He pulls his finger out, making me beg, "Please. More."
"I want to put my cock in your gorgeous ass." He murmurs it near my ear. His warm breath washing over my earlobe is the hottest thing. He’s asking my permission and he’s using those erotic words to turn me on.
"I want it soooo much," I beg.
"I want to make you come until you go crazy, Claire."
"I want to do the same to you. Since neither of us have ever done this before."
Then something bigger presses against my opening. It has to be his hard cock. I push my ass up, trying to take him in. He thrusts gently against my opening, which now totally resists his big prick. But at the same time, my body loves the pressure of the head against the snug ring of my anus.
I half-turn again, so I can see him. His thick blond hair falls over his gorgeous purple eyes. Tight lines of sexual hunger bracket his mouth. His focus is completely on his cock and my ass.
This is so erotic, I could scream.
Slowly, his hips move back and forth. The head of his cock pushes lightly against my anus, then backs away.
I work back against him, still trying to open my rump to take him inside. I know I should jump right in, push back hard, and have him plunge in. But I feel twinges of pain that scare me from doing something so drastic.
My fingers keep playing with myself. I guess all that stimulation, even though I’m not focusing on it, is too much. Suddenly my pussy muscles jerk. Ecstasy floods me. I’m coming and he’s not even inside me.
I moan—loud, desperate cries. Juices bubble out of my pussy. I’m coming hard.
Shoving his hips forward, Sawyer pushes his cock in me with a pop.
I gasp and cry out.
"God, Claire, I thought you were coming. Are you okay?"
"I—I was coming and I—I’m okay. Just don’t move. I just need to get used to you." I glance over my shoulder, letting out a breath to blow away a stand of hair. "You are pretty huge, you know."
He gives a boyish grin. And he waits, suspended on his muscular arms. When I look from one side to the other, I’m bracketed by his arms and his big, gorgeous biceps.
Tentatively I move back against him, taking him a little deeper in my butt. I stroke my clit with each stroke. That definitely eases the pain. Playing with my clit lets me take the pressure of his thick cock inside me.
He goes deeper.
My fingers gouge into the bed. My eyes almost roll back in my head. I thrust back little by little and he thrusts forward until he fills me. I’ve taken him all the way up my ass. His groin bumps my cheeks. I feel a soft tickle as his pubic curls brush my skin.
We move together. He takes his cue from me. As I lift to him, slapping my butt to his groin, he starts thrusting faster and harder. He slams his cock into me.
I moan, wildly, loudly. "It’s good. Go deeper. Oh yes."
He lets out a deep moan of his own. Then a husky laugh. "You’re so tight. So hot."
Rubbing my clit fiercely ignites me. An explosive orgasm grabs me, takes me, whips me, uses me, and leaves me limp and spent on the bed, sobbing with joy.
His hips strike me hard. His cock feels huge inside me. And hot.
I play with my clit and bounce on him. Another orgasm builds and hits me like a wave. Sawyer howls and he comes too. Deep in my ass.
We climax together, my derriere moving wildly.
He gasps hungrily for breath.
I’ve come twice and my head is whirling. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud. What about more? I start rocking my hips, lifting my butt again to pump on his cock. Can I excite him again?
He lets out a moan of half-agony and half laughter. "You have to stop, Claire. My dick is too sensitive now." He withdraws, moaning again. Then he flops on the bed.
I’m on my tummy, he’s on his back, and we gaze at each other. He smiles gently. "Thank you, Claire. That felt so good. You’re incredible. You made me—made me forget about stuff."
I know he means I’ve done that for a while. "Thank you," I whisper. I don’t know what else to say. I roll onto my side. I stroke his chest. Should I say something about his friend? Something to try to reassure him?
"Sawyer," I begin, praying that something thoughtful and intelligent comes out of my mouth. I lost my dad when I was young—he died in a car accident. Having lost Dad, I was so scared when Charley was sick. I know about pain. I know that nothing I can say will make the pain go away, but some things can help you cope. "I know it sounds trite, but time will help you heal."
"It’s okay, Claire. I know the drill. Jaxon is not the first person I’ve known who died in a crash. I know what grief feels like. But when I went through it before, I never had anyone to hold. I just want to do that now. Just hold you. Can I?"
My heart is breaking for him. "Of course."
His strong arm wraps around me, holding me to his damp, smooth, beautiful chest. For the longest time, he strokes me lovingly. I plan to stay awake all night to watch over him, to be there for him, but he whispers, "Go to sleep. That’s what I want. For you to sleep in my arms."
I’m falling in love with him. But I know he can’t be falling for me right now. Not when he’s in so much pain.
* * *
I wake up to find morning sunlight streaming in through the high windows. The door opens as I’m rubbing my eyes. It’s Sawyer—fully dressed and carrying breakfast in for me. He sets the tray on the bedside table. Apparently he either bought bacon or convinced his roommate to surrender some to me. There’s waffles and syrup too. When we went out for breakfast, I had waffles. Now Sawyer has made them for me.
He picks up a cup of coffee and drinks it while I eat breakfast in his bed. The coffee smells kind of strong, stronger than mine.
"What are you drinking?" I ask.
"Bailey’s coffee," he says. "I needed something to face today." He brushes back his long blond bangs. "Would you come with me today? I have to go and see Jaxon’s family."
The family of his friend? "Do you think I should go? They don’t know me."
"I’d like to have you with me when I go. This is tough for me, Claire." He drains his alcohol-laced coffee. "There’s a lot of stuff I didn’t tell you last night. But I feel I can talk to you. Tell you anything."
I’m nibbling at a piece of syrup-drenched waffle. "You can."
"I wanted Jaxon to get out of racing. He’s been a good friend for two years. But he was reckless. He wanted to be the best. When you race, you have to know when to lose. He didn’t like that."
There’s something in his tone. "What do you mean?" I whisper.
"He was supposed to lose in that race. But he refused to do it."
And now Jaxon was dead? Fear washes over me. My skin prickles all the way down my spine. "But I—I thought he died in a crash. That he was going too fast and he lost control or something."
Sawyer glances up at me. His eyes are filled with agony; his mouth is a straight, hard slash. "That was how it looked."
I stare at him. "Are you saying someone killed him? Because he wouldn’t lose?"
"I don’t know." Sawyer looks down at his hands. "The gamblers who bet on the races can win enough in one night to buy a house. But if a racer wins all the time, no one bets against you. You have to mix it up. I get told which races to throw. So did Jax. He was supposed to lose the race two nights ago. But for him, that race was a grudge match. He was too proud to lose."
"And you think someone deliberately killed him? As—as payback?"
"As payback and as a warning to the rest of us. It would be possible to sabotage his bike between him unloading it from his trailer and coasting it up to the start line. A line could have been cut or the steering fucked with."
My stomach feels like it’s fallen to the floor. "Sawyer…are these guys the mafia or something?"
He gives a rueful smile. "Close."
I grab his arm. I do it so quickly I almost spill hot coffee on my leg. "Sawyer, this is dangerous! You can’t do this. What if someone de
cides to kill you? You have to stop!"
He shakes his head. "I can’t stop, Claire. It doesn’t work that way."
* * *
We drive in Sawyer’s truck. It takes a while to reach Jaxon’s mother, Mrs. Winters, who lives just outside Boston.
I want to talk about what Sawyer told me—about the danger he is in. But he tells me that it’s his problem to deal with, and refuses to say more.
Mrs. Winters turns out to be a slightly heavy black woman in her early forties. She runs an antique shop called Winters Christmas and Old World Curios. A bell tinkles as we walk in. I’m afraid to move from the threshold in case I knock something over. Christmas trees stand in every corner—trees of white, green and silver, decorated with beautiful ornaments in specific color schemes. There are silver and purple ornaments. Deep red ones on a tree with gold bows. There are musical instrument ornaments and shoe-shaped ones that glitter with fake jewels. Gorgeous furniture fills the store and the room smells of lemon-scented polish. Display stands are everywhere, so things are tiered almost to the antique tin ceiling. It’s like walking in a room that shimmers all the time.
Mrs. Winters takes us back into her office and insists on making us coffee. "This store was my dream," she says softly. She is wearing a black suit and black jewelry. "I was a cleaner before this—I did houses in the daytime and offices at night. Jax bought this place for me from his bike racing winnings. Told me I had to quit my cleaning jobs and finally live my dream."
Sawyer is sitting his legs spread, his hands dangling between them. "Jax was so proud he was able to do that for you."
"I know he was, Sawyer, and I let him do it. That’s going to haunt me the rest of my days." Mrs. Winters picks up her coffee mug with shaky hands. "I knew it was dangerous. I wanted him to get out. I should have tried harder to stop him." She reveals she knew the races and the betting weren’t legal. Now guilt is beating her down.
That makes my stomach twist. Sawyer said he couldn’t stop. God, what if he ends up like Jax?
Sawyer doesn’t mention his suspicion that Mrs. Winters’ son was murdered. He says, "Jax loved it too much. He was addicted to the thrill. He was good at it. You couldn’t have stopped him, Mrs. Winters. And he was really proud of what he could do for you."
"I’m grateful for what he did. But I didn’t want it to cost him his life."
Sawyer asks to see photos of Jax when he was younger. I’m afraid it’s going to hurt the woman too much. But actually, she brightens up as she shares stories of Jax’s childhood with us. He really did sound like a good, loving son. A great guy.
As we’re leaving, I ask if there’s anything else we can do.
Mrs. Winters shakes her head. "No. I’ve got two sisters and a grown up daughter. Jax’s half-sister. They’re all taking good care of me." She looks at Sawyer. Wags her finger at him. "You know, there is one thing you can do for me. You can quit taking risks with your life, Sawyer. You were a good friend to Jax. I know you protected him. Jaxon tried to hide things from me, but I could see through his stories. He was a proud boy and I know his mouth got him into trouble. He wouldn’t admit it, but I know you kept him out of a lot of that trouble. I like you, Sawyer. So listen to me and give up bike racing."
"I’d like to, Mrs. Winters."
He leans in, gives her a kiss on her cheek. She hugs him. "I think the funeral will be next week," she says softly. "Come to the funeral, Sawyer."
"Of course I’ll be there," he says.
We drive back to Yardley campus. Sawyer drives me to my dorm. He doesn’t ask me to see him that night. Nerves make me blurt, "Don’t you want me to come over tonight?"
"I’d like it, but I have to race again tonight."
I feared as much. "Sawyer, you can’t! Not this soon."
"If I don’t do it, I’ll likely end up dead."
"But you can’t keep racing until you do get killed. There has to be a way out. If these people you are afraid of killed Jaxon, couldn’t you give evidence to the police? Get them arrested?"
"I can’t risk that, Claire. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s my mom."
"What about your mom?"
"They could use her to force me to do what they want."
Now I see. "You’re afraid they would threaten to do something to her."
"Yeah, that’s exactly right."
My voice rises in sheer panic and pain. "There has to be a way out."
"I’m trying to find it, Claire. I swear to God I am."
* * *
Three days later, I walk into my calculus class, where I should see Sawyer. I’m praying I see him.
My nails are bitten down to the skin. The first day that Sawyer didn’t call—the day after I went with him to see Mrs. Winters—I wasn’t worried. But for three days, Sawyer hasn’t phoned or texted me, returned my calls, or come to class.
I’m really scared. Is he okay? Did something terrible happen to him at the hands of these mobster-types who bet on the races? Or has he decided he just doesn’t want to talk to me? Did I push him too much?
Or worse, could he have been arrested for being at the race where Jaxon died? He says he didn’t race that night which was why he wasn’t held when the cops arrived. But he was there, with his bike. Can he get charged for that?
I take a seat near the back and scan the room. No Sawyer. I can understand he might avoid me if he is afraid I am going to keep nagging him about quitting. But why would he ditch his classes?
Could this mean something bad has happened? Oh God. Should I go to the cops right now? Should I at least go to Sawyer’s house and see if he’s there?
The professor drones on in the background—he’s working out a proof on the board—while I sit trapped in indecision. I’ll go to Sawyer’s house. If he’s there, I’ll talk to him. If he’s not, I will have to go to the police—
Murmurs ripple through the class. My heart pounds so hard I feel the beat in the roof of my mouth. I look up, toward the doors at the back of the lecture hall.
Striding into the class, fifteen minutes late, is Sawyer. He wears his leather jacket, white T-shirt, faded and torn jeans. He doesn’t glance at me, and my heart literally feels like a stake has gone through it. Or maybe he genuinely just doesn’t see me.
On the other hand, he doesn’t appear to be looking for me. He takes a seat in the same row as me, but separated from me by about eight seats. I assume he just grabbed the first seat he saw. Maybe he didn’t want to stand there, conspicuously searching the room for me.
But before he sits, he gives a quick glance toward me. He knew I was there. He was avoiding me—
He turns enough for me to see his face. Oh God!
He has a black eye, his left cheekbone is covered in ugly green and purple bruises, and there are bandages stuck to his the left side of his jaw and his temple. His lips are swollen and puffy. He looks like he’s been through hell.
He had an accident? Is that it? He had an accident on his bike like Jaxon, but his wasn’t as bad and somehow he survived?
He looks away from me, toward the front of the room and the calculus prof.
My heart stutters.
In high school, I would have convinced myself not to go near him—to let him come to me. I would have been way too shy to make a move. To reach out to him.
I would have been too afraid of rejection.
But I’m in college now. I’m an adult, and an adult would find out what the hell is going on with a guy she cares about.
As we leave the class, I run after Sawyer. My notebook is blank—for an hour the prof talked about proofs for the integration of trigonometric equations, but I didn’t take in a thing.
The math department is on the third floor of the campus’s twenty-storey tower. People congregate around the elevators. The crowd forces Sawyer to slow down and I catch up to him. We’ve reached the fringe of students waiting for elevators.
My hand touches his sleeve. He comes to an abrupt stop. Raking his hand through his hair, Sawyer tur
ns on me.
"Claire, you have to leave me alone," he begins. Then he grabs my arm and leads me away from the crowd to a spot we can be almost alone. People surge by us and no one pays attention. "I need you to stay away from me," he says in a low, harsh voice. "That’s why I haven’t returned your calls."
My heart spirals. For a moment, it’s in freefall. Not. In. High. School. "Why?" I ask. "If it is because you’re finished with me, fine. But I think I deserve honesty."
"Finished with you? Are you crazy? I thought we were just starting. But you have got to keep away from me. These guys…hell, they know about you. They know you’re my girlfriend."
His girlfriend. I hadn’t known that until now. The word makes my heart flutter and feel big and warm. I realize he said he thought our relationship was just starting.
"Okay, I still don’t understand why I have to stay away from you." I reach out and touch his bruise. I keep my fingertips grazing over it with feather-light pressure. "Did you have an accident on your bike?" It could have been worse, much worse. But then I realize—it couldn’t have been that. He wore a helmet with a visor. How could he have ended up with bruises on his face and a black eye?
"No, it wasn’t a bike accident. Claire, you have to listen to me. I’m doing this for your protection."
Then my brain finally understands. "They did this to you? The guys that you race for, the ones who make money betting on you?"
"Yeah. There is a guy who represents my ‘sponsors’. Helman. He hired guys to beat me up. I refused to race anymore. This is what I got."
"Go to the police," I say.
"I can’t do that. There are innocent people they could hurt in payback. My mother, for example. Or you."
"Me?" Suddenly I feel ice cold. My stomach drops to my toes. "They threatened to hurt your mother. And me."
"I’m sorry, Claire." Agony flashes across his face. "This is why I never get involved with anyone. Why I was famous for one night stands." He looks rueful. "But you need to dump me and stay away from me."
"How is that going to help? Even if we break up, they aren’t going to believe you really don’t care if I get hurt. They can still use me as leverage." Which means I’m in danger now. And forever.
Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart Page 45
