Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (48 page)

"Sure," I say. "I’ll
try it."

Sawyer’s blond brows jerk up. He
visibly swallows. "You will? Wow. Claire, you would really do this for me?"

"I’m expecting to like it to."
Then I say, having no idea what to do next. "Let’s get started."

Chapter
Five

I’m lying on my stomach on
Sawyer’s bed. Only his bedside light is on, bathing the bed in a golden glow. I
twist to see what he’s doing behind me.

Sawyer squirts lubricant in his
palm and rubs it along the length of his thick cock, which is sheathed in a
condom. His hand swirls around the full head, leaving it slick and shiny. I
shiver as his slick hand parts the cheeks of my ass. His finger gently circles
my anus, easing inside, and he coats me with lube. The sensations make me
tremble, and I give a deep, throaty moan. It’s so stunningly good.

He shuts his eyes briefly as I
moan. His mouth is taut and tense. "I’m going to put my finger inside your
ass," he says softly.

"Okay," I gasp. "Oh
yes."

He squirts more lube on his finger
and presses the tip against my tight entrance. I stiffen nervously, but he rubs
his finger teasingly there.

"Oooh," I moan. It’s so
good. I had no idea anal stimulation would feel as sexy and hot as his fingers
playing with my pussy. Maybe even
hotter
.

It feels so good I lift my ass
toward his finger. His finger pushes further inside. "Oh!" I drink in
a sharp breath. I feel my entrance opening. The ring of muscle is tight—it’s
fighting to keep him out—and his finger feels thick and long. But he goes
slowly. Gently.

My anus starts to relax. I didn’t
think that would happen. I start to open, letting his finger slide in and out.
Sizzling sensations rush through me. I start to move faster on his finger,
taking it deeper in my butt. Pleasure builds. But I’ve never done this before,
I don’t know what to expect, and that’s making me tense.

I need to ramp up my desire and get
lost in it.

My fingers slid down between my
tummy and the bed. They touch my pubic curls. Then my clit. I rub my finger
over the engorged, sensitive bump and mind-numbing pleasure streaks through me.
I get more tightly wound and tense, but in the way that demands release and
will take more and more sensation to get there. Desire and hunger and pleasure
shoot through me. The sounds coming from my lips are desperate whimpers.

Playing with my clit enhances the
incredibly strong sensation of his finger filling my anus. It takes away any
pain and nerves, and makes it just…wonderful. Rubbing my clit primes me for
more.

 I start to lift my ass to him,
taking his finger in deeper. I’m going crazy with need. I’m no longer tense and
nervous, now I want something bigger and thicker inside my ass.

He pulls his finger out, making me
beg, "Please. More."

"I want to put my cock in your
gorgeous ass." He murmurs it near my ear. His warm breath washing over my
earlobe is the hottest thing. He’s asking my permission and he’s using those
erotic words to turn me on.

"I want it soooo much," I
beg.

"I want to make you come until
you go crazy, Claire."

"I want to do the same to you.
Since neither of us have ever done this before."

Then something bigger presses
against my opening. It has to be his hard cock. I push my ass up, trying to
take him in. He thrusts gently against my opening, which now totally resists
his big prick. But at the same time, my body
loves
the pressure of the
head against the snug ring of my anus.

I half-turn again, so I can see
him. His thick blond hair falls over his gorgeous purple eyes. Tight lines of sexual
hunger bracket his mouth. His focus is completely on his cock and my ass.

This is so erotic, I could scream.

Slowly, his hips move back and
forth. The head of his cock pushes lightly against my anus, then backs away.

I work back against him, still trying
to open my rump to take him inside. I know I should jump right in, push back
hard, and have him plunge in. But I feel twinges of pain that scare me from
doing something so drastic.

My fingers keep playing with
myself. I guess all that stimulation, even though I’m not focusing on it, is
too much. Suddenly my pussy muscles jerk. Ecstasy floods me. I’m coming and
he’s not even inside me.

I moan—loud, desperate cries.
Juices bubble out of my pussy. I’m coming hard.

Shoving his hips forward, Sawyer
pushes his cock in me with a pop.

I gasp and cry out.

"God, Claire, I thought you
were coming. Are you okay?"

"I—I was coming and I—I’m
okay. Just don’t move. I just need to get used to you." I glance over my
shoulder, letting out a breath to blow away a stand of hair. "You are
pretty huge, you know."

He gives a boyish grin. And he
waits, suspended on his muscular arms. When I look from one side to the other,
I’m bracketed by his arms and his big, gorgeous biceps.

Tentatively I move back against
him, taking him a little deeper in my butt. I stroke my clit with each stroke.
That definitely eases the pain. Playing with my clit lets me take the pressure
of his thick cock inside me.

He goes deeper.

My fingers gouge into the bed. My
eyes almost roll back in my head. I thrust back little by little and he thrusts
forward until he fills me. I’ve taken him all the way up my ass. His groin
bumps my cheeks. I feel a soft tickle as his pubic curls brush my skin.

We move together. He takes his cue
from me. As I lift to him, slapping my butt to his groin, he starts thrusting
faster and harder. He slams his cock into me.

I moan, wildly, loudly. "It’s
good. Go deeper. Oh yes."

He lets out a deep moan of his own.
Then a husky laugh. "You’re so tight. So hot."

Rubbing my clit fiercely ignites
me. An explosive orgasm grabs me, takes me, whips me, uses me, and leaves me
limp and spent on the bed, sobbing with joy.

His hips strike me hard. His cock
feels huge inside me. And hot.

I play with my clit and bounce on
him. Another orgasm builds and hits me like a wave. Sawyer howls and he comes
too. Deep in my ass.

We climax together, my derriere
moving wildly.

He gasps hungrily for breath.

I’ve come twice and my head is
whirling. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud. What about more? I start rocking
my hips, lifting my butt again to pump on his cock. Can I excite him again?

He lets out a moan of half-agony
and half laughter. "You have to stop, Claire. My dick is too sensitive
now." He withdraws, moaning again. Then he flops on the bed.

I’m on my tummy, he’s on his back,
and we gaze at each other. He smiles gently. "Thank you, Claire. That felt
so good. You’re incredible. You made me—made me forget about stuff."

I know he means I’ve done that for
a while. "Thank
you
," I whisper. I don’t know what else to
say. I roll onto my side. I stroke his chest. Should I say something about his
friend? Something to try to reassure him?

"Sawyer," I begin,
praying that something thoughtful and intelligent comes out of my mouth. I lost
my dad when I was young—he died in a car accident. Having lost Dad, I was so
scared when Charley was sick. I know about pain. I know that nothing I can say
will make the pain go away, but some things can help you cope. "I know it
sounds trite, but time will help you heal."

"It’s okay, Claire. I know the
drill. Jaxon is not the first person I’ve known who died in a crash. I know
what grief feels like. But when I went through it before, I never had anyone to
hold. I just want to do that now. Just hold you. Can I?"

My heart is breaking for him. "Of
course."

His strong arm wraps around me,
holding me to his damp, smooth, beautiful chest. For the longest time, he
strokes me lovingly. I plan to stay awake all night to watch over him, to be
there for him, but he whispers, "Go to sleep. That’s what I want. For you
to sleep in my arms."

I’m
falling in love with him. But I know he can’t be falling for me right now. Not
when he’s in so much pain.

* * *

I wake up to find morning
sunlight streaming in through the high windows. The door opens as I’m rubbing
my eyes. It’s Sawyer—fully dressed and carrying breakfast in for me. He sets
the tray on the bedside table. Apparently he either bought bacon or convinced
his roommate to surrender some to me. There’s waffles and syrup too. When we
went out for breakfast, I had waffles. Now Sawyer has made them for me.

He picks up a cup of coffee and
drinks it while I eat breakfast in his bed. The coffee smells kind of strong,
stronger than mine.

"What are you drinking?"
I ask.

"Bailey’s coffee," he
says. "I needed something to face today." He brushes back his long
blond bangs. "Would you come with me today? I have to go and see Jaxon’s
family."

The family of his friend? "Do
you think I should go? They don’t know me."

"I’d like to have you with me
when I go. This is tough for me, Claire." He drains his alcohol-laced
coffee. "There’s a lot of stuff I didn’t tell you last night. But I feel I
can talk to you. Tell you anything."

I’m nibbling at a piece of
syrup-drenched waffle. "You can."

"I wanted Jaxon to get out of
racing. He’s been a good friend for two years. But he was reckless. He wanted
to be the best. When you race, you have to know when to lose. He didn’t like
that."

There’s something in his tone. "What
do you mean?" I whisper.

"He was supposed to lose in
that race. But he refused to do it."

And now Jaxon was dead? Fear washes
over me. My skin prickles all the way down my spine. "But I—I thought he
died in a crash. That he was going too fast and he lost control or something."

Sawyer glances up at me. His eyes
are filled with agony; his mouth is a straight, hard slash. "That was how
it looked."

I stare at him. "Are you
saying someone killed him? Because he wouldn’t lose?"

"I don’t know." Sawyer
looks down at his hands. "The gamblers who bet on the races can win enough
in one night to buy a house. But if a racer wins all the time, no one bets
against you. You have to mix it up. I get told which races to throw. So did
Jax. He was supposed to lose the race two nights ago. But for him, that race
was a grudge match. He was too proud to lose."

"And you think someone
deliberately killed him? As—as payback?"

"As payback and as a warning
to the rest of us. It would be possible to sabotage his bike between him
unloading it from his trailer and coasting it up to the start line. A line
could have been cut or the steering fucked with."

My stomach feels like it’s fallen
to the floor. "Sawyer…are these guys the mafia or something?"

He gives a rueful smile. "Close."

I grab his arm. I do it so quickly
I almost spill hot coffee on my leg. "Sawyer, this is dangerous! You can’t
do this. What if someone decides to kill you? You have to stop!"

He
shakes his head. "I can’t stop, Claire. It doesn’t work that way."

* * *

We drive in Sawyer’s truck. It
takes a while to reach Jaxon’s mother, Mrs. Winters, who lives just outside
Boston.

I want to talk about what Sawyer
told me—about the danger he is in. But he tells me that it’s his problem to
deal with, and refuses to say more.

Mrs. Winters turns out to be a
slightly heavy black woman in her early forties. She runs an antique shop
called
Winters Christmas and Old World Curios
. A bell tinkles as we walk
in. I’m afraid to move from the threshold in case I knock something over.
Christmas trees stand in every corner—trees of white, green and silver,
decorated with beautiful ornaments in specific color schemes. There are silver
and purple ornaments. Deep red ones on a tree with gold bows. There are musical
instrument ornaments and shoe-shaped ones that glitter with fake jewels.
Gorgeous furniture fills the store and the room smells of lemon-scented polish.
Display stands are everywhere, so things are tiered almost to the antique tin
ceiling. It’s like walking in a room that shimmers all the time.

Mrs. Winters takes us back into her
office and insists on making us coffee. "This store was my dream,"
she says softly. She is wearing a black suit and black jewelry. "I was a
cleaner before this—I did houses in the daytime and offices at night. Jax
bought this place for me from his bike racing winnings. Told me I had to quit
my cleaning jobs and finally live my dream."

Sawyer is sitting his legs spread,
his hands dangling between them. "Jax was so proud he was able to do that
for you."

"I know he was, Sawyer, and I
let him do it. That’s going to haunt me the rest of my days." Mrs. Winters
picks up her coffee mug with shaky hands. "I knew it was dangerous. I
wanted him to get out. I should have tried harder to stop him." She
reveals she knew the races and the betting weren’t legal. Now guilt is beating
her down.

That makes my stomach twist. Sawyer
said he couldn’t stop. God, what if he ends up like Jax?