Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (92 page)

My eyes met his.

If only I had the rest. I would
scream and give up the charade of obedience. I was done. I would take pain to
avoid what was about to happen. I would take pain rather than pleasure because
then I would still know myself. The longer this went on, the less in-tune I was
with the girl I’d been.

Too many feelings. Too many
sensors. Too many rabbit-holes with too many right and wrongs.

You’re giving up so soon? They
killed your mother! They’ve broken your father’s heart.
Could I not stomach some unpleasantness and confusion in order to
find a way to repay them?

Disappointment weighed my heart. I
thought I’d have more endurance.

No. I won’t give in.

This is nothing. Be that kite.
Cut your strings again.

Bracing my shoulders, I moved
closer to Mr. Hawk without being asked.

His eyes widened, then a grin
spread his lips. "Good girl, indeed." Bowing his head, his arm
wrapped around my waist, tilting me back a little. "You’re proving to be a
testament to my son’s training."

My waist height was almost perfect
for a lowered mouth to latch onto the front part of my sex.

And that was when I felt the
strangest, wettest, alluring,
disgusting
thing of my life.

His tongue slid along my clit,
wriggling softly, drenching me in saliva.

My stomach clenched, my hands
balled, and I wobbled in his arms.

The disgusting element didn’t
leave. I waited for my body to betray me, to
like
it, but all I felt was
grotesque impatience for it to be over.

And then…it was.

My first experience with a tongue
down below, and it’d been done by a man older than my father. If I didn’t have
an empty stomach, I would’ve thrown up all over again. There was nothing sexy
or erotic about that.

Tapping my behind, he murmured, "Proceed."

Swallowing hard, I collected the
dessert tray and crossed the small distance to Orange Tattoo. He crooked his
finger, beckoning me closer. Locking my jaw, I held the desserts high and did
as he requested. His orange hair tickled my thighs as he leaned down, running
his tongue over the private bundle of nerves.

Luckily for me, I wasn’t sensitive,
nor did I enjoy it.

Once he’d taken his trifle and
tasted his fill, I left to serve the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Some men forced my legs to spread,
angling their faces deep. Some men barely touched me, their hot breath wafting
between my thighs.

I would like to say I managed to
turn my brain off—to do what I promised and fly free, but every tongue kept me
locked in the world I lived in. Every lick made my body turn to stone while my
tummy twisted and ached from clenching.

I delivered dessert, but I was the
ultimate sweet. The men took their time, firm fingers holding my hips, dragging
their foul tongues from my clit to my entrance. And after every violation,
they’d wipe their glistening mouths and say, "Thank you, Ms. Weaver."

Thank you
.

As if their appreciation was enough
to stop me from feeling like dirt. Their treatment never changed. They remained
courteous and gentle. Obeying boundaries and not doing anything but licking me
in a place they had no right.

Their pleasantness made all of this
seem so normal. So terribly normal. And my hatred slowly switched back to acceptance.
The small flutter I’d felt from my nipples being sucked returned—frightful,
tentative, but softening my hate tongue by tongue.

They weren’t hurting me. They
weren’t making me do anything that had the potential to shatter my mind.

They just tasted.

A little taste.

That’s all.

And I didn’t fight.

Not at all.

I’m wet.

By the time I came to Daniel, my
legs were drenched and the trimmed hair I meticulously maintained was mattered
with droplets of Diamond brotherhood.

My hands were balled around the tray;
my jaw tight and aching. Because no matter my good intentions—they’d won.
They’d caused my body to have a reaction, and I was soaking.

The strange ache that Jethro had
conjured was back, pulsing deep in my core. The flicker of tongues and gentle
tastes frustrated me and I hated,
positively hated
, that I had to fight
my hips from pressing harder against them.

I’d begun the service uptight but
now I was
wound
tight. Seeking something. Seeking relief.

Daniel pushed his chair back,
angling me physically between his spread hips. With a malicious glint in his
eyes, he pushed me back with a firm palm between my breasts. "Fuck the
stupid rule."

I gasped as his mouth latched
around my clit. The suction of his mouth made my body twist with
oversensitivity. He wasn’t playful or respectful like the rest of the men. He
knew what he wanted and he took.

Hard.

The ache wound tighter and tighter,
clawing its way toward relief.

I squeezed my eyes. I couldn’t look
at the men watching. I couldn’t do anything but breathe and get through it. And
I definitely couldn’t look up where a small growl came, masked with silence.

It was nothing more than a growl.

But it resonated in my bones with
knowledge.

Jethro.

The few seconds that each man had
taken seemed much longer in Daniel’s arms. Suddenly, I cried out, jerking hard.

The tip of his tongue probed my
entrance, trying to enter me.

No one had done that. They’d
behaved with some unspoken rule to taste but not devour.

Fuck the stupid rule.

Daniel’s voice repeated in my head.
Had there been guidelines on how I was to be treated?

Everything we’re doing is
following a strict set of rules—laid out in utmost simplicity and must be
followed.

I recalled what Mr. Hawk had said.

He had rules meant to ruin me but
also…protect me?

Daniel tried again, his fingers
biting into me painfully.

Then, I was wrenched away.

Torn free of his grip with a slice
of his fingernails and dragged to the end of the table. The empty dessert tray
went flying, clanging against the floor.

My legs tripped, sending me
colliding with a body I’d been so intimate with only hours before.

The crash of the tray cut through
the room like a loud cymbal. But no one said a word.

The moment Jethro dragged me to the
head of the table opposite Mr. Hawk, he shoved the largest of all parchments
into my hands. His eyes were dark, face tight. "Here, read it."

Breathing fast, trying hard to
forget about the sticky saliva between my legs and the sensation of having his
brother’s tongue trying to enter me, I took the tattered age-stained scroll.

Jethro scowled, keeping a small
distance between us. His coldness buffeted me, sending ice scattering over my
bare arms. He looked pissed off—furious, yet there was something there that
made my stomach twist.

Whatever game we’d played, whatever
war we’d started back at the stables, wasn’t finished. He knew it. I knew it.
And the knowledge sent power thrilling through my veins.

Leaning close, he hissed, "Stop
staring at me, Ms. Weaver. I gave you a request." Tapping the scroll in my
palm, he snapped, "Read. It."

Tearing my eyes from his, I obeyed.

The intricate border caught my
attention first. Along with a design of vines and filigree, the words
bound,
indebted, owned
were entwined in red ink.

The
calligraphy of ancestors past sentenced me to a life worse than death. My
rights had been taken. My life stolen. My body no longer mine.

18th
August 1472

Signed
and witness by Esq John Law

Matter
between Weaver versus Hawk

Known forthwith as the
Debt Inheritance

This
hereby concludes all debate and conversation and puts forth a binding debt.
Council has been provided along with sovereign approval for such an agreement.

As
set in this chamber, I have witnessed the signatures of both parties of House
Weaver and House Hawk, along with their significant entourage and companions.

The
debt states as follows.

Percy
Weaver hereby solemnly swears to present his firstborn girl-child, Sonya
Weaver, to the firstborn son of Bennett Hawk, known as William Hawk. This will
nullify all unrest and unpleasantries until such a time as a new generation
comes to pass.

This
debt will not only bind the current occupancies of the year of our Lord 1472
but every year thereafter. Every firstborn Weaver girl will be gifted as fair
comeuppance to the firstborn Hawk boy to be claimed between the years of one
and eight and six and twenty respectively. Both parties will be forever agreed
on this day set forth.

The
life and all attributes will be determined by the current Hawk, no rules or
precedence will be set, and this agreement raises them above the law, operating
within the grace of her Majesty the Queen of England.

Signed:

I KNEW WHEN she’d read it.

I knew when the final sentence sank
in.

We had a document signed, sealed,
and delivered by the royal magistrate of England giving us carte blanche to do
as we liked. There was nothing illegal about my actions. There was nothing
anyone could find me guilty of. No judicial system would save her.

It was the ultimate approval.

Not to mention, we had wealth to
ensure no one would contest it. There was nothing to fight against. The sooner
she accepted that, the easier this would be.

Nila’s eyes bugged wide, looking up
from the parchment. Grabbing her shoulders, I backed her against the table. The
horror living in her dark brown gaze was enough to drag a tiny bit of humanness
from my cold soul.

Watching her being tasted—I
wouldn’t deny—it fucked me off. She was
my
plaything.
Mine
to
torment.

I was pissed at my father for
permitting the entire brotherhood to use her. They weren’t deserving of
drinking someone’s misery. That right was a Hawk’s and only a fucking Hawk’s.
Excluding my younger cock of a brother.

He deserved shit.

Grinding my teeth, I placed my palm
against her sternum, pressing her breakable chest. Her heart beat like a war
drum beneath my fingers.

Her lips parted, but she didn’t
fight as I pushed her backward.

I didn’t say a word—controlling her
by sheer anger and will.

Her defined stomach muscles
clenched as she fought the pressure, then gave in, sprawling backward onto the
table. A small sound of pain came from her lips, catching her weight on her
elbows.

She refused to lie down.

She would.

My cock fucking bruised itself,
punching my belt time and time again. Only I knew how she tasted when she
wanted
to be tasted. Only I knew how she sounded when she wanted it so fucking bad.
And only I knew how tight she was.

That tightness belonged to me.

I doubted I’d fit. I doubted I’d
get half my dick inside her, but until I’d had the pleasure of trying, no one
else was permitted near her. I had the scroll giving me power over everyone on
that subject—including my father.

I swallowed hard. The anger
watching my brother stick his fucking tongue inside her boiled. I teetered on a
dangerous edge.

Pull back.

I couldn’t.

I wanted what I wanted, and I’d
take what was owed to me.

"You finally understand,"
I whispered. My voice was thicker, deeper, overrun with the dark lust that’d
been created after her whorish displays this morning. She’d done this to me. It
was her curse to fix me.

I couldn’t look at her without
feeling her thrust against my finger. I couldn’t see past the challenge. The
building strength in her skinny frame. She was learning.

I
was learning.

We were learning how to play this
game together.

She shivered as I dragged my hand
down her front, moving lower and lower. My cock ached for the wet temptation
belonging to me. I was responsible for her.

She’d been through a lot. She’d
obeyed even though she’d fought. She’d kept it together but now she was
precariously close to losing it. I wasn’t so heartless to ignore that craving
in her eyes. The borderline insanity of needing a release. Combined with
finally seeing proof that
we
were the good guys? Well, I owed her.

Just a little.

It was my job to take her to the edge,
dangle her for a time, but then draw her back into safety. My purpose was to
bridle everything she was, so she would do anything I asked.

Glaring into her eyes, I said, "You
are mine. I am not your master or owner or boss. I am the man who controls your
entire existence until you pay off your family’s debts. You don’t breathe
unless I permit it. You don’t move unless I request it. You live a simple life
now. One with a single word you need remember…yes."

My touch skated from her belly to
her hips.

She stiffened to a plank. Her gaze
left mine, locking on the ornate ceiling.

"Look at me." My voice
turned harsh, barbaric beneath its cultured refinement. "Has it sunk in
yet? That I can do anything I want to you?"

She didn’t respond—just like she’d
been told not to. Silence. Blissful, blessed silence. She couldn’t admonish or
argue. She was pliant. Wondrously pliant.

She deserves a reward.

I tried to hold back.

I didn’t want an audience.

But fuck it.

Shoving her higher on the table, I
slapped away her position on her elbows, crashing her spine onto the wood. She
cried out, then sucked in a harsh breath.

I grabbed her legs, forcing them
wide.

Her pink flesh invited me,
glistening, not from other men’s tongues, but arousal. Arousal for me. Arousal
that I intended to take advantage of.

Grabbing an untouched glass of
water from a Diamond brother, I dumped the liquid all over Nila’s pussy.

She cried out; legs trying to
scissor. But I didn’t let her move.

The water trickled through her dark
hair, pooling beneath her. It wasn’t enough, but it washed at least some of the
men’s spit away.

I only wanted to taste her.

Hooking my hands beneath her hips,
I held her tight.

"No. Don’t—"

Too fucking late.

With a fleeting smile, I captured
her swollen cunt in my mouth.

The moment my tongue shot out,
pressing firm and hard, she arched off the table.

"Ah!" Her mouth hung
wide, her neck straining as every muscle shot into stark relief. Her black hair
fanned out on the table, sliding against her shoulders as she writhed on the
wood.

Snapping my fingers, I glared at
two Diamond brothers. They leapt to attention, grabbing her wrists and holding
her down.

She squirmed. She fought. But my
fingers only bit harder into her arse, keeping her pinned wide and open.

My fucking brother didn’t have the
right to tongue-fuck her.

But I did.

I hadn’t planned on giving her such
a reward, but…it wasn’t just her getting off on this.

The power. The submission. Her
taste. Her damn fucking taste.

I showed too much. I let go of my
tight restraint and drank.

She groaned as I shifted a hand,
holding her hipbone hard on the table. Then she whimpered. My tongue became my
weapon of choice as I licked downward. No hesitation. No teasing.

I was there for one goal.

Her goal.

My eyes rolled back as I plunged my
tongue inside her tight hot warmth.

Fuck me.

"God!" Her hips tried to
run from my invasion. Her mouth opened wide; her ribcage visible as her lungs
strained to breathe.

I set a pace no one would be able
to ignore.

I fucked her. There was no other
word for how I drove my tongue in and out, fast and possessive. The muscles in
her belly clenched. She panted, she moaned, then she screamed.

She gave up the fight, giving into
me.

A spasm of pre-cum dampened my
jeans as her hips shot upward, her clit brushing against my nose.

Her body twisted, trying to get her
hands free, but the brothers wouldn’t let her go.

She turned wild. Seeking.
Demanding. The same sexual creature from the stables.

I couldn’t breathe without dragging
her scent into my lungs. I couldn’t swallow without drinking her. And I
couldn’t fucking think without wanting to tear off my jeans and plunge deep
inside her.

My tongue worked faster, the tips
of my teeth gracing her pussy lips as I drove deeper than I’d ever gone before.

I ate her. I fucked her. I
owned
her.

Her tight pussy squeezed my tongue,
begging for more.

I’ll give you more.

I’d given her too much already.

Fuck.

Her legs suddenly latched around my
ears, grinding herself onto my face.

She moaned hard; a breathless beg
on her lips. I couldn’t stop myself.

My tongue drove harder; my head
bobbed faster.

She unravelled.

She combusted.

She screamed as she came on my
tongue.