can believe me or not, but it’s the truth.”

I open my mouth, then close it, unable to form a coherent sentence. This is the closest Lucas has ever come to telling me how he feels—and to acknowledging hurtful things said in the heat of jealousy. Yet there’s no regret on his face, no real apology in his words. What he said last night is the absolute truth—in this relationship, I have all the rights of a slave—and he’s not about to deny it. What he’s promising, however, is to be a good owner, and strangely, I do find that reassuring. Last night—any night, really—he could’ve hurt me badly, but he didn’t, and as I look at the hard man in front of me, I know with sudden certainty that he never will.