Capture Me (3 page)

My heart skips a beat. “We’re not?”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. To my shock, I feel him hardening against my stomach. “We’re far from done.”

And using his grip on my arm, he steers me toward the bed.

Y
ulia

M
y mind in turmoil
, I sit on the edge of the bed and watch Lucas undress.

First, he pulls off his sweater, revealing a tight T-shirt stretched across his muscular chest. Next, he takes off his shoes and pushes down his jeans and black briefs. His legs are as powerful as they’d appeared through his clothes, thick with muscle and as darkly tanned as his face. His cock, already hard again, is jutting out from a nest of brownish-blond hair at his groin, and as he pulls off his T-shirt, I see sharply defined abs and sculpted chest.

Lucas Kent has the body of an athlete, beautiful in its uncompromising strength.

As I watch him, I become aware of a strange urge to touch him. Not in an effort to please him or because it’s expected of me, but because I want to. I want to know how his muscles feel under my fingertips, whether his bronzed skin is smooth or rough. I want to lick his neck, tongue the hollow above his collarbone, and find out how that warm-looking skin tastes.

It makes no sense, but I want him. I want him even though I’m sore from his rough fucking, even though he should be an assignment, nothing more.

He steps out of his jeans and briefs and kicks them aside, then comes toward me. I don’t move as he approaches me. I hardly even breathe. When he’s next to me, he stops and sinks to his haunches. “Lie back,” he murmurs, grasping my calves, and before I have a chance to realize what he’s doing, he pulls me toward him, not stopping until my ass is partially hanging off the mattress.

“What are you—” I begin to say, but he ignores me, using one strong hand to push me down on the mattress. I fall onto my back, my heart hammering, and then I feel it.

His warm breath on my sex as he pulls my thighs apart.

My breathing quickens again, heat surging through my body as he presses a kiss to my closed folds, his lips soft and gentle. There’s barely any pressure on my clit, but I’m so sensitive from my earlier orgasms that even that light touch sends my nerves zinging. I gasp, arching toward him, and he laughs softly, the low, masculine sound creating vibrations that travel through my flesh, adding to the growing ache within me.

“Lucas, wait.” My voice is breathless, panicked from the need he’s invoking within me. The ceiling blurs in front of my eyes. “Wait, don’t—”

He ignores me once again, his tongue sweeping over my slit and delving into my opening. As he begins to fuck me with his tongue, I forget what I was going to say. I forget everything. My eyes squeeze shut, and the world around me disappears, leaving only darkness and the feel of his tongue dipping in and out of my soaked pussy. The fire burning within me is white-hot, my flesh so swollen and sensitized that his tongue feels as big as a cock. Except it’s softer, more flexible—and as he moves that tongue higher, circling my clit, I tense, feeling like a string being wound tighter and tighter.

“Lucas, please...” The words come out in a begging moan. I don’t know what I’m asking for, but he seems to—because he closes his lips around my throbbing clit and sucks on it. Lightly, gently, using only his lips as his tongue laves the underside of it. And it’s enough. It’s more than enough. My toes curl, the tension gathering into a pulsing ball in my sex as I arch up—and then I come with a choked cry, the orgasm blasting through me with stunning force. Every cell in my body fills with the pulsing pleasure of release, and my heart gallops in my chest.

Before I can recover, he flips me onto my stomach, bending me over the edge of the bed. Then I hear another foil packet ripping and a second later, he drives into me, his thick cock spearing me, stretching me once more. I gasp, my hands fisting the sheets as he takes me with a hard, fast rhythm, pounding into me so hard it should hurt—except my body is beyond that now. All I feel is need. I’m awash in it, drunk on the sensations he’s wringing from my flesh. As he thrusts into me, his movements force my sex against the edge of the mattress, putting rhythmic pressure on my clit, and I explode again, screaming his name. But he doesn’t stop.

He just keeps fucking me, his fingers digging into my hips as he drives into me, again and again.

I
wake
up tangled with him, our bodies glued together with sticky sweat. I don’t remember falling asleep in his embrace, but it must’ve happened, because that’s where I am now, surrounded by his powerful body.

It’s dark, and he’s asleep. I can hear his even breathing and feel the rise and fall of his chest as my head rests on his shoulder. My mouth is dry and my bladder is full, so I try to wiggle out from under his heavy arm—which immediately tightens around me.

“Where are you going?” Lucas’s voice is hoarse, roughened with sleep.

“To the bathroom,” I explain cautiously. “I have to pee.”

He lifts his arm and moves his leg off my calves. “All right. Go.”

I scoot away from him and sit up, wincing at the soreness I feel deep inside. I don’t know how long he fucked me that second time, but it could’ve easily been an hour or more. I lost count of how many times I came, the orgasms melding together into one never-ending wave of peaks and valleys.

My legs are unsteady as I stand up, my inner thighs aching from being stretched wide. After fucking me from behind, he turned me over and grabbed my ankles, holding my legs open as he drove into me, thrusting so deeply that I begged him to stop. He didn’t, of course. He just shifted his hips, changing the angle of his strokes to hit that sensitive spot within me, and I forgot all about the pain, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of his hard possession.

Inhaling deeply, I force myself back to the present, my bladder reminding me of another overwhelming need. Shakily, I walk to the bathroom and relieve myself. Then I wash my hands, brush my teeth, and splash cold water on my face, trying to regain my equilibrium.

Everything is fine, I tell myself as I stare at my pale face in the mirror. Everything is going according to plan. Great sex is a bonus, not a problem. So what if this ruthless stranger can make me respond this way? It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just fucking, a meaningless physical act.

Except with him it isn’t meaningless.

No. Squeezing my eyes shut, I force that voice away and splash more water on my face, washing away the doubts. I have a job to do, and there’s nothing wrong with treating this night as a perk of that job.

There’s nothing wrong with letting myself feel pleasure—as long as I don’t let it mean anything.

Feeling marginally more like myself, I make my way back to the bed, where Lucas is waiting for me. As soon as I lie down next to him, he pulls me against him, curving his body around me from the back and covering us both with a blanket. I let out a sigh of enjoyment as his warmth surrounds me. The man is like a furnace, generating so much heat that I instantly feel toasty, the ever-present chill inside my apartment forgotten.

“When are you leaving?” I ask softly as he arranges me more comfortably, settling my head on his outstretched arm and draping his other arm over my hip. This is what I need to know from him, what I owe Obenko for my failure, yet something tightens within me as I wait for Lucas’s answer.

That pang of emotion—it can’t be regret at the thought of him leaving.

That wouldn’t make sense.

Lucas nuzzles my ear. “In the morning,” he whispers, his teeth grazing over my earlobe. His breath sends a warm shiver through me. “I have to be out of here in a couple of hours.”

“Oh.” Ignoring the irrational twinge of sadness, I do quick mental math. According to the digital clock on my nightstand, it’s a little after four a.m. If he has to leave my apartment around six, then their plane must be departing at eight or nine in the morning.

Obenko doesn’t have much time to do whatever he plans to do to Esguerra.

“You can’t stay longer?” I turn my head to brush my lips against Lucas’s outstretched arm. It’s the kind of question a woman who has feelings for a man might ask, so I’m not afraid it would raise his suspicions.

He chuckles softly. “No, beautiful, I can’t. You should be glad of that”—his arm on top of me shifts, his hand sliding down to palm my sex—“given how sore you said you are.”

I swallow, remembering how toward the end of that marathon sex session I pleaded for mercy, my insides raw from so much fucking. Incredibly, I feel a twinge of renewed sensation at the memory—and at the touch of that big, strong hand between my legs.

“I
am
sore,” I whisper, hoping he would stop and at the same time, hoping he wouldn’t.

To my relief and disappointment, he moves his hand back to my hip, even though I feel his cock stirring against my ass. The man is a sexual machine, unstoppable in his lust. According to the file I’ve been given, he’s thirty-four years old. Most men past their teenage years don’t want to have sex three times a night. Once, twice maybe. But three times? His cock shouldn’t harden with so little provocation.

It makes me wonder how long it’s been since Lucas Kent’s had a woman.

“Are you going to return any time soon?” I ask, pushing that thought aside. It’s ridiculous, but the idea of him being with other women—of him giving them the kind of pleasure he gave me—makes my chest tighten in an unpleasant way.

“I don’t know,” he says, shifting so that his semi-hard erection is wedged more comfortably against my ass. “Maybe one day.”

“I see.” I stare into the darkness, battling the part of me that wants to bawl like a child deprived of her favorite toy. This is not real, none of it is real. Even if I were truly an interpreter, I’d know this is nothing more than a one-night stand. But I’m not the carefree, easy girl I’m pretending to be. I didn’t have sex with him for fun; I did it to get information—and now that I have it, I need to get it to Obenko right away.

As Lucas’s breathing evens out, signifying that he’s asleep again, I carefully reach for my phone. It’s sitting on the nightstand less than a couple of feet away, and I manage to grab it without disturbing Lucas, who’s still holding me against him. Ignoring the growing ache in my chest, I type out a coded message to Obenko, letting him know that Kent is with me and what time they’re planning to depart.

If my boss is planning to strike at Esguerra, now is as good a time as any, since at least one man from Esguerra’s security team is out of the way.

As soon as the text message goes out, I erase it from my phone and put the device back on the nightstand. Then I close my eyes and force myself to relax against Lucas’s hard body.

My assignment is done, for better or for worse.

L
ucas

I
wake
up to the unfamiliar feel of a slender body in my arms and the faint smell of peaches in my nostrils. Opening my eyes, I see tangled blond hair spread across the pillow in front of me and a slim, pale shoulder peeking out from under the blanket.

For a moment, the sight startles me, but then I remember.

I’m with Yulia Tzakova, the interpreter the Russians hired for yesterday’s meeting.

Memories of last night rush into my brain, making my blood surge.

Fuck, it had been hot. More than hot. Scorching.

Everything about her had been perfect, the sex so intense that just thinking of it makes me hard. I don’t know what I had been expecting when I showed up on her doorstep, but what happened last night wasn’t it.

I had watched her all through the meeting, enjoying the way she translated so effortlessly, her voice smooth and unaccented. It wasn’t a surprise that she caught my attention. I’ve always liked tall, leggy blondes, and Yulia Tzakova is as beautiful as they come, with her clear blue eyes and fine bone structure. She didn’t really eat during the meal, just nibbled on a couple of the appetizers, but she drank tea, and I found myself staring at her pink, glossy lips touching the rim of her porcelain cup... at the smooth white column of her throat moving as she swallowed. I wanted to feel those lips closing around the base of my cock and see her throat move as she swallowed my cum. I wanted to strip off her elegant clothes and bend her over the table, to fist that long, silky hair as I drove into her, fucking her until she screamed and came.

I wanted
her
—and she seemed to have eyes only for Esguerra.

Even now, the knowledge that she came on to my boss leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It shouldn’t matter. Esguerra’s always been a chick magnet, and I’ve never minded that. It amuses me, in fact, the way women throw themselves at him, even when they suspect what he’s really like. Even his new wife—a pretty, petite American girl he kidnapped almost two years ago—seems to have fallen for him. It’s only logical that Yulia would try for him—or at least that’s what I told myself as I watched her eye Esguerra all through the meeting.

If she wanted him, she was welcome to him.

Except he didn’t want
her
. It surprised me, that last part, even though over the past two years I haven’t actually seen him hook up with any woman. He would just go to his private island all the time. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I learned he kept his American girl there, the one he ended up marrying. The girl—Nora—must’ve been taking care of his needs all along. Must still be taking care of them exceptionally well, given that Esguerra didn’t spare Yulia so much as a glance.

I was tempted to forget the interpreter as well—except he asked me to frisk her. She stood there shivering in her elegant coat, and I got a chance to feel her, to run my hands over her body in search of weapons. There were none, but her breathing changed as I touched her. She didn’t look at me, didn’t move, but I could feel a slight hitch in her breathing and see her pale cheeks brighten with a hint of color. Up until then, I didn’t think she was aware of me as a man at all, but that moment made me realize that she was—and that she was fighting the attraction for some reason. So when Esguerra turned down her invitation, I made the impulsive decision to take her for myself.

Just for one night, just to appease the craving.

It wasn’t difficult to get her address—all it took was one call to Buschekov—and then I showed up on her doorstep, expecting to see the same put-together, confident young woman who flirted with my boss.

Except that wasn’t who greeted me.

It was a girl who looked barely out of her teens, her beautiful face devoid of any makeup and her tall, slender body swathed in a decidedly inelegant robe. She let me into her apartment after I explicitly told her what I wanted, but the look in her wide blue eyes was that of a hunted rabbit. For a minute, I doubted whether she wanted me there at all; she seemed as nervous as said rabbit confronting a fox. Her anxiety was so palpable, I wondered if I’d made a mistake coming to her, if I’d somehow misread either the extent of her experience or the level of her interest in me.

Just one touch, I told myself as she took my coat. Just one touch, and if she didn’t want me, I’d leave. I’d never forced a woman in my life, and I didn’t intend to start with this girl—a girl who seemed oddly innocent despite her corrupt Kremlin connections.

A girl I wanted more with every second.

I told myself I’d stop with that one touch, but as soon as I touched her, I knew I’d lied. Her creamy skin had been baby soft, the bones of her jaw so delicate they were almost fragile. My hand looked brown and rough against her pale perfection, my palm so big I could’ve crushed her face with one hard squeeze of my fingers.

She froze at my touch, and I could see the pulse beating at the side of her neck. When I’d patted her down earlier, she smelled expensive, like some fancy perfume, but that was no longer the case. Standing there in front of me, her cheeks colored pink, she smelled like peaches and innocence. Logically, I knew it had to be some soap from her bath, but my mouth still watered with the urge to lick her, to taste that clean, fruit-scented flesh.

To see what was hidden under her big, unsexy robe.

She said something about a drink, or maybe it was coffee, but I barely heard her words, all my attention on the strip of pale skin visible at the top of her robe. “No,” I said on autopilot, “no coffee,” and then I reached for the tie of her robe, my hands acting seemingly of their own accord.

The garment fell apart at a light tug, revealing a body straight out of my wet dreams. High, full breasts tipped by hard pink nipples, a waist small enough to span with my hands, gently curving hips, and long, long legs. And between those legs, not even a hint of hair, just the smooth, bare mound of her pussy.

My dick got so hard it hurt.

She pinkened even more, a flush appearing on her face and chest, and whatever self-control I still had evaporated. I touched her breast, flicked my thumb over her nipple, and watched her pupils expand, turning her blue eyes darker.

She was responding to me. Still scared, perhaps, but responding.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. I couldn’t have walked away at that point if a bomb had gone off next to us.

“You’re very direct, aren’t you?” she whispered, staring up at me, and I told her I didn’t have time for games. It was true—if only because the lust I felt was more intense, more violent than anything I’d known before. At that moment, I would’ve done anything to have her, crossed any line... committed any crime.

“And if I say no?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly, and it took everything I had to ask if she was, in fact, saying no. I managed to keep my tone calm, gently circling her nipple with my thumb as I slid my hand into her hair, but she didn’t give me a straight answer. Instead, she asked me what I’d do in that case, whether I would leave.

“What do you think?” I asked, stalling as I tried to figure out the answer, but she didn’t reply. She must’ve sensed the violent hunger brewing within me and decided to stop teasing me. I could see the acceptance in her eyes, feel the way she swayed toward me, as if granting me permission.

And so I touched her, felt the soft, warm heat between her legs.

Penetrated her tight pussy with my finger and felt the wetness there.

She did want me—unless that wetness wasn’t for me.

Unless she was thinking of Esguerra at that moment.

The thought filled me with black rage. “Do you always get so wet for men you don’t want?” I asked, unable to conceal my irrational jealousy, and she said she did want me. She’d wanted Esguerra before, and now she wanted me.

“Does that bother you?” she asked, and for the first time since my arrival at her apartment, she seemed like the experienced, confident woman from the restaurant instead of the scared girl who greeted me at the door.

The dichotomy both fascinated and aroused me, even as rage continued to burn in my veins. “No,” I said, pushing another finger into her slick channel and finding her clit with my thumb. “Not at all.”

Her eyes went soft, unfocused, and I could feel her pussy squeezing my fingers, getting even wetter at my touch. Her hands grabbed my arm as though she wanted to stop me, but her body welcomed my touch. I watched her carefully, observing every flicker of expression on her face, listening to every gasp and moan as I worked my fingers inside and around her pussy. She was responsive, so fucking responsive that it took me no time at all to learn what she liked, what made her cream around my fingers. I could feel her body beginning to tighten, see her breathing coming faster, and my cock got so hard it felt like it would burst.

“Yes, that’s it.” I pressed hard on her clit. “Come for me, beautiful, just like that.”

And she did. Her gaze turned distant, unseeing, and her pussy rippled around my fingers. I held her until her contractions stopped, my hand still grasping her silky hair, and then I said with satisfaction, “There you go. That was nice, wasn’t it?”

She didn’t answer me at first, and for a moment, I wondered again if I’d misread her, if I was somehow forcing her into this. But then she reached out and boldly cupped my balls through my jeans. “It
was
nice,” she whispered, looking up at me. “And now it’s your turn.”

It was all the invitation I needed. I felt like a beast unleashed, but somehow I managed to kiss her in a semi-civilized manner, tasting her lips instead of devouring them, as everything inside me clamored to do. Her mouth was delicious, like warm tea and honey, and for a minute, I was able to maintain some semblance of control, to pretend I wasn’t a lust-filled savage.

Except I was—and when her robe fell off her shoulders, I snapped, pushing her against the wall. It was only by the habit of two decades that I remembered to put on a condom, and then I was lifting her and telling her to wrap her legs around me as I thrust into her, unable to wait even a second longer.

She was tight around me, so unbelievably tight and hot that I almost came right then and there, especially when her pussy clenched around me, her body tensing at my entry. Worried that I’d hurt her, I stopped for a moment, waiting until her legs came up to clasp my hips, and then I began fucking her in earnest, driven by a hunger more powerful than anything I’d experienced before. I wanted to be so deep inside I’d never come out, to take her so hard I’d leave my imprint on her flesh.

I watched her as I fucked her, and I knew the exact moment she reached her peak. Her eyes widened, as though in surprise, and then I felt her pussy undulating, spasming around my cock. The sensation was so intense I couldn’t hold back my own orgasm. It washed over me uncontrollably, rocketing out from my balls, and I ground my pelvis into her, needing to be as deep as humanly possible, to meld with her in this explosive, mind-bending pleasure.

It was the best climax of my life. I felt high, consumed with her taste, her feel, and for a few moments, I thought it was the same for her—but then she pushed at me. “Please, let me down,” she said, looking distressed, and it was like a bucket of ice water thrown over my head.

I gave her two orgasms, and she was looking at me like I raped her.

Like I fucking assaulted her in a back alley.

Something inside me twisted and hardened. Curving my lips in a sardonic smile, I said, “It’s too late for regrets, beautiful.” Lowering her to her feet, I forced my hands away from her firm, shapely ass. My cock slipped out of her as I stepped back, and the condom, filled with my seed, began to feel loose.

I pulled it off, dropping it on the floor. Her eyes followed the movement, and I saw a flush creep across her face again. She was embarrassed by what happened, I realized, and my anger intensified.

She invited me in, said she wanted me—
her body fucking told me she wanted me
—and now she was acting like it was all some big mistake.

Like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

Well, fuck that, I decided, my blood boiling with a mixture of fury and renewed lust. If she thought I’d let her get away with that shit, she was very much mistaken.

And for the rest of the night, I dedicated myself to showing her just how mistaken she was. I licked her pussy and fucked her until she begged me to stop, until her voice was hoarse from screaming my name and my dick was raw from pounding into her tight flesh. I made her come half a dozen times before I allowed myself my second release, and then I had to restrain myself from taking her for the third time when she woke up to use the restroom.

I had to restrain myself because somehow, impossibly, I wanted more.

I still want more.

Son of a bitch.
I told Yulia I might return one day, but if this insane hunger doesn’t go away, I’ll have to come back to Moscow sooner than planned—maybe as soon as we’re done in Tajikistan.

Yes, that’s it, I decide as I get up and start getting dressed.

I’ll do my job, and then, if the Russian girl is still on my mind, I’ll come back for her.