Captured(52)

She reaches out hesitantly, her eyes on my dick, tongue-tip tracing her lower lip.

“Anything you want,” I say. “Take. Demand. I’m here, and I’m yours. I want you to be happy.”

She blinks and looks me in the eye. “I’m torn. I want you inside me. I want to come while you’re inside me.” My cock twitches because I want that so bad I can feel it. But I stay still and listen. “But I want to make you feel as good as I felt.”

She wraps her fist around my cock, runs her thumb over my tip. I tense and close my eyes, and tighten up all my muscles.

I used to be able to hold back until I wanted to let go. I used to have almost total control. Not anymore, unfortunately. That kind of muscle control is the use-it-or-lose-it kind. I’m trying to act confident and in control for her, because she wants to forget — she wants to just abandon herself to feeling for a while, and I know I can give that to her. But this is totally new for me, too. On so many levels. It’s been a long time since I’ve had this. It was a good year and a half in Afghanistan, which is a hell of a dry spell. There was leave, sure. Liberty, and whatever. Some fine-ass chicks on deployment, too. But our company CO frowned on that kind of fraternization because it just causes trouble in most cases. Which I totally got, having seen buddies hook up with girls from their company or others, and when spats happened, as they inevitably will, it made shit messy. So I avoided that, a rare display of restraint in that department for me, really. And as for the local talent? No. Leave it there. Just no. Too dangerous, if it existed at all. So that long dry spell, plus three years as a POW, plus the three months in rehab? I’m so sex-starved as to be dangerous to humanity.

And I’ve changed. That, more than anything, is the biggest issue. I’m not the same guy who shipped out to Afghanistan. I used to bag ’em and tag ’em. Take what I wanted and split. Oh, I was attentive to how the girl beneath me was feeling, because it just feels better and is more fun if she’s a willing and eager participant. Make her feel good, you’ll feel good. And I was good at making ’em feel really damn good. Now? I’m worried I’m not good enough for a f*cking goddess like Reagan. I’m worried I’ve lost my touch. I’m worried I’ll have some kind of flashback or freakout and ruin things.

That’s inside.

Outside, I’m trying to play it cool.

Except, she strokes me. Once. Twice. Her petite but strong hand sliding down my length, burying at my root. Drifting up. Light touch, palm grazing. Cupping over the head, squeezing and rolling. I crane my neck to watch, and f*cking hell it’s erotic as shit watching her touch me. Her hand is small, makes my cock look that much bigger. She can wrap her fist around me, fingertips barely meeting, both hands on me, sliding hand over hand, and there’s still cock spilling up over her hand. She’s doing that hand-over-hand thing, and I f*cking love it. I love the downward slide of her hands, the constant touch and pressure.

And I’m groaning. Fisting my hands in the saddle blanket to keep still. Sweating, trying not to hump her fist.

“You better stop that, or this’ll be over before it starts,” I end up having to say. “I’m trying to hold back, but…god, that feels good.”

“You made me come really hard, Derek. It felt so good, it was…almost too good. I almost couldn’t take it.”

“So I did something right at least.”

She ignores me. “And it’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this, but I want to make you feel good, too.”

“No, this is about you, Reagan.”

She shakes her head, pausing with both hands around my dick, just the bulbous head sticking up over the top of her fist. “No. I want…Derek, I want this to be about us.”

She glances at me, offers me a shy smile. Strokes me again, hand-over-hand, and I have to seize up again, think about not coming, don’t look at her, think about the sky or the trees—

Nope. That’s not working. She’s got my sac in one hand now, cupping gently, rolling and squeezing so softly, massaging. Middle finger extended down past my balls, massaging there. Fuck, I can’t hold it.

“Reagan….”

“Sshh.” She’s sliding her fist up and down my length. Driving, pumping. Relentless. “Give it to me. Let me have it, Derek. I want it. Let me see it.”

“What?”

“Your come.”

“Shit, Reagan, I’m right there. I can’t hold back. I can’t stop it.” I’m gasping, and I’m totally in her control now.

I want to come. Need to. I’d do anything she asked of me right now, if only she’d let me come.

“Good. That’s what I want.” She slows her strokes. “This is your turn.”

She pulls my cock away from my body, stretches it. Grips tight and grinds her fingers down my length, and I growl. I force my eyes open, and I’m glad I did. She’s so lovely. So hot. Hair the color of pure honey draping over one shoulder, skin tanned and flawless, breasts swinging as she leans over me.

Oh, god, she’s going to. God, I hope she does. I’m selfish, so selfish. I want her mouth around me. I shouldn’t; it’s too soon for her to give me something like that. But I don’t have the self-control to stop her as she bends over me, her silken boobs sliding against my ribcage and over my stomach, pressing against me as she puts her face to my hip. She’s watching herself stroke me into orgasm.