Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1) (34 page)

I almost took her mouth
with my own, wrapping my arms around her in a crushing embrace. But
not yet. No rewards yet.

Her nipples stood out,
pushing against the lace boarder on her bra. I stepped closer,
bending down slightly as if to inspect them. Kara whimpered and her
breathing ratcheted up once again. Under my scrutiny, my hot breath
across her skin, her nipples peaked even more. I traced a finger
across the lace, skimming the tips. She tilted her head back, hands
fisted by her sides, her eyes closed.

I flicked my tongue
across her erect nipples, still wrapped under the lace. Then I
brought a finger along the edge. Slowly, so slowly, I pushed it away.
The bra down below her mounds, her nipples popped out, explicit and
begging for attention.

“Yes!” she mewled.
“Please, oh, yes!”

But she was being
naughty. She was enjoying herself instead of remembering her purpose.
She was there to service me, to give me pleasure. Grabbing her
swiftly around the waist, I sat down on the edge of my desk and
hauled her over. I pulled her across my lap, backside up ripe and
ready.

“You are here to
serve me.” I brought my hand down with a hard smack. She gasped and
tensed. Leaving my hand on her ass, I caressed her curves with my
fingers, dipping down once more to her wet heat. The pain followed by
the pleasure drove her wild. She groaned, twisting in my lap,
desperate to press against the hardness of my cock. I brought my hand
down on her again and again, assaulting her soft, pink cheeks with
harsh smacks. Then I angled my large hand so my fingers landed on her
pussy. I started following each stinging whack with a long, demanding
stroke.

“Declan!” she
screamed, so close, right on the edge. I brought my hand down and
quickly shifted her, turned her so she was sitting up in my lap. One
hand fisted in her hair to tilt her head back, I brought the other
hand to her ripe breast. I took the aching nipple between my fingers
and gave it a twist. She screamed again, about to come, digging her
ass into the rigid budge of my cock.

“Don’t come,” I
growled down close into her ear, rolling her nipple between my
fingers, lightening the pressure into a caress, then clamping down
again. Swiftly, I slid a hand down again to her molten core, stroking
her there. Reading her every reaction, I worked the waves and near
crests of her desire. I teased and tormented her ripe, aching
nipples. I slid one, then two fingers into her slick folds, plunging
in deep, then withdrawing, then plunging in again.

Just as I could feel
her starting to disobey me, starting to let her quivering and moaning
mount into shudders of ecstatic release, I withdrew my hands. I
placed her to the side and abruptly stood up. She leaned against the
desk for support, her eyes glazed with lust. I nearly forgot my game
looking down at her like that, so very much mine, belonging only to
me.

I took a few steps
back.

“Stay there,” I
ordered, then strode out of the room and over to the bar to fix
myself a new drink. I needed to put some distance between us. This
was about getting her fired up, but I needed to stay cool. The ice in
my drink had melted. I’d been playing with her for a long time.

She liked this game,
this play of power. I was giving her a mere glimpse at the BDSM
world, a taste of how it felt to be a sub serving her dom. I’d
figured she’d like it, but I hadn’t been prepared for how much.
Or the rush I felt with it, the thrill she gave me as she responded
so rapidly and intensely to my commands and punishments. I needed to
keep my shit together.

A minute later, cold
glass of bourbon in hand, I re-entered my office. She stood at my
desk where I’d left her, the palms of her hands pressed to the
surface at either side as if propping herself up. It also had the
effect of thrusting her shoulders back, her tits out, her nipples
hard, aching and raw with need.

I approached her. With
one hand, I stroked her skin, appreciating the smoothness of her
tapered waist, the swell of her hips. She panted as I caressed her.
That was how I wanted her all week. I wanted the slightest touch from
me to coax a dramatic response, a spark of my physical dominance
igniting her flame within.

I set my drink down on
the desk. With one finger, I lightly traced the outline of her
slippery sex. I crooked the other finger under her chin, making her
look up at me with those lustrous, pleading eyes. Then I slipped my
other finger down into her juicy folds. She gasped.

“So wet,” I
murmured in appreciation. “Are you wet for me?”

“Yes,” she moaned.

“Say it.”

“I’m wet for you,
Declan. You make me so wet.” Wanton, her lust made her uninhibited.
She gave me exactly what I wanted.

But she needed more
punishment. “Pick up the duster,” I commanded, pointing an
accusing finger at it. She’d dropped it when I’d pulled her
across my lap to spank her. Shaking slightly, she bent down and
retrieved it, her swollen nipples now fully exposed, her shaved pussy
glistening and slick between her legs.

“Over here.” I
stood behind my desk, making her walk around to the other side of the
mahogany expanse. Pointing to the immaculate surface, I ordered,
“Dust it.”

Heels apart, ass up,
she bent over and assumed the position, eager and desperate. With her
back straight down over the desk, her exposed breasts splayed out
above the smooth surface. I looked at her drenched slit and could
feel the satisfaction of taking her. I knew she’d come instantly,
then again and again as I fucked her hard and deep and relentless.

But for now, I went
back to tracing her cheeks. “Keep dusting,” I reminded her. She
dutifully moved the feathers over the surface.

“Remember how I used
to work for you?” I asked in a deep, husky voice. “I was a lowly
ranch hand. You were up in the house on the hill.” She said
nothing, breathless, as if hanging on my every word. My fingers swept
and swirled, drawing her under my spell.

“Now you work for
me.” I plunged a finger deep into her wet heat, pressing my other
hand on her back to force her sensitive nipples and breasts onto the
cool, gleaming wooden surface of the desk.

“Now, you do what I
say. I’m in charge.” Her moans mingled with my commands.

Hand up, I spanked her
again, then stroked and teased. Then another firm slap until she was
nearly begging and crying out in shaking need, a trail of her juice
sliding down her inner thigh.

“Please, Declan,”
she begged, straining against my finger. First I used one, then two,
then three fingers to fuck her deep in her hot, tight, pussy. Then I
brought a thumb up to tease her quivering asshole, circling,
caressing.

“Please,” she
pleaded, begging for my fingers to go deeper. My huge cock strained
for release, desperate to ram inside of her.

“You like serving me,
don’t you?” I demanded.

“Yes,” she moaned,
panting, begging. All pretense of dusting gone now, her fingers
spread wide against the desk. I stroked her glistening mound and
rubbed her clit.

“So wet,” I
praised. She trembled and moaned against me. “Do you want me inside
of you?”

“Yes!” she moaned.

“That’s good,” I
grit out, my teeth clenched. “Beg me, Kara.”

“Please, Declan,”
she begged, thrusting her hips toward my hand. “Please fuck me!”
Her voice sounded urgent, her eyes closed. Spread out over my desk,
tits bare on the cold surface, she begged for me to take her with her
words, her legs spread wide, her sex dripping and throbbing. Making
fast work of my belt and buckle, I undid my pants and slid down my
briefs. My giant, hard cock sprang out, veins engorged, ready to
pound.

“Remember those
nights together in the barn, kissing in the darkness?” I asked. She
whimpered in response, panting. “I couldn’t do this back then.
But I can now.”

Grasping her hips in my
large, wide hands, I positioned the thick tip of my shaft at her
slick entrance. With one long, powerful thrust I entered her,
sheathing my steel inside of her delicious, wet heat.

“Kara!” I called
out, nearly driven insane by the feel of her, so tight and ready.

“Yes!” she cried in
response, pressing against me. I closed the small distance between us
in an instant, pressing my hard length completely into her yielding
softness.

I pushed her back down
with one hand and used my other to arch her ass up for better access.
“Like that, baby. So good. Now hold on. I’m going to fuck you
hard.”

She grasped the sides
of the desk like she was told. I started in on a rhythm of long,
strong, forceful thrusts, plunging into her again and again. Driving,
relentless, I demanded everything from her. She gave it willingly.
She wanted it all. She stood up on tiptoes and I nearly lifted her up
off the ground each time I pounded into her.

“Fuck! You’re so
tight,” I groaned.

“Declan!” she
moaned.

“Take my cock. All of
it.”

She opened her legs as
wide as she could and bucked up against me, offering all of herself
up into the intense pleasure. She cried out again and again as I
thrust and pounded into her. I stroked her clit, circling and
stroking, working her up again with me toward climax.

I never wanted it to
stop, this animal abandon, the raw, overwhelming lust, building and
building as I rutted into her like a beast. But I could feel it
erupting, flowing through me with consuming power.

“I’m coming!” I
shouted as I started to gush inside of her, pouring my hot seed into
her depths.

“Yes!” she
screamed, shuddering and coming around my cock, milking it with her
contractions.

“Kara!” I groaned,
one last thrust, sweaty and thoughtless and completely, utterly
spent.

Kara

Then

I sat out on the porch
swing in front of our house, dangling my feet and staring off into
the middle distance. I was useless. I knew I should be doing laundry
or cleaning the kitchen or getting things ready for dinner. It was
four o’clock on a Tuesday. I had no business sitting around doing
nothing, but I seemed incapable of doing anything but that.

A soft rain fell all
around the porch. It had rained pretty much non-stop these last
couple of days, like the sky had given in exactly when Declan and I
had. There was only so long you could hold things inside. Sooner or
later, that dark, looming cloud would burst open and you’d find
yourself in a deluge.

Last night in the barn
I’d practically thrown myself at him. I couldn’t help it, when I
was with him my body took over. I could still feel the stroke of his
fingers, hot and rough and urgent, reading my body like he knew it by
heart. I hadn’t known it could feel so good to be with a man. Now,
it was all I could think about.

After all those months,
all that fantasizing, he was more incredible than anything I’d ever
imagined. My own brain couldn’t conjure it up on its own. I had
nothing to compare it to. Technically, I’d had some experience with
boys. I’d kissed three of them, Bruce, of course, plus a guy in
10th grade who, for three weeks, had carried my books and waited for
me outside of school every day. And, if you insisted on counting it,
there was the 9th grade Spin-the-Bottle game with Tony Falcone. Then
Bruce and I had spent some time making out in the cab of his truck,
his breath steaming up the windows as his paws roamed me and tried to
make their way up and under my clothes. It had felt a lot like a game
of whack-a-mole, my hands finding his and battling them off until he
found the next opening somewhere else. I’d thought it hadn’t been
too bad, that maybe that was all there was to it anyway. Now I knew.

You could buy a
strawberry from the supermarket that had been shipped, packed, maybe
even frozen along the way until it turned into an angry little nub
that tasted like cardboard. Or you could pick a strawberry right off
the plant in late June, pushing aside the leaves and twisting it off
from the stem to pop it into your mouth where it exploded, melted,
and pulled together all the flavors of summer into one, sweet,
succulent bite with the juice dribbling a bit at the corner of your
mouth. Technically they were both strawberries. The experience sure
wasn’t the same.

When I was with Declan,
my heart started beating out of my chest. I could barely remember my
name. I knew, when we were together, when I was in his arms and could
smell him and feel and touch and his lips were on me, he could ask me
to do anything. Without a moment’s hesitation, I’d say yes. He
touched me like he was worshipping me, memorizing every curve.

And who knew it could
feel so good to be bitten? It wasn’t like he bit me hard, he never
drew blood or anything, but every now and then he’d give me a light
nibble on my lip or my earlobe. I blushed at the memories, my body
responding instantly. Sitting pretty on the porch swing, I felt a
throb between my legs and my breasts felt heavy, restrained in their
bra, with two hard, ripe pebbles at their centers pressing against
the cotton of my dress.

Now that I knew, how
could I manage to stay away from him? I already felt like I couldn’t
breathe during the day, like I literally held my breath until
midnight. Sometimes I’d see him around the ranch and it physically
hurt not to be able to run to him, to throw my arms around him and
bury myself in his chest.

He was supposed to
leave soon. It was the end of August and he had plans to head out in
a couple of weeks. But that couldn’t happen. Most days I simply
pushed the thought of him leaving out of my head, telling myself it
couldn’t actually come to pass. I knew I couldn’t live without
him. He’d become like air to me. The way he held me all night long,
breathing me in like he couldn’t get enough of me, like I was his
oxygen support, I had to guess he felt something like the same way.
He’d want to keep seeing me, wouldn’t he? He couldn’t see this
just ending, abrupt, never seeing me again just because his season as
a ranch hand happened to be over?