"I’d like to see you again tonight, Claire, but I’m racing."
"Okay," I say. I don’t want to look desperate and girls in high school said you had to make a guy pant after you. But I don’t know anything about games. I just want to see him. "Could I go and watch you race?"
"No."
He says it so sharply I draw back.
With a savage tear of his knife, he cuts off a third of a sausage and eats it in one bite.
"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off." Sawyer lowers his voice. "Street racing is illegal, Claire. Half the time, cops show up and break up the race. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. If I’m racing, I can’t look after you."
"You mean you could be arrested."
"If I got caught, yeah. But I don’t get caught."
* * *
At midnight, my cell phone rings.
I’m studying in my room, working on calculus problems. Abby is out at a party, so I’m lounging on my bed, eating Doritos. It’s my secondary vice when popcorn dripping with melted butter isn’t available. And dripping anything never works well with dorm beds. Too much laundry.
The ringing seems to make everything I ever knew about math fall out of my head. Who would call me now?
Oh God, what if it’s Mom? What if something is wrong with my brother Charley?
My heart accelerates really fast, comes to a dead stop, then up speeds again.
Answer the phone, my brain screams at my paralyzed body.
I grab my phone from the bedside table. Not my mom. It’s Sawyer.
"Hello?" I’m confused since he’s supposed to be racing again tonight. I haven’t seen him for two days. We spent the afternoon together, after our first date, studying. Well, we studied for a few hours, then he gave me oral sex again. And again. And again. And I gave it to him just as many times. I miss him incredibly and it’s only been a day and a half.
"Claire? Did I wake you?" His voice is hoarse and raw.
"No, I was studying. I hadn’t realized it was so late."
"Is it too late to see you? I need to see you tonight. I—hell, I don’t want to be alone tonight."
Pain reverberates in his voice. "Of course I can see you. Sawyer, what’s wrong?"
He lets out a long, shuddering groan. It’s subtle and quiet, but filled with agony. "At the race, a friend of mine crashed, Claire. He’s dead."
Dead? I sit there, shocked and speechless.
"Claire?"
I don’t want to ask him how it happened. Or ask him a bunch of questions. I’m stunned that I am who he called, who he needs. "Do you want me to come and see you? I can take a cab."
"I’ll come and get you."
"Are you sure you should be driving, Sawyer?"
"Yeah, because I want to see you as soon as I can. I don’t want to force you to come all the way out here. And hell, I make money driving." He gives a short, bitter, anger-filled laugh. "Nothing throws off my ability to drive."
Chapter Four
When Sawyer comes for me, he drives the black truck I saw in his garage. I hug him. I wrap my arms tight around his hard torso and press my cheek to his chest, into the smooth, cool leather of his jacket. "I’m so sorry about your friend."
"Thanks." His voice is even huskier than on the phone. He gently grips my arms and makes me step back, so I have to stop holding him. He opens the truck passenger door for me.
I slide in and wait for him to get in. As he turns on the ignition, I say softly, "Is it okay if I ask who your friend was? What his name was?"
Sawyer drives out of the residence roadway and merges onto the main campus drive, his eyes on the road. "His name was Jaxon. Jaxon Winters. But I can’t talk about it yet, Claire. I just—I need you."
I’m stunned.
And my heart aches for him.
I want to be with him, but I have no idea how to make him feel better.
All I know from experiencing painful things is that you can’t instantly feel better. It never works that way.
At his house, we go in through the garage. He holds my hand—holds it firmly. At his bedroom door, he says, "You said you wanted to go to bed with me. Is it still true?" He tips up my chin and kisses me. A long, slow kiss. "I’d like to make love with you."
I didn’t expect this. I never thought this was what he wanted tonight. But I say, "Okay. I’d like to do it with you."
His mouth takes mine again, in another hot, caressing, intense kiss.
With his booted foot, he pushes open his door and draws me inside.
* * *
I’m lying naked on his bed and the covers are a tangle at the foot of the bed. The room is dim and shadowy. Only moonlight spills in his high windows. His gorgeous, muscled body is silvery-blue in the soft, pale light.
Sawyer is going down on me. He grips my bottom to lift my pussy to his mouth.
His tongue does magical things to me. Seriously enchanting things.
He rasps it over my clit, making circles on my sensitive nub, and my fingers are almost tearing the sheet beneath me. But I relax and let pleasure take me.
I keep thinking. In high school, I was considered a ‘brain’ because I spent all my time thinking about math and science; about homework, lessons, projects.
Now I can’t turn off my brain. I keep thinking that Sawyer could have had an accident. I keep wondering: what happened to his friend? How did the accident happen? Is Sawyer going to race again? And weren’t there cops there afterward? How did Sawyer escape getting arrested?
Stop thinking.
I reach down and tap him on the shoulder. He keeps teasing my clit with his tongue. I’m writhing and wriggling on the bed, trying to stop long enough to get his attention. It’s so intense, so good, but I want him inside me. Even though I haven’t come yet. I want to hold him in my arms. I want to wrap my body around his hot and gorgeous body. Kiss his mouth and his neck and his ear, and have my body pressed as tight to his as it can be.
His tongue strums my clit and I scream. Pleasure bursts. I scream through the orgasm that ravages me. I flop back on the bed. I’m laughing and almost crying.
He starts licking and suckling me again.
I tap his shoulder again. Finally, I tug lightly on his hair.
He looks up. "Can I help you?"
I have to giggle. I’m so amazed—he’s being natural and normal just for me, I’m sure. But though he’s teasing me, the pain in his eyes is staggering. "Yes. I want you inside me. I’m aching for you. Now. Please."
This is totally new to me. The breathless moment as he moves over me. His hands brace on either side of my head, his long legs lie between mine. His cock touches my belly. And leaves a dribble of sticky fluid.
He reaches for something on his bedside table, supporting his weight on his elbow. The small foil package tears. I watch, eyes wide, as he touches the condom to the tip of his cock. He arranges it, unrolls it, leaving a gap at the end. The end of the condom is only about two-thirds of the way down his cock.
I gaze into his violet eyes as he touches his cock to me, stroking it between my pussy lips. He parts them, releasing a flood of juice from my orgasm.
"You’re so wet," he murmurs.
"For you. Because you just made me come like crazy."
I lift my leg and wrap it around his hip. That pulls him down and his cock sinks into me.
Oh. Wow. Oh. God. This is what it feels like. I’m stretched. Full. It’s perfect. But strange—I’m sensitive enough to feel him, to be aware of him, but not so aware that I can feel everything.
Then he thrusts, his hips moving, his crotch touching mine, rubbing my clit which is soooo sensitive. He draws back. I lift to him but my rhythm is wrong, I move too far back, and his cock falls out. We both reach down to push him back in.
In he goes, thick and full. I love having him inside. It’s so intimate. He’s deep in me, deeper than I’ve ever felt inside me, I think. I can touch him all over while he thrusts in me. Running my hands over his shoulders,
I marvel at how strong and broad they are. My fingers scratch down his beautiful back. I grip his ass. I hold his taut cheeks and I work him as he drives into me.
I arch to him and let his rhythm guide me.
He slams his cock deep into me. Then he arches up and I gaze into his eyes.
His cock strokes somewhere inside me, touches something so intense, my brain blanks out. I’m swirling in sweet, delirious pleasure. I’m—
Coming with another huge scream.
"Claire," Sawyer murmurs, and his voice is throaty and ragged.
I run my hands all over him, savoring the way I’ve made him so sweaty.
His forehead touches mine and we stay still, trading fast, hard breaths.
He draws out and lies beside me.
I’m exhausted. And sore. I had no idea my inner thighs would hurt so much from stretching wide around his hips.
Suddenly I realize he’s still hard.
He didn’t come.
What did I do wrong? Why can’t he come with me?
Logic tells me it must be because he’s upset. But the insecure part of me, the part that descended into depression when I got teased in high school, fears it’s because he came to me to use sex to feel better and he’s realized he’s not into me.
"Can you—?" I can’t ask that, can I? I don’t want to hurt him or his masculine pride and give him a performance anxiety issue. "I’m sorry," I say finally. "I don’t have experience. I’m not any good at this."
"You are amazing. I just can’t get there." He kissed my forehead. His chest moves fast with shallow breaths. "I thought I could blank out my head with sex with you, since I want you so much. I guess it doesn’t work that way. I really apologize because you are fantastic."
True? Or is he just trying to be nice? In high school, I lost familiarity with the concept of trying to be nice. Yes, I kept it up, but once I was bullied, other people seemed to lose kindness. It was as if it was okay to pick on me because you were just being part of the crowd.
"Did you get off?" he asks. "I thought you did." There’s such anxiety in his gorgeous violet eyes.
"I did. I—I’ve never done that before."
"I gave you your first orgasm?"
"I mean…uh…with someone. While making love with someone."
A wicked grin curves his mouth. "Someday I’d like to watch you make yourself come."
My face blushes hot. Though I realize I would love to watch him jerk off. I would learn an incredible amount about what a guy likes. And when I think about seeing his strong hand wrapped around his shaft, I get all weak, achy, and hot inside.
"Do you think you could…jerk off and come? Maybe if you’re doing it, it would happen." This isn’t about learning from him or even the fact I think it would be wildly erotic to watch. He wanted an orgasm to ‘blank out his head’. I couldn’t give him one.
"I don’t think I can get off."
I put my own doubts aside. How would I feel if I’d lost a friend? Hurt. No, more than that. Actually in agony. I’d feel sick. The first time Charley was in the hospital, when he was first diagnosed, I overheard one of the doctors say he should have an operation immediately or he could die. In that instant, I felt like I’d turned to ice. The fear and shock and pain were so much, it was like my brain exploded. I took care of Mom and I was with her when she talked to the doctors. But all the while, it was like I couldn’t really think. My brain would not allow me to encompass the whole truth of the situation.
In the end, an older, more experienced doctor said to wait. And they did. And Charley was okay. I mean, he has a condition, but he didn’t lose any of his colon and he’s been able to keep the disease under control since then with medication.
What Sawyer needs is to be taken care of. "Why don’t you try going to sleep?" I say. "Just rest, at least."
"Will you stay with me?"
"Yes, of course. I’ll look after you."
* * *
A couple of hours later, I wake up. Gray light filters in through the two high windows—since Sawyer has a basement room, the windows are close to the ceiling. You can’t really see out of them. I roll over, to see if he’s okay.
He’s not there.
Panicked I sit up. Where did he go? I get up. I don’t want to get completely dressed so I pull on his robe. I walk upstairs to the main floor.
Sawyer is sitting on the couch in the dark living room, wearing nothing but silk boxers. His head is bowed, his shoulders shaking. He clasps a beer between his outstretched legs. As he lifts the bottle to his mouth, tipping back his head to drain it, I see the pain in his eyes.
I slip out of the shadows and go to him. Padding across the carpet, I go to him and curl up at his feet between his legs.
"Claire—" His voice catches. He sounds shaky, raw.
I stroke his bare leg. Then get up on my knees and caress his hands. I stroke the side of his face, his stubble tickling my palm. He lets the empty bottle drop to the carpet. He makes the strangest sound, and it takes me a minute to realize tears have dropped to his cheeks.
"Oh Sawyer, I’m so sorry." I stand up and wrap my arms around him, holding him as close as I can. He turns, burying his face into my breasts in the neckline of his terry cloth robe.
To soothe him, I stroke his hair and kiss the top of his head. I’ve never heard a guy cry like this and it breaks my heart.
He pulls me close so I sit, straddling his leg. For a long time, we sit like this, twined together. His shoulders stop shaking. He looks at me. In the moonlight, his eyes are mysteriously dark, his face rendered beautifully by silver-blue light and deep shadow.
Cupping my face, he kisses me deeply.
When he stops I whisper, "Are you okay? It’s four a.m. You should come back to bed."
"I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see the accident like I’m reliving it."
How could he bear seeing his friend die in front of his eyes?
He looks at me with empty eyes. In the faint grey light, they look grey too, instead of violet. "You should go to bed, Claire."
"I’m worried about you. I don’t mind staying up."
Sawyer groans and lifts me onto my feet, then stands. "You need to go to bed."
"Come with me. We could make love again—if that would make you feel better. Or we could just lie there. I’ll do whatever you want to do." I hold his hand and lead him down to his room and back to bed.
* * *
I want to distract Sawyer from his pain. So when we reach his bedroom, I do something daring—well, very daring for me.
I stand at the foot of his bed, watching him, and I let his robe drop off me to the floor. Leaving me completely naked. "What’s the sexiest, craziest thing you’ve ever wanted to do but haven’t tried?"
Sawyer lies on his back on his bed, arms beneath his head. His eyes go wide as the robe falls. Now, his lips move but he doesn’t speak, like he wants to say something but can’t. I know he is thinking about something specific, but apparently it’s something he’s not willing to tell me.
I was a total virgin for him. "Is there anything in which you are still a virgin?" I coax. "It can be anything. Just tell me."
His shy smile makes my heart tumble in my chest. Then he says, "Anal sex. I’ve always wanted to try anal sex. But you don’t have to, Claire."
What would it be like? I’ve heard of it. And read about it in How to Thrill a Guy in Seven Sex Acts.
"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 s
wirls 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.
Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart Page 44