Capture Me (2 page)

Y
ulia

H
e steps
into my apartment as soon as the door swings open. No hesitation, no greeting—he just comes in.

Startled, I step back, the short, narrow hallway suddenly stiflingly small. I’d somehow forgotten how big he is, how broad his shoulders are. I’m tall for a woman—tall enough to fake being a model if an assignment calls for it—but he towers a full head above me. With the heavy down jacket he’s wearing, he takes up almost the entire hallway.

Still not saying a word, he closes the door behind him and advances toward me. Instinctively, I back away, feeling like cornered prey.

“Hello, Yulia,” he murmurs, stopping when we’re out of the hallway. His pale gaze is locked on my face. “I wasn’t expecting to see you like this.”

I swallow, my pulse racing. “I just took a bath.” I want to seem calm and confident, but he’s got me completely off-balance. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

“No, I can see that.” A faint smile appears on his lips, softening the hard line of his mouth. “Yet you let me in. Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to continue talking through the door.” I take a steadying breath. “Can I offer you some tea?” It’s a stupid thing to say, given what he’s here for, but I need a few moments to compose myself.

He raises his eyebrows. “Tea? No, thanks.”

“Then can I take your jacket?” I can’t seem to stop playing the hostess, using politeness to cover my anxiety. “It looks quite warm.”

Amusement flickers in his wintry gaze. “Sure.” He takes off his down jacket and hands it to me. He’s left wearing a black sweater and dark jeans tucked into black winter boots. The jeans hug his legs, revealing muscular thighs and powerful calves, and on his belt, I see a gun sitting in a holster.

Irrationally, my breathing quickens at the sight, and it takes a concerted effort to keep my hands from shaking as I take the jacket and walk over to hang it in my tiny closet. It’s not a surprise that he’s armed—it would be a shock if he wasn’t—but the gun is a stark reminder of who Lucas Kent is.

What
he is.

It’s no big deal, I tell myself, trying to calm my frayed nerves. I’m used to dangerous men. I was raised among them. This man is not that different. I’ll sleep with him, get whatever information I can, and then he’ll be out of my life.

Yes, that’s it. The sooner I can get it done, the sooner all of this will be over.

Closing the closet door, I paste a practiced smile on my face and turn back to face him, finally ready to resume the role of confident seductress.

Except he’s already next to me, having crossed the room without making a sound.

My pulse jumps again, my newfound composure fleeing. He’s close enough that I can see the gray striations in his pale blue eyes, close enough that he can touch me.

And a second later, he does touch me.

Lifting his hand, he runs the back of his knuckles over my jaw.

I stare up at him, confused by my body’s instant response. My skin warms and my nipples tighten, my breath coming faster. It doesn’t make sense for this hard, ruthless stranger to turn me on. His boss is more handsome, more striking, yet it’s Kent my body’s reacting to. All he’s touched thus far is my face. It should be nothing, yet it’s intimate somehow.

Intimate and disturbing.

I swallow again. “Mr. Kent—Lucas—are you sure I can’t offer you something to drink? Maybe some coffee or—” My words end in a breathless gasp as he reaches for the tie of my robe and tugs on it, as casually as one would unwrap a package.

“No.” He watches as the robe falls open, revealing my naked body underneath. “No coffee.”

And then he touches me for real, his big, hard palm cupping my breast. His fingers are callused, rough. Cold from being outside. His thumb flicks over my hardened nipple, and I feel a pull deep within my core, a coiling of need that feels as foreign as his touch.

Fighting the urge to flinch away, I dampen my dry lips. “You’re very direct, aren’t you?”

“I don’t have time for games.” His eyes gleam as his thumb flicks over my nipple again. “We both know why I’m here.”

“To have sex with me.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t bother to soften it, to give me anything but the brutal truth. He’s still holding my breast, touching my naked flesh as though it’s his right. “To have sex with you.”

“And if I say no?” I don’t know why I’m asking this. This is not how it’s supposed to go. I should be seducing him, not trying to put him off. Yet something within me rebels at his casual assumption that I’m his for the taking. Other men have assumed this before, and it didn’t bother me nearly as much. I don’t know what’s different this time, but I want him to step away from me, to stop touching me. I want it so badly that my hands curl into fists at my sides, my muscles tensing with the urge to fight.

“Are you saying no?” He asks the question calmly, his thumb now circling over my areola. As I search for a response, he slides his other hand into my hair, possessively cupping the back of my skull.

I stare at him, my breath catching. “And if I were?” To my disgust, my voice comes out thin and scared. It’s as if I’m a virgin again, cornered by my trainer in the locker room. “Would you leave?”

One corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile. “What do you think?” His fingers tighten in my hair, the grip just hard enough to hint at pain. His other hand, the one on my breast, is still gentle, but it doesn’t matter.

I have my answer.

So when his hand leaves my breast and slides down my belly, I don’t resist. Instead, I part my legs, letting him touch my smooth, freshly waxed pussy. And when his hard, blunt finger pushes into me, I don’t try to move away. I just stand there, trying to control my frantic breathing, trying to convince myself that this is no different from any other assignment.

Except it is.

I don’t want it to be, but it is.

“You’re wet,” he murmurs, staring at me as he pushes his finger deeper. “Very wet. Do you always get so wet for men you don’t want?”

“What makes you think I don’t want you?” To my relief, my voice is steadier this time. The question comes out soft, almost amused as I hold his gaze. “I let you in here, didn’t I?”

“You came on to
him
.” Kent’s jaw tightens, and his hand on the back of my head shifts, gripping a fistful of my hair. “You wanted
him
earlier today.”

“So I did.” The typically masculine display of jealousy reassures me, putting me on more familiar ground. I manage to soften my tone, make it more seductive. “And now I want you. Does that bother you?”

Kent’s eyes narrow. “No.” He forces a second finger into me and simultaneous presses his thumb against my clit. “Not at all.”

I want to say something clever, come up with some snappy retort, but I can’t. The jolt of pleasure is sharp and startling. My inner muscles tighten, clutching at his rough, invading fingers, and it’s all I can do not to moan out loud at the resulting sensations. Involuntarily, my hands come up, grabbing at his forearm. I don’t know if I’m trying to push him away or get him to continue, but it doesn’t matter. Under the soft wool of his sweater, his arm is thick with steely muscle. I can’t control its movements—all I can do is hold onto it as he pushes deeper into me with those hard, merciless fingers.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmurs, holding my gaze, and I gasp as he begins flicking his thumb over my clit, side to side, then up and down. His fingers curl inside me, and I suppress a moan as he hits a spot that sends an even sharper pang of sensation to my nerve endings. A tension begins to coil inside me, the pleasure gathering and intensifying, and with shock I realize I’m on the verge of orgasm.

My body, usually so slow to respond, is throbbing with aching need at the touch of a man who scares me—a development that both astonishes and unnerves me.

I don’t know if he sees it on my face, or if he feels the tightening in my body, but his pupils dilate, his pale eyes darkening. “Yes, that’s it.” His voice is a low, deep rumble. “Come for me, beautiful”—his thumb presses hard on my clit—“just like that.”

And I do. With a strangled moan, I climax around his fingers, the hard edges of his short, blunt nails digging into my rippling flesh. My visions blurs, my skin prickling with heated needles as I ride the wave of sensations, and then I sag in his grasp, held upright only by his hand in my hair and his fingers inside my body.

“There you go,” he says thickly, and as the world comes back into focus, I see that he’s watching me intently. “That was nice, wasn’t it?”

I can’t even manage a nod, but he doesn’t seem to need my confirmation. And why would he? I can feel the slickness inside me, the wetness that coats those rough male fingers—fingers that he withdraws from me slowly, watching my face the whole time. I want to close my eyes, or at least look away from that penetrating gaze, but I can’t.

Not without letting him know how much he frightens me.

So instead of backing down, I study him in return, seeing the signs of arousal on his strong features. His jaw is clenched tight as he stares at me, a tiny muscle pulsing near his right ear. And even through the sun-bronzed hue of his skin, I can see heightened color on his blade-like cheekbones.

He wants me badly—and that knowledge emboldens me to act.

Reaching down, I cup the hard bulge at the crotch of his jeans. “It
was
nice,” I whisper, looking up at him. “And now it’s your turn.”

His pupils dilate even more, his chest inflating with a deep breath. “Yes.” His voice is thick with lust as he uses his grip on my hair to drag me closer. “Yes, I think it is.” And before I can reconsider the wisdom of my blatant provocation, he lowers his head and captures my mouth with his.

I gasp, my lips parting from surprise, and he immediately takes advantage, deepening the kiss. His hard-looking mouth is surprisingly soft on mine, his lips warm and smooth as his tongue hungrily explores the interior of my mouth. There’s skill and confidence in that kiss; it’s the kiss of a man who knows how to please a woman, how to seduce her with nothing more than the touch of his lips.

The heat simmering within me intensifies, the tension rising inside me once more. He’s holding me so close that my bare breasts are pressing against his sweater, the wool rubbing against my peaked nipples. I can feel his erection through the rough material of his jeans; it pushes into my lower belly, revealing how much he wants me, how thin his pretense of control really is. Dimly, I realize the robe fell off my shoulders, leaving me completely naked, and then I forget all about it as he makes a low growling sound deep in his throat and pushes me against the wall.

The shock of the cold surface at my back clears my mind for a second, but he’s already unzipping his jeans, his knees wedging between my legs and spreading them open as he raises his head to look at me. I hear the ripping sound of a foil packet being opened, and then he cups my ass and lifts me off the ground. Instinctively, I grab at his shoulders, my heartbeat quickening as he orders hoarsely, “Wrap your legs around me”—and lowers me onto his stiff cock, all the while holding my gaze.

His thrust is hard and deep, penetrating me all the way. My breathing stutters at the force of it, at the uncompromising brutality of the invasion. My inner muscles clench around him, futilely trying to keep him out. His cock is as big as the rest of him, so long and thick it stretches me to the point of pain. If I hadn’t been so wet, he would’ve torn me. But I
am
wet, and after a couple of moments, my body begins to soften, adjusting to his thickness. Unconsciously, my legs come up, clasping his hips as he instructed, and the new position lets him slide even deeper into me, making me cry out at the sharp sensation.

He begins to move then, his eyes glittering as he stares at me. Each thrust is as hard as the one that joined us together, yet my body no longer tries to fight it. Instead, it brings forth more moisture, easing his way. Each time he slams into me, his groin presses against my sex, putting pressure on my clit, and the tension in my core returns, growing with every second. Stunned, I realize I’m about to have my second orgasm... and then I do, the tension peaking and exploding, scattering my thoughts and electrifying my nerve endings.

I can feel my own pulsations, the way my muscles squeeze and release his cock, and then I see his eyes go unfocused as he stops thrusting. A hoarse, deep groan escapes his throat as he grinds into me, and I know he’s found his release as well, my orgasm driving him over the edge.

My chest heaving, I stare up at him, watching as his pale blue eyes refocus on me. He’s still inside me, and all of a sudden, the intimacy of that is unbearable. He’s nobody to me, a stranger, yet he fucked me.

He fucked me, and I let him because it’s my job.

Swallowing, I push at his chest, my legs unwrapping from around his waist. “Please, let me down.” I know I should be cooing at him and stroking his ego. I should be telling him how amazing it was, how he gave me more pleasure than anyone I’ve known. It wouldn’t even be a lie—I’ve never come twice with a man before. But I can’t bring myself to do that. I feel too raw, too invaded.

With this man, I’m not in control, and that knowledge scares me.

I don’t know if he senses that, or if he just wants to toy with me, but a sardonic smile appears on his lips.

“It’s too late for regrets, beautiful,” he murmurs, and before I can respond, he lets me down and releases his grip on my ass. His softening cock slips out of my body as he steps back, and I watch, my breathing still uneven, as he casually takes the condom off and drops it on the floor.

For some reason, his action makes me flush. There’s something so wrong, so dirty about that condom lying there. Perhaps it’s because I feel like that condom: used and discarded. Spotting my robe on the floor, I move to pick it up, but Lucas’s hand on my arm stops me.

“What are you doing?” he asks, gazing at me. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned that his jeans are still unzipped and his cock is hanging out. “We’re not done yet.”