Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (86 page)

My hands balled, fighting against
the thick intoxication. I couldn’t let him steal the warmth from Kite. He’d
already turned the small flame into an out of control inferno, cindering my
morals, turning my hatred to ash. I couldn’t fall into his web—he’d eat me
alive.

But, one kiss…would it be so wrong?

To take something from him when
he’d already taken so much from me?

I swayed closer, unconsciously
seeking everything he dangled before me. I wasn’t equipped to play these games.
I was naïve and woefully unprepared for combat where lust was used as the
weapon.

"You’re a little liar, Ms.
Weaver." He dropped one hand from my shoulders, tracing my contours until
he captured my hip, the other skated upward, cupping my cheek. Every millimetre
he travelled sent sparks along my skin unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

His tongue appeared, licking his
lips. "You want this." His knee nudged against mine, forcing my legs
to spread. "You want something you know you shouldn’t." With seamless
authority, he pressed against me, tilting his hips into mine.

I shivered. Hating him. Lusting for
him. Hating myself. Loving the forbidden rush.

The reasons for our fight flew away
on soundless wings, leaving me with no argument against the swelling swollen
ache.

"All that separates my cock
from your pussy is a few fragile pieces of clothing." He drove upward,
grinding himself punishingly. "You won’t stop me." There was no
space, no secrets—our bodies glued together.

My mind went blank with
sheer-numbing pleasure. I felt every ridge and contour of him. From the
pressure of his shoe against mine to the hot heat in his jeans growing larger
every second.

You know what he intends to do.
Stop this,
I screamed at my betraying body. But it
replied in force with a clenching ripple, turning my legs to jelly. 

I held my breath. His hard body was
as unmovable as the wall I stood trapped against. His ripped stomach pressed
against mine.

I wasn’t cushy or curvy. I had no
feminine attributes—I’d exercised away any hope at softness.

But it only amplified the
intensity.

There was nothing to cushion the
firmness of bones and sinew and craving flesh. It was visceral. All consuming.

"Tell me again you’re not wet
for me." His hooded eyes imprisoned mine. "Tell me another lie."

I tried to look away, but he thrust
again, enticing another ripple of pleasure. I hadn’t planned on being the innocent
girl. The stuck-up princess who never self-pleasured or enjoyed men. I hated
that I came across priggish, uptight, and repressed. Those traits were a hazard
of my upbringing, and I desperately wanted to turn them into weapons.

I wanted to use them as
effortlessly as Jethro wielded his wintery charisma.

My body knew what it wanted. It
wanted a release. It wanted to satiate and be sated. And it didn’t give a
flying arse who granted the freedom of the mysterious orgasm. I knew who Jethro
was—I knew this was all a game to him. But why couldn’t two people play? Why
did I have to justify his touch as bad when it was so amazingly
good?

Death was coming. Shouldn’t I try
to
live
before I died?

Shouldn’t I embrace the lack of
control by throwing away my submissive behaviour and fight for what I wanted?

For once in my life.

Be true and honest and raw.

Why can’t I use him?
Just once be the bad girl and use the monster. Win by not fighting.
Be stronger by giving in.

My pussy grew bolder, taking my
unvoiced permission and growing wet, greedy, eager to experience the cock
pressed firmly against me.

I…can’t.

You can.

I…won’t.

You will.

Jethro ducked, nipping my jaw with
sharp teeth.

I unlocked my chastity belt, and
melted into him. I arched my back, deliberately pressing my breasts against his
chest.

His seduction lost the calculating
edge, his breath went from calm to uneven.

Something new broke free inside.
Some level of embarrassment of sex—the unapproved thoughts of being
used—disappeared. I was a business woman. A daughter. A sister. The fantasies inside
weren’t the thoughts of a puritan.

Deep inside, where I never let
myself go, a sexual deviant lurked. A woman who was bold and angry. A woman
beyond ready to admit she’d hidden so much of herself—even from herself.

Jethro’s hand moved to grab the
back of my neck. His hips pulsed; his heart thudded hard, vibrating our tightly
pressed forms.

I shivered in his hold, giving in
completely to the clench between my legs.

"Answer me. Tell me the truth."
His mint-fresh breath fluttered my eyelashes as he hovered possessively over my
lips. Only a tiny space between a tease and a kiss. Only a fraction between
right and wrong.

Do it. Accept it.

He paused, murmuring into my mouth,
"Tell me a secret. A dirty, dark secret. Admit you want me. Admit you want
your mortal enemy."

I admit it.

"I won’t." My heartbeat
switched from thumping to humming; my skin prickled with heat.

I hated him. I wanted to kill him
before he killed me. But I couldn’t ignore the overwhelming attraction he’d
created. And it wasn’t just me affected. His breathing turned ragged; his
fingers dug deeper with need. Every pulse of his hips drew a quickening in my
core. I couldn’t control it. I didn’t
want
to control it. I was done
controlling my life.

I’m free.

The longer we stood, the further we
blurred the lines between debtor and debtee. Weaver and Hawk. In that tiny
moment, we were each other’s answer to freedom. A mind-blistering coupling that
would surely ruin me for life. But at least I would’ve
lived
.

I looked deep into Jethro’s burning
eyes, transmitting everything I suffered.
I hate you for making me
acknowledge this part of myself.

His face tightened; his body
slammed harder against mine. Whispering his lips over my cheek, bringing them
low, lower, lower, the tip of his tongue tasted the corner of my mouth.

My world disintegrated with an
ecliptic
bang.

I trembled, eyes snapping closed on
their own accord.

His hand on my hip shot downward,
disappearing between our bodies.

I gasped, jolting in his hold as
his fingers scrunched up my dress, shoving it out of the way as if it were
nothing. My gasp turned to a ragged moan as he cupped me bold and strong. My
gaze flew wide, locking onto his.

Never had something felt so good.
So bad. So intensely delicious.

His gold eyes turned to a burnt
sunset, filling with fire as he fingered my knickers. "Do you think you’re
so perfect you wouldn’t scream my name? Do you think you’d be able to say no if
I dragged you into the kennel and fucked you?" His fingers bit into my
pussy, hot and punishing. "Because I want to. Fuck, how I want to. I want
your screams. I want you begging."

I lost myself completely, throwing
myself into this new creation. The one who had the power to do this and still
retain her heart. The one who would give Jethro her body because
she
wanted it. Not him.

His fingers scattered my thoughts,
probing against the thin satin of my underwear. His touch was electrifying. I
wanted more. I wanted everything.

I stepped off the cliff. "No.
I’m not so perfect. And yes, I would scream." Clawing at his shoulders, I
forced myself deeper onto his hand. "You think I’m immune? You think I’m
dry and repulsed by you?" Dragging him closer, I murmured, "You
couldn’t be more wrong."

Jethro’s nostrils flared. His
fingers twitched as he narrowed his eyes. "You think you can confuse me?"

I pressed a finger against his
mouth. "Shut up."

His eyes popped wide; he growled
low in his chest. His lips pulled back, revealing sharp teeth.

I didn’t remove my finger.
I
was in charge.
I
was the one taking. "My heart hates you, but my
body….I’m drenched. I’m begging. So stop your endless questions. Stop taunting
me and deliver."

Kite flew into my mind, then was
gone. I’d surpassed awkward sexting, embracing physical coyness.

The world paused for a millisecond.

Jethro sucked in a shocked breath.
Then his hand left my pussy, tore the small stitches holding my knickers in
place, and drove one finger so damn deep inside me, I did what I said I would.

I screamed.

My head fell back, smashing against
the wall. My heart exploded into a mess of passion and rage.

Oh, God. Oh,
God.

My mouth sucked in air, but it
didn’t stop the swirling, blinding need stealing my remaining sanity, giving me
completely and utterly to Jethro. I cried inside. I wailed inside. I wished I
could be different. Someone not so deprived of her animalistic needs. Someone
who could scream and call for help. Not someone who tilted their hips and
moaned at the curses spilling from Jethro’s lips. Not someone who gripped the
man who tore her from her world and opened her legs wider.

But then Jethro touched a spot that
made my eyes pop wide, muscles to lock, and a need so violent to seize, I
grabbed his wrist, forcing him to take me harder. My tears turned to joy,
writhing on Jethro’s hand.

"Fuck. Me." His voice was
sex-gruffed and so low it echoed over cobblestones. "Who the fuck are you?"
His finger worked me, pulsating deep inside.

I melted in his hands. I opened my
legs as wide as I could. I gave up on everything, embracing the simplicity of
being a sexually starved creature.

This wasn’t making love. This
wasn’t even fucking. This was war. And hell it felt good.

Digging my fingernails into his
shoulders, I jerked him closer. "Harder," I breathed.

Jethro groaned, and in a twist of
fate—obeyed. His finger drove so deep his knuckles nudged against my swollen
flesh. His thumb swirled around my clit, smearing wetness, taking me to ever
new heights.

I turned to stone before detonating
into tiny pieces. Every inch of my thoughts, emotions, and reactions were
stolen by his mind-blowing touch. I hadn’t felt anything like it.

Guilt tried to claim me, reminding
me this was the man who ruined my life. But lust quickly devoured the guilt,
turning it to raging passion.

"You’re so fucking tight,"
he growled, thrusting his finger harder.

I felt as if I’d not been living.
As if my world was dark and Jethro was the sun bringing me nutrition I never
knew I needed.

A painful pressure burned as he
tried to fit two fingers inside me.

I flinched, rocking my hips away. "Stop—"

He paused, then removed the second
digit, driving a single finger deep, dragging me back to willing. "You’re
a virgin. The rumours were true."

I shook my head. "No."

"No?" He grabbed my chin,
holding me firm, driving his finger harder. I cried out, letting my head loll
on my useless neck with bliss. "How are you this tight and not a virgin?"

"Once. I only—" I
stopped, consumed with every pulse of Jethro’s finger. "I’m—"

I gave up.

I was completely illiterate—unable
to form words.

"If you’re not a virgin, prove
it." His fingers tightened around my chin. "Pull out my cock."

My mind blanked out. I hung onto
the precipice of my good girl ways before throwing myself head first into a
woman who would do anything to feel alive.

"Pull out my cock, Ms. Weaver."
He thrust against me, battering me with the hardness in his jeans.

My eyes flared wide. My stomach
hollowed out at the same time it swooped upright as he thrust his finger.

"Goddammit," he growled. "Do
it. I’m not going to come in my fucking jeans like an idiot."

Would he fuck me? If I took out his
cock, would he take me?

Sex? With him?

I…

I couldn’t have sex with him. This
cold-hearted monster. But my raging heart and bubbling blood said
yes.
God,
yes. 

Shutting off my thoughts, I dropped
my hands from his shoulders and fumbled with the buckle of his crocodile belt.

The hardness of his erection burned
my fingertips. Jethro didn’t help my concentration, driving his touch deeper. "Hurry
up. I need your sweet fingers jerking me off. Goddammit, I don’t know—"
His voice cut off as I undid his button and zipper.

I gasped as his cock sprang out,
escaping the top of his grey boxer-briefs. He shuddered, groaning in relief.
The tip glistened with wetness, slightly red, slightly swollen.

My eyes grew wide, fear chasing
away the lust in my veins. I looked up, swallowing hard. "You’re…I can’t—"