"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 di
fferent. 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—"
He scowled. "Too late to back out now, woman." Grabbing my hand, he placed it roughly around his thick, hard massive cock. I had no experience to go on, but he would never fit inside me. He wouldn’t fit inside any woman.
"Shut up and stroke me."
I opened my mouth, unable to form words. "It can’t—there’s no way—"
In a lightning fast move, he jerked his finger from my core, smearing my dampness on my cheek as he pinched me hard. "You’re out of excuses, Ms. Weaver. You were the one who started this. You’re the one who rode my fucking finger as if you’d never come before." His voice dropped to a dark whisper. "So shut up, wrap those little fingers around my cock and stroke me, otherwise I swear to God I’ll throw you on your hands and knees and fuck your tight little cunt right here."
My heart lurched; terror pinged in my blood. There wouldn’t be anything erotic about that. It would hurt. He would split me in two.
Biting my lip, I cupped the exposed head, spreading the sticky residue at the top down his hot shaft. Locking eyes with Jethro, I pushed my hand into his boxers, following his long, long length.
His eyes snapped closed as my timid fingers latched round him. "Fuuuuck," he groaned. His forehead smashed against mine, hips pulsating into my hand. "Stop taunting me. Harder, goddammit."
That was asking for the impossible. I couldn’t get my fingers to connect around his girth. My grip was useless around the throbbing heat—the only hot part of him. Holding my breath, I wrapped my hold as hard as I could.
Jethro grunted. "Squeeze it. Stop being a fucking tease. Was I teasing you?" His hand suddenly disappeared up my dress again, his middle finger thrusting so hard and quick inside me, he sent a galaxy of stars exploding behind my eyes.
Then he glided upward, smearing the wetness around my clit. My legs tried to scissor closed; all my attention shot between my legs.
I went rigid. Having him touch me inside was amazing. Having him rub that small bundle of nerves was incredible.
"Return the favour, Ms. Weaver. Make me come. Right here. Right now. And I'll drive you so wild you’ll beg and never want anyone else."
Coming. The blissful end of sex. Was that what the sharp sensation was? Growing tighter and tighter in my core? If it was, I wanted to come.
Badly.
Winding my fingers as tight as possible around his girth, I squeezed until a jagged pain erupted down my palm. I didn’t have the strength. I didn’t know what to do. Did I just squeeze and let him thrust into my hand? What else was I supposed to do?
With a low growl, Jethro stopped stroking my clit. He turned to granite. "That’s your idea of making me come?"
I swallowed, jerking my hand away, dropping my eyes. The thrill of being touched and touching faded, rapidly replaced with despair. "I’m—yes…uh."
"For fuck’s sake." Rolling his eyes, he removed his hand from between my legs and stepped back. With a grunt, he yanked his trousers back into place, but not before I caught a glimpse of just how huge his cock was. It was flawlessly straight, veiny, silky, so proud and rigid—just like its owner.
It terrified me.
I didn’t need to be a virgin or a world renowned slut to know there was no way he would fit inside me. No law on this planet would make me welcome his size.
"Fuck, what was I thinking? You’re useless. Completely fucking useless." Buckling his belt, he ran his hands through his hair, smearing the lingering wetness from me through his silvering strands. "Huge disappointment, Ms. Weaver." His cold glare sent a snowstorm wiping away the bonfire in my belly. "I’m done playing games, so cut the bullshit. Time to begin the day." His voice gave no room for interpretation. A cold draft shot down my back.
My brief reprieve from debts and horrible Hawks was over. I’d been shown something I desperately wanted, but was denied it because I failed to please him.
"You could teach me…show me how…" I couldn’t make eye contact with him. Mortification painted my cheeks for both admitting I was clueless and asking a monster to coach me.
Jethro laughed. "You think that will save you from what’s coming? Was that your little plan? To make me fuck you in the hopes I might feel something for you?" He
shook his head. "I’m not teaching you anything—especially how to jerk me off. As you told me once—Google that shit—but it won’t do you any good, because next time…I won’t need your hand to come."
My breath caught in my throat.
My heart hung heavy and I shivered. The sun crept behind a cloud, leaving us in haunting shadows.
Jethro stood glaring, the outline of his erection visible in his jeans. But there was no hint of the lust he’d suffered, or the passion that blazed between us only seconds before. His unfeeling eyes burned a hole straight into my soul, condemning me for my past treasons and present failures. The longer he stared, the more he undermined my carefully built fortress.
I couldn’t stand the intensity any longer. The humiliation of standing there unwanted, slightly used, and entirely frustrated. With shaking hands, I smoothed down my dress and pushed away from the wall. Without a word, I flicked my hair over my shoulder and skirted around him. With confident steps, I left him behind, heading toward the manor.
He’ll chase. He’ll hunt.
I expected to land on my face from a carefully planned strike. I waited for vertigo to steal my quiet assurance and spiral me to the ground. But nothing happened.
Jethro didn’t pounce, and I didn’t fall.
I was steady for the first time in my life. My body behaved.
My world continued even though I’d been thrown off my axis and into a brand new realm. A realm where sex beckoned like the Holy Grail and my self-hatred magnified a thousand fold.
My empty stomach threatened to steal the remaining strength in my limbs, but I kept going, ignoring my body’s protests, walking like a good little pet to the slaughter.
I didn’t think I was about to enjoy my penance of being a Weaver.
Balling my hands, I made a promise. A promise I hoped would grant me strength for the coming days.
They can’t touch me. I’m not Nila or Threads. I’m done being weak.
My heart swelled as I crested the hill, staring at Hawksridge Hall in all its glory. In that moment, I shed my kitten baby-fur and embraced a new pelt. One that filled me with fight. One that embraced the elongating claws I’d begun to grow.
Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart Page 77