Captured

by Jasinda Wilder

  And then she’s sliding up my body and cradling her head against my chest, still gently and idly stroking my cock. “I can’t believe how much you came,” she says.

  “You do something to me,” I tell her. “You make me crazy. Make me so hard.”

  “You do the same thing to me.” She buries her face in my skin. “I can’t believe I did that.”

  “What?”

  She squeezes me. “This. With my mouth. I wasn’t going to. I didn’t think I wanted to, or—or didn’t think I was ready. But I felt you, felt how close you were, and I liked it. I liked knowing I could make you feel that way. And I liked how your cock looked and felt. I liked touching you. Tasting you.” She giggles into my skin, and then turns so her voice isn’t muffled. “I remembered how hot it was when I made you come behind the barn, and I thought maybe…. I was nervous. Could you tell?”

  “You didn’t have to,” I tell her. “This was supposed to about you, making you—”

  “I didn’t have to. I wanted to.” She looks at me. “Could you tell I was nervous?”

  I shake my head. “No. All I knew was how fucking incredible it felt. And how hot you are.”

  Somehow, for reasons I can’t guess at, there are no more words needed between us right then. She rests her hand on my chest, the other pillowed between her face and my chest. I’m holding her close, grazing her back, waist, and ass. My other hand goes out from beneath my head, and I find her hand. We thread our fingers together on my chest and hold hands, listening to the birds and the wind and our heartbeats.

  * * *

  REAGAN

  I’m drowsing, but I’m not sleepy. I’m content. Sort of. For the moment, at least. That was fun, doing that to him. I liked it. I liked the power I had to drive him crazy. To give him such intense pleasure. And it was for him, to make him feel good. It was also for me. Cutting loose. Doing things I never thought I’d do again. Giving in to my deepest desires. It made me feel free and alive and potent.

  That was only the very beginning, of course. I’m still aching inside. My core aches. I came twice, but it wasn’t enough. I need more. So, so much more.

  But for this moment, I’m loving being held, being outside in the golden afternoon sunlight. Being this close to Derek, his heart thumping faintly under my ear. I don’t know how much time passes with us just lying here like this. I don’t know, and I don’t care. It’s quiet and calm and pleasant.

  But down deep, beneath the warm, buzzing layer of contentedness and muzzy happiness and self-satisfaction, there’s a burning. A fierce ache. I’m impatient. Needy. Desperate and frantic. It’s like a kind of panic. My sex drive is coming awake, igniting, coming alive, having been buried for so long. I’ve gone a long time without, and I’ve pushed down my urges, but no more. I feel a leviathan within me, swimming up to the surface from the dark depths, and this time it will no longer be denied.

  I NEED more, and I won’t stop until I’m sated.

  I can’t help myself. I let go of his hand and untangle our fingers. My eyes blink open, and I shift so I can look up at him. Watch him and see the effect I have on him. His penis is draped over his thigh, flaccid, curling to one side a bit. His eyes are on mine, hooded and waiting. I force myself to do this slowly, even though I want him inside me NOW, but I don’t even know if he has a condom. I sure don’t. I wasn’t thinking about that when we left the house, although I should’ve.

  Damn. Now that I’m thinking, my brain won’t shut off. “Derek?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Should we head back? I don’t have a condom.”

  He grins. “I was being maybe a bit hopeful, but I brought some.”

  “Some?”

  He stretches, snags his jeans, gropes in one of the back pockets. Pulls out a string of four packets.

  “Wow. So when did you put those in your pocket?” I think back, wondering when he could’ve done that.

  Not that it matters, because I’m grateful he did. I like it out here, and I don’t want to go back yet.

  “When you went out to talk to Hank.” He pauses to think, then resumes. “Just…I didn’t bring you out here just for this. To have sex with you. You just seemed so upset, so confused, that I figured you’d want to get away for a bit. So I thought we’d just come out and talk, cuddle or whatever. But I grabbed the condoms because I thought maybe—fuck it…because I hoped we’d eventually do this. And I wanted to be ready if and when we did.”

  He brought four condoms, but was ready to just cuddle? God, what a man. “I’m glad you thought of it.”

  I’m stuck in a conundrum now. I want him, but I don’t want to make the first move. I don’t want to be the aggressor. Taking over earlier was fun, and it was something I needed, I think, just to find that part of myself. But now? I want the bold and dominant Derek back. But I don’t want to say so. I want him to just…know what I want and give it to me. Not fair of me, probably.

  Maybe I’ll give him a little hint. Besides, I’m eager to touch him some more. I trace my index finger along the curve of his softened dick. At my touch, it responds, and what happens next is fascinating. I trace the length again, following a seam in the skin, and his cock flinches. Hardens, rolls off his thigh as if alive, thickens, straightens. I graze the tip of it with my thumb, touch the tiny hole and scrape just inside it with my thumbnail, then follow the groove beneath the head.

  Within seconds, he’s at half-mast.

  I look back up at him and find his eyes on me, watching my hand as I fondle him into erection. I smile at him, take his tightening girth into my palm and stroke him once. I blink up at him, the picture of innocence.

  “God, Reagan. How can you be so fucking sexy?”

  I just shrug. He shakes his head as if he can’t believe me, as if to say, Damn, girl.

  Somehow, with no warning, I’m on my back, his dick still in my hand. But he’s above me, leaning over me, his body pressed against the length of mine. He’s still beside me, though, not really on top of me. But he will be. Oh, boy. Please? I hold my breath in anticipation as his hand finds my boob, caresses, fondles, massages. Tweaks my nipple erect. The other. I’m not panting yet, but I’m breathing kinda hard through my nose. I don’t move. I’ve got his cock, but right now I’m really just holding on to him for something to hold on to, and because I like his dick. But right now, this is totally his show. I’m just waiting with bated breath as he moves his hand down my stomach, pausing to trace lovingly—yes, lovingly—those marks I was so nervous about earlier. How silly of me. He can no more get enough of me than I can of him, and he can’t take his eyes off me, can’t keep his hands off me. How could I have thought Derek would find any part of me unattractive?

  I let out a relieved, anticipatory gasp as his long middle finger finds my folds. I let my thighs slide apart, draw my heels up to the backs of my thighs and let my knees fall apart, wantonly inviting him to do as he wishes with my body. What he wishes, it seems, is to tease me. For the next several minutes, he fondles and fingers every part of my pussy, but he doesn’t let me find a rhythm, doesn’t let me have the rush of thrill. He just touches me, and as soon as I start to moan, start to pant and let my hips grind, he does something else. He slides his finger inside me, curls and thrusts, and I groan, lift my hips off the ground, and then his touch is moving to my clit, circling, flicking, circling, flicking, and I want him to either circle or flick and keep at it, but he won’t, and I’m getting loopy with needing him to stop teasing me and just let me come. But he doesn’t. He’s got his mouth on my tits, all over them, not just the nipple, either, his tongue sliding up the mounded flesh to trace around my nipple, licking my areola, taking a mouthful of my boob and suckling, then spitting it out and moving to the other side.

  And all the while, he’s growing harder and harder in my hand. But I don’t move, don’t dare fondle him, because I’m going to be jealous this time. I want all of that inside me; I want to feel him unleash inside me, and I want to milk every last drop, every spasm. So I
just hold him and try to be sane.

  Sanity is a losing battle. I’m mewling and growling as he slides two fingers into my opening, then three, fucking me with them now, in out in out in out in—curl, scraaaaape against my G-spot. I’m writhing up off the ground, into his hand. God, yes, he’s still doing it, that three-finger fuck, and I’m gyrating against his hand, shamelessly grinding in my quest for orgasm. I’m there, right there. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck.

  “Yeah, talk to me. Talk dirty. Say all that nasty shit that’s in your pretty head.”

  I said that out loud, huh? Okay, then. “God, yes. Yes. Derek, yes. Yes, Derek. Like that. Oh, fuck. Harder!”

  I get it harder. Faster. Three fingers deep inside my pussy, his knuckles crushing into my ass and my taint, thumb along the inner crease of my thigh, pinky teasing my back entrance.

  I’m a virgin there. I wonder if I should tell him?

  Not yet.

  The edge is there, sudden and massive. I’m riding a wave, fucking his hand. “I’m coming, Derek! I’m coming!”

  And he jerks his hand out and my pussy clenches, throbs, seizing up in protest. “NO! Fuck, Derek! Please….” Yeah, I’ll beg. Absolutely I’ll beg when I’m that close.

  He takes his time sliding down my body, kissing all the way. The edge still looms, but it’s receding, shrinking. Yet I can feel it…deepening. Intensifying. My hands go immediately to his head; my fingers thread into his hair and greedily pull his face to my pussy.

  “Yes, yes, YES!” I’m eager. God, am I eager. “Eat me, Derek.”

  “Oh, fuck, Reagan, I love it when you talk like that. Such a sweet mouth, talking so dirty.” He speaks into my folds, his breath hot on my flesh.

  “It wasn’t so sweet when it was on your cock, was it?” Is that my voice, flirty, seductive, playful?

  “Yes, god, yes, it was. So sweet. Just like this pussy. So sweet.”

  “Is it really sweet?” I wonder out loud.

  He lifts up, slides his middle finger into my pussy, draws it out. Leans up over me, and I feel his dick bobbing and swaying and brushing against my inner thigh. Oh, just a little higher. But no. Not yet. I’m waiting for him, for how he wants it. I’m waiting for him to take me, to show me what he wants, to give me what I need the way I need it. He hasn’t failed me yet. I’m blinking and breathing and panting and picturing all the ways Derek could take me, and then I feel his finger at my lips, smell myself.

  “Taste.”

  Instead of obeying him right away, I smear the tip of my middle finger on the tip of his cock, through the leaking pre-come, press my finger to his mouth. “You taste too, then.”

  I open my mouth and take his finger in, licking, tasting my essence, musky, a little sour and a little sweet, slightly tangy. He lets my finger past his lips, and his tongue slides between my fingers, and god, is that erotic, us tasting our own juices on each other’s fingers. I remember the way his come tasted, salty, smoky, and thick.

  And then he’s back between my thighs, his palms pushing my legs farther apart. I drape my knees over his shoulders and hook one ankle over the other. I’m not letting him go till I come this time.

  He starts slow, just a slow circling around my clit. Then faster. And then I’m whining in my throat, and my hips are involuntarily lifting up. At which moment he adjusts tactics, still teasing me, it seems. Parting my folds with his thumbs, spreading my labia open, and driving his stiffened tongue into me. Tongue-fucking me. Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my. How delicious, how dirty. He shoves his tongue into me, withdraws, does it again. And again. And then the next time, instead of withdrawing, he laps up between my folds and takes my clit in his mouth, and sucks it in, deep, hard. Suckles. Draws it out, stretches the sensitive skin and lets it free with a pop. Tickles it with the tip of his tongue, then begins a new series of long slow fat licks, pressing in hard. This one has me gasping, grinding against his mouth.

  “Please don’t stop. I need—”

  He pulls his mouth away just long enough to breathe a question. “What? What do you need?”

  “Come…please, let me come.”

  “What do you say?”

  “Please?”

  “Nope, not it. You already said please.”

  “Fuck, Derek. I can’t—can’t handle games. I’m too close.”

  “There it is.”

  “Fuck?”

  “Yeah, baby. Fuck.”

  If that’s the magic word, I’ll say it a bazillion times, as long as he lets me come. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  And then he’s kneeling between my thighs, lifting my knees so they’re against my stomach, spreading me apart. Takes my hands one at a time and places them behind my knees. “Hold on like this.”

  I’m on my back, a breeze blowing, cooling my bared core, cooling the dampness between my thighs. I hold onto my legs, pull myself open wide. Lift my head and look, watch as he traces a finger ever so carefully down my opening, up, down, teasing, playing, plying my folds. He swipes at me with one finger. Pleaseohpleaseohplease…. Two fingers….

  “One more, Derek. One more. Please….”

  A third finger, and then he’s sliding them in. “Like this? You like it like this?”

  “F-fffuck yes. Yes.”

  A slow penetration at first, that’s all I get. But that’s okay; it takes me a minute to open for him, to take those fingers. Curl, caress. Deep inside, then pull out, sliding in, curling on the drawing out, scraping that G-spot of mine. In this position, all I can do is take it. I can’t move, can’t grind into it the way I want to. Turns out there’s no need. He knows what I want somehow, knows that I can’t take any more teasing. He ramps up his intensity, speeds up the tempo of his fingers inside me, driving in and out with a loud sucking noise, and I’m groaning, moaning, whimpering, his head curled up between my arms.

  “Eyes open, Reagan. Watch yourself come.”

  He puts an arm across both my knees in a bar, holding my legs up and back, and I can let go and crane my neck forward, watch his three wedged fingers sliding in and out, curled slightly, forearm muscles rippling, driving in and out so hard and fast my thighs and ass quiver with the impact of his hand.

  And there’s the edge again, the sense of impending detonation, something welling up inside me hot and hard and huge and powerful, moving within me, expanding and growing. I’m making sounds nonstop now, mewls and whines and groans and primal grunts and other noises I don’t know the words for, all of them ripped out of me by the force of the climax spreading throughout me.

  I’m ripped apart. Split in a million pieces by a white-hot spear slicing through me, clenching my core with an iron grip, clenching so hard I can feel it actually tightening around Derek’s fingers, and I’m caught up in it, drawn aloft by a kaleidoscopic wave of blasting ecstasy so sharp and so potent it hurts. I feel something inside me break, burst. I’m screaming so loud birds flap and take wing, and Derek is unrelenting, still fucking me with those three curved fingers, and I’m still screaming through gritted teeth, sobbing. All the muscles in my core squeeze, and I feel all the gathered wetness of my arousal gush, squirting all over his hand, and my eyes are open and watching it happen, watching gelid white cream spurt onto his hand.

  And still he fingers me, slower now. Milking every cranking wave, spasm after spasm, each one making me shriek high in my throat until finally he pulls his fingers out and lets me come back down.

  I let go of my legs and sprawl out, gasping for breath with burning lungs. “Jesus, Derek. Jesus.” I lie for a moment, panting, tremoring.

  I crack an eyelid, and he’s just kneeling there, watching me. His cock is so hard it’s nearly purple. He’s still got my cream on his hand, and when he knows I’m watching, he takes himself in his hand and smears it all over himself. He grimaces, grinds his teeth. I reach out, free a foil packet from the string of them, rip it open with my teeth, and pull the condom out. I roll it between my fingers to figure out which way it goes, then put it on his tip. Hand over hand, I spread it onto h
is length.

  I pull him to me. Grab his neck, hang on, and pull myself up to kiss him. Desperately, I kiss him. Devour him, tongue, lips, and breath. Suck his breath into my lungs, wanting to be closer, wanting to be more enmeshed with him. He slides his knees between my thighs, and I hook my ankles around his waist. Tugging, insistent.

  His palms go to the blanket on either side of my head, his face centimeters from mine, his breath on my lips. I’m still quivering from my orgasm, still jelly, still gasping. Yet now I’ve finally got him where I want him most, the tip of his cock nudging at my entrance. He’s shaking, too, from holding back, probably. From working so hard to give me an orgasm like no other.

  Our eyes meet. We’ve been building up to this, dancing around this, avoiding it and wanting it and playing for it, and now it’s here. I’ve dreamed of this, wondering what it would be like, fantasized about it. I know he has, too.

  I hold off for another moment, enjoying the anticipation.

  I reach between our bodies, grip his shaft, and guide it to my opening, slide him in. And oh, my god, oh, my fucking god, his cock is inside me, and it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever, ever felt, so perfect, fitting exactly, filling every crevice inside me. He’s sliding deep, no hesitation, slowly gliding, shoulder and chest muscles rippling, stomach tensing, hips flexing. I love the flex of his hips, the way his buttocks go concave on the sides as he moves into me, the way his biceps swell as he supports his weight above me, the way his body pushes me into the soft ground. I love how blue the sky is above us, cloudless and clear, and nearing late evening.

  I spread my palms on his back, one between his shoulder blades and the other on his ass, cradling him against me.

  He touches my cheek. “Tears?” he questions in a whisper, his finger coming away damp.