Page 54 of Captive

After what he’s been through, I can’t blame him for feeling like that. When I lost my sister, the last thing on my mind at that time was finding a boy to get freaky with—but it’s been years for us both, more years for him. It’s time we accept the pain of the past and turn toward the future.

And now? The future has never been brighter. It’s so bright it’s blinding, and I am here for it.

I don’t know how long we stand there, kissing, our tongues locked in an eternal dance, but it must be a while, because by the time our lips part, we both pant like we’ve never taken a deep breath in our lives. My eyelids crack open, and I find him gazing steadily down at me with those baby blues.

“That was nice,” he says quietly, and all I can do is nod and mutter something along the lines of: uh-huh. Ezra drops his hands from my body and takes a single step back. “Okay. I guess I’ll—”

I have the sudden feeling he’s going to say he’ll leave me alone now or something equally as stupid, so I shut him up by taking him by the hand and yanking him into my room. I kick the door closed, push him against said door, and stand on my tiptoes as I reach for him and kiss him again. It’s not the easiest thing to do given how tall he is; he’s the tallest of the bunch by a few inches, but I manage.

“No,” I whisper between kisses. “You can’t leave yet.”

He doesn’t pull back or push me off him, but somehow he manages to say, “We don’t have to jump into anything.”

“Trust me, there’s no jumping involved in this.” I smirk as I kiss him hard, and his hands return to my body. “And besides, where’s the fun in that? Slow and steady doesn’t win this race.” Other races, sure, but this one? This one is a sprint.

A sprint to the bed, to be more specific.

That must be all he needs to hear, because after that he picks me up and carries me to the bed. I guess it’s less of a sprint to the bed and more of a lumbering walk as he balances us both on the way there, kissing my neck all the while.

Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff. Nothing beats neck kisses.

Unlike in the hall, when he tried to leave, once we reach the bed, Ezra doesn’t try it again. He sets me down and diligently works on taking off my clothes. I figure he needs to take the initiative here, and beyond that I need to know he’s serious about this, that I’m not forcing him into anything. I don’t mind taking the lead every now and then, but we can go as far or as little as Ezra wants.

This is new territory for him, I am well aware. Hell, it’s new territory for me, too. I’ve never been involved with multiple guys at once, let alone multiple serial-killing guys.

My clothes come off one after the other. My shirt, my pants, then my bra and panties. He only stops when I stand between him and the bed, naked as the day I was born. He pauses to let his gaze travel along my body, taking in every inch, every curve, every part of me he wouldn’t have let himself focus on a week ago. He stares at me with a hunger that informs me he is ready to devour me.

And I, for one, am ready to be devoured.

“Well?” I ask as I tilt my head and sit back on the bed. “You going to take off your clothes or just keep staring at me?” As I ask, I spread my legs wide and give him a nice, long view of what’s between them.

That kickstarts him to shed his own clothes, just like I suspected it would.

Soon enough, his clothes join mine on the floor, and he’s crawling onto the bed with me. He is delicious. I meant it when I said I have a thing for guys with tattoos. It’s like he’s what results from a boy-next-door and bad-boy mixture, and I plan on lapping him up like the greedy bitch I am.

He holds himself on top of me, nuzzles against my neck for a few moments, and then lets his mouth travel down my body, along every part of me. His hands caress and toy with my chest for a while, his fingers tweaking and pinching my nipples, making me moan. He takes one nipple into his mouth and uses that tongue on me, and I shiver in both pleasure and anticipation for wherever else that tongue will end up.

Ezra’s mouth moves to the other tit, showing it the same amount of attention as the first, and then he drops even lower, his mouth and his hands trailing electricity and heat along my skin, setting fire as he goes.

Eventually, he settles himself between my spread thighs, and I can’t get enough of the way he looks at me right then: like I’m a feast he can’t wait to devour. He even licks his lips and hums in approval.

He runs his hands along my inner thighs, and then he lowers himself down, his mouth meeting my clit in ravenous hunger. I arch my back and moan when I feel that tongue snake around my clit, and one of my hands immediately moves to his head, my fingers weaving through his yellow hair. I watch him disappear between my thighs, but soon enough the pleasure becomes too much, and I have to lay my head back on the pillow, close my eyes, and surrender myself to it.

His tongue is masterful. I don’t know what I expected, but it definitely wasn’t this kind of skill. Instantly it feels good, so good a pressure begins to build in my lower half at record speed. My clit swells underneath the attention, and I start grinding against his face, the subconscious urge to come too strong to ignore.

That tongue makes short work of me, or maybe it’s simply due to me craving the man and believing I’d never have him. Either way, the orgasm that rips through me after that is one for the books.

It’s strong, so strong I have to cry out. It takes hold of me in its heat-filled embrace and refuses to let me go. I see stars. Every muscle in my body tightens, and my thighs clamp around his head as I ride out the wave of pleasure. And because Ezra doesn’t stop, because he keeps going with that tongue and mouth, the orgasm lasts and lasts.

Holy shit. I could get used to that.

What’s more, Ezra doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, keeps working at me, and that tongue of his puts in the overtime needed to get the project done. The project is me, and my body must have been primed by the first orgasm, because not long after that do I lose it yet again.

In fact, as time wears on, he pushes me to the brink over and over again, to the point where I am sure I’m dripping wet, ready to take him in a different way.

By the time Ezra finishes feasting on me, I’m a mess of sweaty, useless limbs. I can hardly move, can hardly keep my eyes open. Wave after wave of pleasure tires you out apparently; I’ve never had so many orgasms in such quick succession. First place in the orgasm race goes to him, and his prize is—drumroll please—me.

Ezra pulls his face away from my thighs, and the look he gives me as he crawls up my body is one of pure hunger, and it tells me he isn’t finished with me just yet. He kisses my collarbone, then my neck, and all the while he positions his cock between my legs, although by now I don’t think that hard rod needs any help finding its destination.