Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (75 page)

Jethro frowned. "What did I
just say? No questions." Grabbing my wrist, he tugged me closer, crushing
my dress between us. "I don’t have time for games. Tell me what you want."
His mouth was so close, his brooding temper filling a bubble around us.

My eyes dropped to his lips. All I
could picture was one kiss. One beautifully gentle, romantic kiss that turned
my insides molten and my mind to stars.

I breathed shallowly, unable to
raise my gaze to his.

He half-smiled. "
That’s
what you want?"

I blinked, dispelling the haze of
intoxication he’d placed me under. "I didn’t say anything."

Letting my wrist go, he trailed his
fingertips up my arm. I shivered, loving and hating his masterful touch. "You
didn’t have to. I should’ve known this would happen."

My eyes flared. "Known?"
Embarrassment came swift and hot. Was I so obvious? So needy?

"No questions," he
snapped. Sighing heavily, he added, "You forget your life is rather
public, Ms. Weaver. And I happen to know you’re not…experienced." Cupping
my chin, he ran the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip.

I froze.

Jethro’s face didn’t soften or
beguile, but his voice dropped to a murmur. His masculine scent threaded around
me transporting me from the coffee shop and into his control. "What is it
you want? A kiss? A caress?" His voice echoed like a deep baritone until I
felt his question in my bones rather than heard.

Leaning closer, his mouth hovered
over mine. He smelled decadently of coffee. "Do you
ache
for
something? Do you lie in bed at night and crave a man’s touch?" His breath
feathered over my lips, drugging me. "How wet do you get? Answer my
questions, Ms. Weaver. Tell me how you pleasure yourself while fantasising
about a man fucking you."

I couldn’t feel any part of my body
apart from the firm hold he had on my chin and the tingling of my lips. I
couldn’t think apart from the dark visions he coaxed in my head of nakedness
and fingers and stolen caresses.

"Tell me. Convince me,"
Jethro tormented, bringing his mouth closer. Only a feather breadth away—a
phantom kiss, but it made every inch throb.

"Yes," I whispered. "Yes,
I fantasise. Yes, I ache." Wishing I could pull away and hide my
vulnerability, I added, "That’s what I wanted. From you."

Everything you painted and more.

"When you imagine a nameless
male taking you, do you picture champagne, massages, and soul-shattering sex?"
His nose nudged mine.

I nodded, eyelids drooping, begging
him to kiss me.

His head tilted, grazing the corner
of my mouth with his. A tease. A half-kiss. A promise. His mouth trailed to my
ear. "You naïve little girl. If I took you, you wouldn’t be adored or
worshipped. You’d be used and
fucked
. I have no patience for sweet."

I opened my eyes, fighting against
the thick lust in my blood.

Jethro sneered. "Pity you
didn’t say you fantasised about a man using you, abusing you. Pity you didn’t
admit to darker desires such as bondage and pain. Then perhaps I might’ve
granted your wish." He trailed his lips over my cheekbone. His touch was
condescending rather than erotic. "Now tell me, Ms. Weaver. Knowing my
certain appetites, are you still wet for me? Is that what you’re asking for? My
tongue. My attention? My…" He nuzzled away my hair, biting painfully on
the shell of my ear. "…cock."

I wanted to deny the flutter in my
heart and the intense heat billowing in my core. I wanted to be outraged at his
crudeness and blatant sexual thrill. But I couldn’t. Because despite never
entertaining the idea of violence with sex, I couldn’t stop the undeniable
allure.

Pulling back, Jethro whispered, "Don’t
turn timid on me. Say it. Say what you want."

I was no longer human; I was
liquid. Hot, pliable liquid just waiting for some force to reshape me.
Everything he’d said flared a need inside until a fever broke across my brow,
but I couldn’t speak so dirtily.
Only if you have a phone in your hand, wimp
.

Dropping my eyes, I whispered, "I
want…I want…"

Jethro tightened his fingers on my
jaw. "Say it." His eyes flashed and the misconception that he didn’t
know passion dissolved. He knew it. He wielded it. He hid it beneath layers and
layers of mystery I would never hope to unravel.

Taking a shaky breath, cursing the
damn corset, I said, "I want your mouth."

He nodded. "Fine. But I’ll
have yours first." His thumb stroked my lips again, breaking the seal of
my red lipstick, and penetrating my mouth.

I froze, eyes wide and locked on
his. "Where do you want it?" His voice dropped to a barely murmured
curse—impossible to ignore, deadly to my ears and body.

He didn’t care about the waitress
or that anyone on the darkened street could see us. He just pinned me with
unswerving golden eyes and hooked his thumb against my tongue.

I couldn’t speak. His large palm
held me immobile while his finger rendered me silent. I didn’t know what to do.
Should I suck? Bite? Do nothing?

Jethro smiled, it wasn’t his usual
icy edge, but it wasn’t soft either. "Follow your instincts. You want to
suck, so suck." He forced his thumb deeper into my mouth, eyes darkening.

He so easily placed me into a position
of submission, but I’d never felt so powerful. Closing my lips, I sucked. Once.

His jaw clenched, but nothing more.

I did it again, licking his finger
with an eager tongue. My mouth filled with liquid, tasting him. Wanting him.
Every suck sent a wave of insatiable need to my core, making me wet.

Jethro’s shoulders tensed. "See?
You didn’t need to tell me what you wanted. Your body does that for you. You’ve
surprised me, and that isn’t an easy thing to do." My dress rustled as he
wrapped an arm around my waist, dragging me against his hard body.

I went willingly, trapped in so
many ways. My mind was consumed with only him. There was peace in that moment.
Lust yes, feverishness definitely, but also serenity at the complete attention
he demanded. I didn’t have to think of my family, my company, my endless work
schedule.

I was nothing but flesh and blood
and bone.

I was need personified, and only
Jethro could put out the fire he’d cajoled.

His lips brushed against my ear
again. I tensed for the bite of teeth. "Know what else your body tells me?"

I shook my head, swirling my tongue
around his thumb. My core clenched; my mind blanked. The moment of intense
privacy happened on a very public couch in a café window.

"You need something. You want
something that you’re not ready to understand." Jethro placed a delicate
kiss against my jaw. "You need it so bad you’d allow me to run my hand up
your knee, between your legs, and sink my fingers deep inside you this very
second. You’d open your innocent thighs, even with witnesses, and moan as I
sank my cock deeper than anyone."

A bubble formed in my chest,
twisting and glistening with a mixture of denial and agreement.

His thumb pressed hard, pinning my
tongue below.

I jerked, eyes tearing wide.

"You’d let me drag you into
some sleazy alley, tear off your dress, and…"

I didn’t want to hear the rest. But
I did. Oh, how I did. He’d taken the power of speech away. I couldn’t deny
anything he said. And I didn’t want to. For the first time in my life I had
something real. Cheap and shallow, just like Kite, but hot-blooded and
absolute.

I would willingly trade my flawless
reputation for one night of sordid incredibleness.
What does that make me?

I flinched, answering my own
question.
Lonely.
I hated that word more than any other in the
dictionary.

Jethro’s thumb slinked slowly from
my mouth, holding me firm. "You’d let me make you scream, Ms. Weaver, and
because of that willingness, I would never bow to what you want."

The heat generated from the intense
conversation dispersed, faster and faster. He curled his lip. "Whatever
would your father say if he knew his daughter secretly wanted to be
fucked
against an alley wall by a stranger?"

The crudeness of his words slammed
me back to reality.

He dropped his hand, and plucked a
napkin from the table. Imprisoning my gaze, he slowly wiped his glistening
thumb, before tossing the tissue into his empty coffee cup. "I dare you to
deny any of that. Or pretend you didn’t want every inch of me." He smirked
at the double entendre.

The flush of mortification crested
over my breasts to my cheeks. My tongue bruised from his rough handling, my
mouth empty from tasting him. I couldn’t sit there and be ridiculed any longer.
I’d been selfish and allowed this egotistical maniac to cancel my plans with
Vaughn and father, all for nothing.

This was karma, and it stung like
hell.

Grabbing the mountains of fabric
wedged around me, I tried to stand—unsuccessfully. "I’m leaving. I can’t—"

"If you can’t speak the truth,
I don’t want to hear your other excuses or reasons on why you suddenly need to
run. You’re not permitted to leave my side, so be a good girl and fucking
listen and obey." His voice whipped me, but his body remained immaculate
and collected. The two dynamics of temper and poise pierced my stupid haze,
slamming me back into fear.

Who
was
this man?

And why didn’t I run the moment I
set eyes upon him? Something wasn’t right. Something was building, rushing
toward a conclusion I wanted no part in.

Jethro stood upright, jerking me to
my feet. "I take by your silence you’ve made a sensible decision and
acquiesced. I’m also assuming that this—whatever this was—is over?" His
fingers bit into my bicep, shaking me. "Stop acting the fool and realize
what is happening."

Anger replaced my embarrassment. It
was like Kite all over again, only worse, because this was real and I had
nowhere to hide. "I have no idea what’s happening, and I’m not going
anywhere with you. You’ve proved that you find me gullible, stupid, and
unworthy of your precious time, so leave. I’m not keeping you here."
Twisting my elbow, I tried to get free. "I don’t want to do this anymore."

Jethro smiled coldly. "Ah,
there’s the conundrum, Ms. Weaver. You’re not keeping me. But
I’m
keeping
you
."

I stopped with my hand over his,
unsuccessfully trying to pry his fingers off my arm. "What?" The
dreaded drunkenness of vertigo took that moment to tilt my world.

Jethro took my weakness as an
opportunity, pulling me toward the door. He didn’t give me any support other
than the harsh hold on my upper arm, leaving my untouched coffee on the table. "I’m
leaving. And you’re coming with me."

The door jangled as we exited in a
flurry of bustle and feathers. I gasped as a frosty gust cut through the warmth
lingering on my skin, decimating all remainders of the café. Luckily the shock
in temperature helped steady me and I fought.

Slamming my heels into the
pavement, I snarled, "You seem to have the wrong information. I’m not
going anywhere with you."

Jethro didn’t reply, dragging me
effortlessly across the road to the shadowy entrance of an alley and his bike.

An alley?

He couldn’t mean what he’d
threatened…could he?

You want me to make you scream.

I fought harder. But no matter how
much I struggled, he didn’t break his stride or look back.

Tripping forward, I winced as my
flesh bruised beneath his hold. I angled my nails, preparing to drag them over
his forearm, but he stepped onto the curb and yanked me forward. The inertia
propelled me into a spin, slamming me painfully against his motorcycle.

My black hair whirled over my
shoulder, sticking to the fear perspiring on my chest. I struggled to keep
up—to believe how stupid I’d been. I prided myself on being smart, but I
allowed the temptation of sex to cloud my judgement.

Jethro glowered; his suit as crisp
as his unflappable control. "My information is perfectly correct. And you
are
going somewhere with me. Climb on."

I tore my elbow from his hold and
shoved his chest. "Wrong. Let me go."

He growled under his breath. "Stop,
before you get hurt."

I pushed him again, focusing on the
ridiculousness of my night, rather than the rapidly expanding terror in my
heart. "I told you. I came in a limo; there is no way I can travel on a
two-wheeled death machine."

Jethro rolled his shoulders,
maintaining his cool. "I gave you one rule—never ask questions. I’m giving
you another—don’t ever argue with me."

My heart raced. Glancing around, I
searched for late night stragglers, party goers, moon-light walkers—anyone who
could intervene and save me. The roads were empty. No one. Not even a scurrying
rodent.

"Please, I don’t know what
game you’re playing—"