Captured(51)

He’s made me come twice, come so hard I’m limp and gasping and close to tears of stunned, frenzied, pleasure. And he hasn’t even taken his shirt off.

Suddenly, I feel desperate for him. Hungry for him.

Fuck dignity or decorum. Fuck being ladylike. I want Derek, and he’s here with me, doing incredible things to me. I want him, and I’m going to have him, consequences be damned.

I wonder if he knows what he’s done to me?





CHAPTER 14





DEREK





I’m so hard in my jeans it hurts. It physically hurts. Reagan, goddamn…the woman is the most erotic being I’ve ever seen in my life. So responsive, so alluringly beautiful and unaware of it in a maddening kind of way. Maddening because she’s drop-dead gorgeous, hard-working, patient, kind, and generous. She’s not insecure, not self-conscious except about that one particular thing on her stomach. Those aren’t unattractive. They’re part of her. And she is, from head to toe, the sexiest girl ever, so f*cking hot she’s a fantasy. She has a potty-mouth at times, which I find attractive. I like a woman to talk dirty, to say nasty things to me. And when I make her scream, it gets me so hard I could come in my jeans like some little thirteen-year-old kid seeing tits for the first time.

Speaking of tits, hers taste so good, feel so soft in my hands, against my lips. She’s a C-cup, unless I miss my guess, not that it matters, because, like all of her, they’re perfect. Big enough to hold, grip, and knead and overflow my hands. Softer than silk or satin. Firm. Thick, sensitive nipples surrounded by lush dark pink areolae.

She’s gasping beneath me, sucking in desperate breaths as she comes down from two intense and vocal orgasms, and I’m just staring at her, soaking in her beauty, memorizing every single inch. Her thighs, pale and strong. Angular hipbones, padded with curves. That dip, there at her hips. Her ass, round and high and firm.

And…Jesus, her *. That *. So tight and wet and sensitive. Each touch of my tongue drove her wild. Going down on her wasn’t just to get her off, to make her lose control — it was an homage. It was worship of her body, her slick, deep sex, her pink delicate labia and her small, hard, sensitive clit.

I’m kissing her mouth and she’s breathing into me, pulling away and holding my head and looking at me with these pale sky-blue eyes hot with passion, emblazoned and emboldened with need and searching me, penetrating into my soul, wet with emotion and melting with affection. She kisses me, leaning up, and then she falls back. Her hands are on my ears, sliding down to my cheeks, holding my jaw. One hand on my cheek, thumb at my lips, the other feathering through my hair and caressing the nape of my neck with her fingertips in a way that has me wanting to melt into her, wanting to purr like a cat and beg her to tell me how to please her. It’s a gentle, affectionate gesture that is almost too heady, too soul-shakingly tender for me to handle.

She lifts up on her shoulder blades, neck arching, to kiss me, I thought, but no. Not a kiss. Her tongue touches my chin, my upper lip. She’s licking her essence off my mouth, and holy f*ck is that hot. So hot.

She’s pawing at my shirt. “Too—too many damned clothes.”

Ripping at it impatiently, she pulls it up over my skull, but it’s stuck with my face in the opening. I am Cornholio! The joke flits through my head, but I don’t say it. I shrug out of the shirt, toss it aside.

“Better?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No. Mmmm-mmm. Not better. Not enough.” She reaches between us, fumbles at my zipper. “Pants. No more pants.”

I like this Reagan, this demanding, voracious, hot-eyed vixen. I feel like I broke down some wall inside her, broke through her reserves or her fear or her nerves or whatever, knocked down those walls to bring out a sex-starved demon.

I go for the button-snap of my jeans, but I’m not fast enough for her. She shoves at me, knocks me to my back. Kneels beside me and jerks my jeans down. I lift my butt up, and she’s got them off. I’m commando, and she’s gasping, panting, sighing as I lie naked before her. I like that moan, that sound of appreciation, the way her eyes light up and her nostrils flare and her lips curve up in a smile at the sight of my rigid cock. I lie still, knowing if I move a single muscle I’ll have her on her hands and knees in front of me, driving into her.

I’ll have her like that sometime soon. Oh, yes. I’ll have her in the hay, a blanket beneath us, her tits swaying and her sweet ass spread wide open for me, thick round flesh and muscle cushioning me, taking me balls-deep in her tight *. I’ll bend her over her bed and up against the wall of the barn out back where she first fondled me into coming all over both of us. I’ll have her everywhere and anywhere.

But this? Here and now? This is about her. Not me. It’s about showing her that I can’t f*cking breathe for wanting her, that her desires, her need, her desperation are all I care about, that giving her exactly what she wants, what she needs, is my only focus. That she’s worth the whole goddamn world, even if all I can offer her is my f*cked-up self.

So I lie still, moments from spooging on myself because she’s so f*cking hot, her lips swollen from kissing me, glistening and moist and parted, her tits hanging heavy and lush and luscious, her thighs opened just enough to give me a teasing glimpse of her *, of the curls of pubic hair that I’m glad she didn’t shave totally. I lie still and wait for her to take what she wants.