The Wolf's Captive by Chloe Cox Page B

feet. She raged against her body, and it was useless.
    “Please…”
    “Who did you want?”
    He was merciless. The hand that had been holding her hip slid around her front and deftly slipped between her legs. He thrust a third finger inside her and rubbed her bud with gentle pressure at the same time.
    “Tell me.”
    As soon as she could form words, she did:
    “You. You. At the Dance…I wished I were Summer…”
    Lucia managed to look over her shoulder for just a moment, and there she saw the surprise, naked on his face. She would never know where she got the courage to say, “Take me the way you took Summer.”
    His fingers left her body abruptly, leaving a gaping absence. She would have cried out in protest if it weren’t for the quick sound of laces, of leather, and the sudden feel of something hot and huge pressing against her folds. She felt his hand on her buttock, his thumb spreading her open, wide open, as wide as she would go, and then suddenly there was the tip pressing into her. She was still so tight, and her body resisted. He paused, and Lucia could tell he was about to speak, about to caution her, about to give her a moment’s doubt, and she could not bear it any longer.
    “Please,” she whispered. “I want it to hurt.”
    She didn’t know the truth of that until she’d said it, but there was no time to think before he was pushing the hard length of himself into her.
    It did hurt, to be stretched so far, so fast; it tore at the edges of her, of all of her, inside and out, but then he was in. He was in, and she was overcome by it, by him. She was so full of him that there was no room for anything else.
    It was the first time she’d ever felt bliss.
    He began to move inside her, slowly at first, then faster, harder. The swirling sensations began to gather around her core, a tightness growing there, heightened by the pain of fullness. A begging noise simmered up from somewhere deep in her chest until it escaped as a long, slow wail, while her hips bucked backwards, all on their own, and her head dropped to the table, looking for any leverage to drive him in farther, as far as she could take him.
    He smacked against her mound as he buried himself inside her, his strokes getting longer, harder, more demanding. He grabbed her hips and slammed into her and touched something deep inside her, obliterating all thought in a fuzzy shower of fizzling sparks that washed down the length of her body. Her muscles convulsed in spasms around him, triggering another roiling wave of pleasure, and he managed to catch her as her legs gave way beneath her.
    Lucia’s mind simply shut down after that.
    When she finally came back to herself, her lips prickling and her right leg twitching beneath her, she somehow managed to remember to feel embarrassed. She lifted her head from the table, and tried to move, but he was still hard inside her.
    She didn’t know what to do. No one had ever seen her act like that, no one had ever seen her so desperate, so like an animal, and she was still impaled on his cock, imprisoned by strong hands on her hip and back.
    “Lord Cesare,” she rasped.
    “You can speak again,” he grunted. “Good.”
    He grabbed her by the hips and pushed her farther up onto the table, his cock driving inside her, pulling out only enough to roll her over onto her back, and then plunging back into her. He planted strong arms on either side of her spread legs, knocking overturned cups and silverware to the ground, and leaned over her.
    “Look at me,” he commanded, and thrust into her a little deeper, taking her chin in his hand and turning her face toward his. “Look.”
    She did. She didn’t have the right words for what she saw there. Lord Cesare’s brow was furrowed, and his dark eyes glowed with a fervent light, his lips set in a grim line. Something struggled inside him. She could have been watching a mirror image of her own struggle, except for the power that radiated from him, the great