Capture Me Slowly (Shattered 3)

“This isn’t a game, Emma. You don’t have to trade — ”

I licked again, which cut off his words. “I’m doing this because I want to,” I said and looked up at him.

This wasn’t a trade, a deal or any kind of exchange other than one of ecstasy.

As I ran my hands up his powerful thighs, the smattering of blond hair tickled my palms, until I reached the shrapnel-scarred skin on his right side.

The scars and welts only made him look tougher, while at the same time very raw. Very human. I wanted to know this man. Know what pained him. Know what he had gone through. Maybe in time he would tell me. For now, I wanted to bring him pleasure. Be something good for him.

I gripped the base of his massive erection and he groaned again. He didn’t put up a fight. Didn’t try to reason with me or deny me. Keeping my gaze fused to his, I slowly licked around the tip.

“Jesus, Emma.” He ran his fingers along my jaw softly. His thumb brushed my cheekbone.

Closing my mouth over the crown, I sucked until my cheeks hollowed. That hand on my face moved to the back of my head and he wove his fingers into my hair. Never guiding, never pushing, just gripping. I loved it. A powerful charge burst into my bones and I realized that in this moment, I was the one overwhelming him.

I took him deeper, keeping my eyes on his face, I blinked a few times to bat a few drops of water that landed on my lashes. When he hit the back of my throat, I kept him right there while my tongue moved along the underside of the crown and I pumped my fist.

“Christ, baby, you’re so f**king good,” Rhys said on a strangled breath.

I sucked harder, pumped faster. Taking him in and out until his hips slightly started pumping back, f**king my mouth as I took him again and again.

“I’m going to come,” he rasped and pulled out.

He thrust into my fist once, twice, and his release shot from him so forcefully that it hit my br**sts. Even with the wet tank covering me, I watched as lash after lash coated my nipple. His big body shuddered.

I had done that. I had caused him that much pleasure, and in that moment, I felt special. Every bit as sexy as he said I was just a moment ago.

Catching his breath, he looked at me and clasped my shoulders, helping me to my feet. Grabbing the hem of my tank, he lifted it over my head and tossed it in the corner of the stall.

“Are your knees okay?” he asked and bent enough to inspect them.

“I’m good,” I said with a little shaky breathing of my own.

He tugged my shorts down and I stepped from them. He tossed them to land by my top. Looking over my now naked body, he grinned.

“What are you smiling about?” I asked, feeling the need to cover myself, but Rhys gently pulled on my wrist just as I brought it to my chest and brought me a little closer toward him.

His smiled only widened and holy cow, Rhys Striker was amazing when he smiled. Like the sculpture of Adonis amazing.

“That was just . . .” he shook his head, “wow.”

He was using my words from the other day and I did giggle a little — then snorted. I slapped a palm over my mouth and my eyes went wide with embarrassment.

Rhys just laughed, that impressive chest rumbling with the greatest sound I’d ever heard.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get more sexy.”

“Snorting isn’t sexy,” I said against my palm, the words muffled.

“I think it is. Don’t be shy.” He winked. “You have me feeling like a teenager with the need to thank you.”

That made me laugh. “Careful, Thor, or you’ll give me and all my amazing skill a complex.” It was my turn to take some of his words and use them.

“Oh, baby, I hate to tell you, but you deserve a complex because you,” he grabbed my other wrist, and pulled me fully under the spray with him, “are incredible.”

Chapter Eight

“You’ve got to be joking,” I said, climbing out of Rhys’s car, my eyes glued on the house he grew up in. And yes, there was a picket fence.

The cute little white house had blue shutters and sat at the end of the cul-de-sac. There were even flower boxes beneath the windows of the second story. It was quaint, picturesque and, like the two women I’d met already who were part of Rhys’s life, adorable as hell.

As if on cue, a little dog came to the neighbor’s fence, wagging its tail.

“This explains a lot,” I said and Rhys came to stand by me, holding the bottle of wine we’d bought, while I palmed the French bread.

“What does?” he asked.

I motioned to the house, then at him. “Why you are the way you are.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing. It’s a neighborhood, not a ghetto.”

Exactly. I bit my tongue and glanced down.

“Emma, I didn’t mean it like that.” He ran his hand along the small of my back and I stepped away, breaking the connection.

“I know. It’s cool.” I used my best “don’t care” voice. Problem was, Rhys was right. He wasn’t putting me down. He was just stating what I already knew. We grew up very differently. And with that came various ways to view things. A distinct mentality.

“I wasn’t saying that this,” I glanced at the house, “was bad. Just different.”

Different than me. The reminders were piling up, but this doll house turned real house was the icing on the cake.

“You okay?” Rhys looked at me like I was going to keel over and it wasn’t until I saw the expression on his face that I realized I was shaking slightly and clutching the bread as if it was a lifeline. Ironic that spending time on the streets was less terrifying than staring down this house. I plumped up the bread, trying to straighten it and fix the damage my death grip caused.

Rhys’ strong hands framed my face and he bent and looked at me. “Emma?”

My vision cleared and I saw his gray eyes beaming back at me.

“I’ve never done this,” I whispered before thinking better of it.

“Never done what?”

I stared at the house over his shoulder for a long minute, then looked back at him.

“This.” I held up the bread. “This whole ‘let’s go to your mom’s house for dinner, I’ll bring the side dish and break out the backgammon board,’ this.”

His expression went serious. “Emma, don’t be crazy. We play dominions, not backgammon.”

He grinned and it was just contagious enough to allow a deep breath to come through my mouth. This wasn’t a real thing, after all. In a couple weeks I’d be gone, Rhys would be back to his life and I to mine. We probably wouldn’t even have a reason to see each other again.