Claim Me (Capture Me Book 3) Page 20

  We’re still kissing, our lips and tongues dueling with feral hunger, when he drives into me, his thick cock splitting me open. I gasp into his mouth, tensing at the shockwave of sensations. My flesh quivers around him, trying to adjust, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. He just starts pounding into me, and I tear my mouth away, my breath coming in pained gasps as his thrusts drag me back and forth on the hard table. His possession is violent, overwhelming, yet I want more. More of his roughness, more of this dark, savage heat.

  I want him to match the animal inside me, to hurt me as I’m hurting him.

  My legs come up, wrapping around his hips, and I sink my teeth into the corded muscle of his neck, reveling in the taste of salt and man. His big body shudders, and he rasps out a curse, his pace picking up until he’s all but drilling into me. My hands fist in his sweat-drenched shirt, and the tension inside me grows, the heat between my legs swelling and intensifying. It seems to be taking over all my senses, crowding out everything but the need to come.

  “Lucas,” I gasp, feeling the swell begin to crest. “Oh, fuck, Lucas!”

  Impossibly, his thrusts pick up speed, and I’m hurled over the edge, the orgasm hitting me with massive force. The pleasure blasts through my nerve endings, so sharp it’s almost painful, and I cry out, my muscles clenching and releasing in pulsing waves. My heart hammers uncontrollably as aftershocks ripple through my body, but Lucas is not done yet. Before I can so much as draw in a breath, he pulls out and flips me onto my stomach, bending me over the table.

  “Is this what you want?” he bites out, driving into me again. Gripping my hair, he forces my upper body to arch off the table. “For me to fuck you? To use you and make you hurt?”

  “Yes.” Oh God, yes. His cock is thick and burning hot inside me, a threat and a promise all at once. I didn’t know I wanted this, but I do. I want the pain he inflicts to be the only one in my mind, his touch the only one in my memory. It’s sick and utterly illogical, but I want Lucas to hurt me so I can forget about Kirill.

  “All right.” My captor’s voice is dark and strained. “Remember, you asked for this.”

  My pulse spikes, but he’s already pulling my hair harder, making my neck bend at an impossible angle. I cry out, my hands flying up to grab at his wrist, but he ignores my flailing arms and thrusts two fingers of his free hand into my mouth, making me gag from the sudden assault. His fingers are faintly salty, and they feel huge and rough in my mouth, almost as big as a cock. He pushes them in so far that I gag again and spit up saliva—which is apparently what he’s after.

  Pulling his wet fingers out of my mouth, he uses his grip on my hair to push me down, flattening my face against the table.

  “Wait, Lucas…” Panic explodes in my brain as he moves the hand from my mouth to my ass and starts working one finger into the tight ring of muscle. “I don’t… this isn’t…” I reach back blindly, my hands pushing at his hips, but I have no leverage in this position. I’m bent over the table with his cock deep inside me; even if he weren’t built of solid muscle, there’d be little I could do.

  “Shh… It’s going to be okay.” Lucas accompanies the words with a shallow thrust of his cock, and I suck in a breath as his finger presses deeper, the slick coating of my saliva easing the way. “You’re going to be okay, baby.” His hand releases my hair, his palm splaying on my upper back to keep me in place. “We’ve done this before, remember?”

  It’s true; he used his finger, and I enjoyed it on some level, but he wants to go further today. I can sense his hunger, and it terrifies me. I want to push away the bad memories, replace them with a hurt of my choosing, but this is too much, too close to my nightmares. I clench my buttocks, trying to keep him out, but the second finger is already pushing into me, making my flesh stretch and burn at the invasion.

  “Wait, not like this…” Beyond the burn is a strange, uncomfortable fullness, a feeling of being overstuffed and overtaken. His cock flexes inside me, adding to the sensation, and my breathing turns shallow as sweat trickles down my back. “Please, Lucas…”

  He ignores my begging, slowly working his slick fingers into my ass, and my body gives in to his inexorable advance, the muscles stretching because they have to. Panting, I lie with my face pressed against the hard surface of the table and feel his cock throb in my pussy. His fingers are all the way in now, and it is too much. My body wasn’t made for this. Everything about this penetration feels wrong and unnatural, like the time when—

  Lucas begins to thrust, distracting me from my thoughts, and I realize that somewhere along the way, my straining muscles relaxed slightly, the burn from the invasion lessening. He’s not moving his fingers—he’s just keeping them inside me—and with his cock pumping in and out in a slow, careful rhythm, the sensation isn’t as uncomfortable as it was.

  I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. His fingers still feel too large, but there’s no actual pain, and the realization calms me further, drawing my attention to the slowly gathering tension in my core. The thrusting motions of his cock are reigniting my arousal, and the invasive fullness in my ass doesn’t seem to take away from that. In some perverse way, it’s even adding to the intensity.

  I may survive this after all.

  “Yulia.” Lucas’s voice is hoarse as he withdraws almost all the way. “I’m going to fuck you hard now.”

  My heart lurches, all illusion of calm fleeing. “Wait—”

  But it’s too late. Before I can finish speaking, he rams his cock back in, pushing me into the edge of the table. I cry out, my hands sliding forward to brace myself, but he’s already withdrawing and thrusting back in. The hard battering of his hips moves me on his fingers, and I cry out again, tensing at the overwhelming sensations. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting, keeps fucking me, and the discomfort morphs into something else: a dark, throbbing heat that spreads through my whole body. My heart gallops in my chest, my breathing turns frantic, and I feel myself rocketing to the edge again, the dual invasion of my body intensifying all my senses. The hot musk of sex in the air, the quivering of my overstretched flesh, the restraining pressure of his big hand on my back—it all adds to my sensory overload, winding me tighter and tighter. My cries grow louder, transforming into screams, and then I shatter, exploding with a force that steals my breath and dims my vision. My muscles spasm, milking his cock and fingers, and I hear his raspy groan as he thrusts in one last time and stops, pulsing deep inside me in release.

  Dazed and trembling, I lie there, unable to say or do anything as Lucas slowly pulls his fingers out and lifts his hand from my back. His cock is still inside me, but after a moment, he withdraws that too. Cool air washes over my heated flesh as he steps back, and I feel the slickness coating my folds—my own moisture combined with his seed.

  “Hang on, baby,” he murmurs, stepping away, and I hear the sink running.

  A minute later, he returns, holding a wet paper towel. By then, I’ve recovered enough to push myself off the table and stand on shaking legs, and I take the towel from him, using it to mop at the wetness between my legs. Lucas watches me with hooded gaze, his jeans already zipped up, and a hot flush crawls through my hairline as I see my shorts on the floor, lying next to the mess of broken bowls and spilled food.

  Swallowing, I ball the used paper towel in my hand and turn toward my shorts, but Lucas catches my arm.

  “I’ve got it,” he says, his pale eyes gleaming. “Go take a shower. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  I don’t argue, and a minute later, I’m standing under the hot spray, my mind mercifully blank. True to his word, Lucas joins me in a bit, and I close my eyes, leaning against him as he washes me from head to toe, taking care of me yet again. I’m glad he doesn’t say anything or ask me any questions. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to articulate why I wanted something so dark from him… why even now, after he pushed me far beyond my limits, I feel grateful for the experience.

  When we’re both clean, Lucas le
ads me out of the shower and wraps a towel around me before grabbing one for himself. He’s still silent, his gaze oddly watchful, and finally, I feel the urge to speak.

  “You didn’t fuck me in the ass,” I say, my hands twisting in the towel. “Why?”

  “Because you weren’t ready.” He finishes drying himself and casually hangs up his towel, revealing his body in all its powerful masculinity. “Not to mention, we’d need some real lube for that. You’re tight, and, well…” He glances down at his cock, which, even soft, is impressively sized.

  “Right.” I swallow the sudden lump of fear in my throat. “You’re bigger than your two fingers.”

  “Yes, somewhat,” he says drily, and I see a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

  For some reason, knowing he finds this funny makes me flush again. Turning, I step toward the door to exit the bathroom, but Lucas steps in front of me, his expression turning serious.

  “Don’t worry, beautiful,” he murmurs, cupping my chin. His thumb brushes over my lower lip in a gentle caress. “Every part of you will be mine eventually. You’re going to forget him, I promise you that.”

  I stare at him, equal parts startled and terrified by his perceptiveness, but Lucas is already lowering his hand and turning away.

  “Come,” he says, opening the door. “Let’s go get dressed. We’ll make something else for lunch.”

  He heads down the hallway, and I follow, my thoughts in disarray.

  I’m not sure what I expected from my new captivity, but this—whatever this is—wasn’t it.

  IV

  The New Captivity

  41

  Yulia

  Over the next couple of weeks, Lucas and I go back to something resembling our old routine. With my strength rapidly returning, I take over the cooking and other domestic chores, and Lucas resumes his normal working schedule, returning home only in the evenings and for mealtimes. While he’s gone, I read books and do body-weight exercises to stay fit, and when we’re together, we discuss the books I’ve read. We also go on morning walks together. The main difference between now and before is the presence of my brother on the estate and that, technically, I’m allowed to walk around on my own.

  I say “technically,” because the first time I’m about to take advantage of that opportunity, Lucas cautions me to avoid Esguerra as much as possible.

  “He won’t do anything to you, but it’s best if you don’t draw his attention unnecessarily,” Lucas says, and I read between the lines.

  If it weren’t for Lucas, Esguerra would gladly do as his wife threatened and flay every bit of flesh from my bones.

  Given this, I rethink my idea of strolling over to the guards’ barracks to chat with my brother. Instead, I request that Diego bring him over to Lucas’s house. I’m not afraid for myself—I’ve been living on borrowed time since my capture in Moscow—but I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to Misha. That possibility worries me so much that when Diego comes over, I surreptitiously pull the young guard aside and ask him to keep my brother away from his boss.

  “From Esguerra?” Diego gives me a surprised look. “Why? He’s doesn’t care about Michael. He’s seen the kid half a dozen times since your arrival, and he’s never shown any interest in him.”

  That reassures me somewhat. On the training field, Esguerra looked at me with unmistakable hatred. If he feels differently about my brother—or, rather, is indifferent toward him—it’s a good thing. Still, the core of my fear remains. Even if the arms dealer’s animosity is reserved solely for me, I know what he’s capable of. If Esguerra decides to hurt me, it won’t matter to him that Misha is fourteen, or that he had nothing to do with the crash.

  My brother could end up paying for my sins.

  “Are you sure Misha is safer here than in Ukraine?” I press Lucas that evening. “Maybe if his parents moved to a different part of the country, or—”

  “Ukraine is a battle zone right now,” Lucas says bluntly. “We’ve got three dozen men on the ground there now, and more are getting sent in as we speak. I can’t guarantee your brother won’t get caught in the crossfire. Do you want to take that risk?”

  “No, of course not.” I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to block out mental images of the massacre that must be taking place. “But what about Misha’s adoptive parents? They’re probably worried sick about him—not to mention terrified, if they have any clue about what’s going on.”

  “The best I can do is send them word that Misha’s alive and well,” Lucas says. “That, and remind our men that they’re off-limits. But like I said, I can’t make any guarantees. The situation is volatile, and since I’m not there to oversee the operation in person, the men have been given a lot of autonomy to carry out the mission as they see fit.”

  I swallow. “I understand… and thank you. Anything you can do to keep Misha’s parents safe would be greatly appreciated,” I say, and mean it. I may not be able to prevent Lucas and Esguerra from getting their vengeance, but if I can keep my brother’s family out of harm’s way, then I won’t feel quite so conflicted about it—helpless and complicit all at once.

  I’m not only sleeping with a monster; I’m in love with him.

  And the monster knows it. He revels in it, making me admit my feelings almost every day. I don’t know why Lucas gets such a kick out of it—I can’t be the first woman to have fallen for him—but he definitely enjoys hearing the words from me. He forces me to scream them as he fucks me roughly, and to whisper them as he cradles me gently in his embrace. The constant juxtaposition of violent possessiveness and tender care confuses me, keeping me off-balance. I have no idea where my captor stands. One minute, I’m certain he views me as his sex toy, and the next, I find myself hoping it’s something more.

  I find myself dreaming that someday he may love me too.

  It doesn’t help that Lucas keeps doing things that make me feel like we’re in a real relationship. Every time he learns about a food or drink I like, he surprises me by getting it for me. Over the past week, we’ve received deliveries of hard-to-find Russian candy, a box of ripe persimmons from Israel, five exotic varieties of Earl Grey tea, and freshly baked loaves of German rye bread. He’s also ordered me a wider variety of clothes—some of which he allowed me to choose for myself online—and all kinds of toiletries and bath products, including my favorite peach-scented shampoo.

  I’m so pampered it scares me.

  And it’s not just about the things Lucas buys for me. It’s everything he does. If I so much as get a scratch, he bandages it for me. If my muscles ache after a workout, he gives me a full body rub. We’ve started watching TV together in the evenings, and he’s gotten into the habit of stroking my hair or playing with my hand as I sit curled up next to him. It’s an absentminded sort of affection, like petting a cat, but that doesn’t lessen its impact on me. It’s what I’ve been starving for, what I’ve wanted for so long. Every time my captor kisses me goodnight, every time he holds me close, the dry, empty fissures around my heart heal a bit, the pain of my losses fading.

  With Lucas, the terrifying loneliness of the past eleven years seems like a distant memory.

  What touches me most, however, is that Lucas understands my devotion to my brother and doesn’t try to interfere with the rebuilding of our relationship. Despite Misha’s continued antagonism toward him, he lets me invite my brother over as often as I want, and the three of us start having meals together—meals that often brim with awkward tension.

  “Your brother doesn’t like me much, does he?” Lucas says drily after our first joint lunch. “For a few moments there, I thought he was going to pull a Yulia and try to stab me with a fork.”

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize, worried that he’d want Misha to stay away. “I’ll talk to him. It’s just that with his uncle and what happened in Ukraine—”

  “It’s okay, baby. I understand.” Lucas’s gaze softens unexpectedly. “He’s still a kid, and he’s been through a lot. He has every
reason to hate me. I’m not going to hold it against him.”

  I blink. “You’re not?”

  “No. He’ll come around. And if he doesn’t… Well, he’s your brother, so I’ll deal.”

  My throat swells with emotion. “Thank you,” I manage to say. “Really, Lucas, thank you for that and… and everything.”

  It’s not lost on me that by hunting me down in Ukraine, Lucas most likely saved my life—and he certainly saved my sanity. I don’t know if I could’ve survived a second assault from Kirill, so in a way, my recapture had also been my rescue.

  “Of course,” Lucas says, stepping toward me. The warmth in his gaze transforms into a familiar dark heat. “It’s my pleasure, believe me.”

  And as he sweeps me up in his arms, I forget all about my worries—for the time being, at least.

  * * *

  “Are you in love with him?” Misha asks after we’ve been on the estate for almost six weeks. “Is he your boyfriend for real?”

  “What?” I glance at my brother in surprise. We’re walking in the forest to minimize the chances of running into Esguerra, and up until this moment, we were discussing utterly innocuous subjects: Misha’s old school, his best friend Andrey, and the types of movies boys his age are into. This came out of nowhere. “Why do you ask?” I say cautiously.

  Misha shrugs. “I don’t know. In the beginning, I thought maybe you were playing him so it would be easier for us to get away, but the more I see you two together, the less that seems to be the case.” He shoots me an indecipherable look. “Do you even want to leave?”

  “Michael, I…” I take a breath, knowing I need to tread carefully. Our relationship has been going so well. Last week, I finally convinced Lucas to let me get online, and I showed Misha the pictures I’d uploaded to the cloud. He viewed them silently, with no accusations of lies or manipulations, and I thought we were finally making progress. The last thing I want is to push us back to our adversarial beginnings.