Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1) (35 page)

I knew he’d be going
to work at another ranch a couple of hours away. I’d drive those
two hours in 90 minutes flat, watch me do it. We could keep seeing
each other, keep spending time together. And then, maybe, who knew
what could happen next?

I wasn’t dumb, I knew
my father wouldn’t like Declan and me together. I knew it made
sense while Declan worked here to only see each other in cover of
darkness, a deep secret, hidden away. I liked the world we’d
created in the barn, warm together in the hay, resting my head on his
chest so I could hear his heart beat. But it was also true that we
were hiding out.

Because Daddy, if he
found out about us, he might more than not like it. He might flip the
hell out. Declan was right, my father was a bit overprotective. Or,
OK, crazy overprotective. I was his only child, his princess, the
only family he had. He’d raised me all on his own and he’d made
it his life’s mission to make sure everything worked out perfect
for me. In his mind, that meant getting me safely tucked into a
picture frame with exactly the right kind of stand-up guy from
exactly the right kind of respectable family. He’d warned me off of
no-good, tattooed, low-life guys my whole life and that I understood.
Where we parted ways was I loved life on the ranch, but he was dead
set on wanting more than that for me. He still talked about me going
off to college, like we could ever afford that. He told me he didn’t
want me worrying over the weather and government policies affecting
prices, he didn’t want me toughing it out under the sun, calluses
on my fingers and sweat on my brow. He wanted me in the lap of
luxury.

But Daddy would come
around. It might take him a little while to adjust, to move off of
that college-kid mayor’s son track he liked so much. Bruce was OK,
but Declan. Every other man paled in comparison. My father was
stubborn, but he loved me more than anything and, if I had to say so
myself, I had him wrapped around my little finger. What I wanted I
generally got. And I wanted Declan.

I believed in him. I
knew he didn’t have a penny to his name, but I didn’t care about
that. He was smart, tough and hard-working. He was full of ideas and
somehow I knew he’d make good on them. I wanted to be part of it
all, take on life together as an adventure.

I loved him with all my
heart. I hadn’t told him, of course I hadn’t. I didn’t want to
scare the man like that. I’d only admitted it to myself that day
the rains came when Declan had called me over underneath the weeping
willow tree and finally taken me into his arms and kissed me like his
life depended upon it. That moment with him, the feelings had flooded
through me: bliss, safety, home. Love. Not to mention the deep fires
he stoked within me, the urges, the needs he’d uncovered in me and
turned on full-blast. I couldn’t get enough of him and knew somehow
that I never would. And I knew in my heart this wasn’t a teenage
infatuation, this was a deep love that would only ripen and mature
over time.

If only he felt the
same way. When we were together in the darkness, I knew he did. I
felt it deep in my bones. Our hearts beat together as one. But then
daylight would come and with it, doubts. Maybe he thought I was
boring? I had no experience, that must be clear to him, and he was
used to girls who knew how to please a man. I probably seemed like a
grade-school idiot to him. He might lose interest. Maybe he even
looked forward to leaving the ranch?

But at night I didn’t
worry. I knew, in his arms, it was exactly where we both wanted to
be. I felt his craving and had no doubt that he needed me as much as
I needed him.

Down past the barn I
saw a tall, lean form. In a fraction of a second I knew it was
Declan. The slope of his shoulders, his stride, everything about him
had been burned into my DNA. I thrilled to his touch, his nearness,
everything in me zipping to life at the sight of him.

We usually met at
midnight, but I couldn’t help myself once I’d seen him. I’d
only have a couple more weeks, a handful of days and nights when I’d
be able to see and touch and taste. Who knew what would happen after
then? It made me reckless.

I flew down to him, not
even wearing shoes on my feet.

“Declan,” I called
out, breathless. He looked up, his face twisted in pain. “What’s
wrong?” I rushed to his side.

“It’s nothing.”
He tried to brush me off, but winced again as he reached his hand
around to his back.

“Let me see.”
Bringing my hand to his arm, I turned his back to face me. Blood
smeared his t-shirt right at the center of his upper back. “What
happened?” I gasped.

“It’s nothing,”
he tried again, though now I could see it wasn’t nothing. “A
stupid thorn. I’d pull it out but I can’t reach it.” He brought
his hand around and up his back again, but his fingers landed a few
inches short of where they needed to get.

“Let me help you,”
I insisted.

“It’s fine.”

“Um-hum.” I was
used to big, tough men who didn’t know when they needed help. My
father had made that mold. I took Declan’s hand in mine. “Let’s
get this thorn out and clean you up.” I remembered he had a First
Aid kit in his medicine cabinet.

He gave a frustrated
grunt and followed me, admitting defeat.

Inside his cabin, I
headed straight for the bathroom. He sat outside of it on his bed and
stripped off his bloody t-shirt. He groaned as he did it, probably
pushing that thorn deeper inside of him as he twisted to get it off.

“I could have helped
you with that,” I chided. Men. Sometimes they behaved like big,
overgrown bears. I half expected him to take a swipe at me with his
paw.

Now that I got a closer
look at his back, I could tell it wasn’t a serious injury. He just
needed someone to get the thorn out.

“Here goes.” I held
my breath. The thorn was so big I didn’t need tweezers. I grasped
it between my thumb and index finger, getting a good grip. He sat
still as I gave it a fast pull. It came right out, clean and neat.

I exhaled. “You’ll
be fine.”

“I knew that,” he
replied like a petulant child.

I brought an
alcohol-soaked gauze pad to the wound at the center of his back. He
hissed and I knew it stung. “I suppose you could have taken care of
all this yourself?”

He exhaled, relaxing
under my ministrations. “Thank you,” he finally managed.

“There, was that so
hard?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I took my time now,
using a fresh gauze pad to make sure the whole area looked good. And
so I could spend another few minutes touching him. His back looked so
strong and broad, rippling with muscles. In the afternoon light I
noted a few scars I hadn’t seen before. I traced them lightly with
my fingers and asked, “How did you get these?”

Declan stiffened and
stood up. “Get a Band-Aid. I need to get back to work.”

Hurt, I took my hands
off of him and rifled through the First Aid kit. When I brought my
hands back up to put on the bandage, my fingers were shaking. I got
it on OK. Then Declan turned to me.

“Kara,” he
murmured, bending down to bring his lips to mine. Searing heat shot
through me and I kissed him back, so thrilled to now be in his arms.
He stood up, kissing me as he carried me over to the couch. I
protested, I wanted to stay on the bed with him.

“It’s safer,” he
insisted. He sat down on the couch and brought me with him onto his
lap. His chest bare, I ran my hands over his warm skin, up along his
powerful shoulders, down on his ridged abdomen.

He groaned, “Kara.”
His breath came harsh now, his body tense. “You should go.” His
words told me to leave but he kept his hands on me, running along my
waist, up my back, in my hair. He brought his lips to my throat, my
chest. I twined my hands up into his hair, coaxing him on, wanting
more.

“You shouldn’t be
here with me,” he tried again, sounding frustrated. I didn’t
care. I didn’t want to listen to any more of his reasons why we
shouldn’t. I knew we should.

“Declan,” I
murmured, urgent. Breathless, clinging, I straddled him.

His hands stroked me,
my waist, my hips, my parted thighs. I moaned in response, leaning
into his touch. He worshipped me, taking all of me in. “You’re so
beautiful.” He stroked my skin as if mesmerizing me. He kissed me
again, reassuring me with his touch as he caressed my inner thighs.
“You’re perfect.” His tongue worked its wicked way down my
throat.

I kissed him and
brought my hands down his chest to slide along his lower abs, right
to the edge of his waistband. I reached my hand down to the steel
length against his soft jeans. His breath came out in a hiss. But
then his hand grasped mine, circling my wrist, pulling it back behind
me. Torturing me, he didn’t let me get to what I wanted.

Needy, I wrapped my
thighs around his leg and hip, my legs bare, my short skirt riding
up. I began to move against him in a slow, pulsing rhythm as we
kissed. I brought my sex against him, writhing against his hardness,
building my arousal.

Something inside of him
snapped. He’d been touching and kissing me before, but he’d been
holding back. Now, he kissed me so hard he stole my breath, crushing
me to his bare chest with a growl.

Instead of pushing me
away as he had been, he brought his hand down to my ass. I hissed in
pleasure as he sank his fingers into my flesh, molding me against
him, pressing me right where I needed it.

“Please,” I gasped,
grinding onto his thigh. Reckless, I grabbed his hand. I brought it
down right between my legs. “Declan.” Eyes closed, I panted.
Thrusting against his hand, so needy, I lost all restraint, all
pride. “Please touch me. I can’t take it anymore.”

With a deep groan, in a
low, intimate voice, he repeated, “You want me to touch you, Kara?

“Yes!” I writhed
against him, pushing my clit against his fingers. Uninhibited, my
need overcame all shyness.

“Has anyone ever done
that to you before, Kara?”

“No.” I twisted
against him. “Please, Declan.”

Finally, he brought his
thick finger to my panties. Slowly, gently, he stroked lightly
against the fabric. Sopping wet, the cloth clung to my folds.

“My God,” he
breathed, his voice sounding choked. “You’re so wet.”

“Yes,” I panted,
pressing against his fingers. He kept them on the outside, out over
my panties, but I started riding him, pushing against his fingers,
hungry for friction. “Please,” I begged. “Declan.”

He began to stroke me,
still over the fabric, but the cloth molded to me, soaked in my own
juices. He ran his finger up and down the outline of my sex, stopping
at my swollen clit, then back down again.

I groaned, hands up on
his shoulders, head thrown back, eyes half closed, mouth open with
fast, needy breaths. He hadn’t even put his fingers against my skin
yet.

Continuing, he asked,
“Do you want my fingers in your pussy?”

“Yes,” I groaned.

Nothing ever felt as
good as his finger sliding along my soaking panties, his knuckles,
his fingers. Until he pushed the fabric to the side and touched me
flesh to flesh.

“Kara,” he said,
his voice hoarse and strained. He brought a finger to my slick,
throbbing entrance. I panted, desperately wanting his touch. He
slipped it in, gentle, slow. His moan almost undid me, the sound of a
man finding paradise.

He began to stroke my
slippery folds. “So wet for me,” he groaned. I pushed into him,
wanting more. I tossed my head to the side, fisting my hand in the
couch cushions, the other one clawing his back.

Worshiping me, he
brought his fingers to my dripping petals. I groaned and melted into
him. He worked me, sliding along my wet slit, back and forth. His
long, strong fingers played me like music, building my arousal, my
desire. I grabbed hold of his shoulders, my breathing coming in
pants.

“I love watching you
when I do this,” he whispered to me, his fingers deep in my sex.
“And I loved watching you do this to yourself. Were you thinking
about me, Kara, when you touched yourself on my bed?”

“Oh, yes, Declan,”
I sighed, enjoying being caught, enjoying him making me admit it.
Satisfaction laced through his voice, thick with pride. “I’m the
one who makes you feel this way, aren’t I, Kara?” I was mewling
now, little cries of need escaping my lips as I moved against him in
rhythm. “No one else,” he continued as he rubbed my clit.

“No one else!” I
cried out in agreement.

“Do you touch
yourself at night, Kara?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think about
me?”

“Yes!” Building up
in me, the storm was about to break, my climax rising.

“You want to come for
me, don’t you, baby?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Only for me, Kara.
Only for me.” He moved his fingers faster, up to circle and rub my
clit, down stroking along my folds. Then he plunged two fingers deep
up inside of me. He growled, “Come for me.”

His words sent me
crazily plunging over the edge, my orgasm exploding as he groaned.

“Declan!” I cried
out, my head thrown back. My entire body shuddered, the walls of my
pussy contracting around his fingers.

“Yes.” He coaxed
wave after wave from me, watching the ecstasy crest and break across
my entire body.

“Ooohh,” I cooed,
senseless in pleasure.

“Kara,” he exhaled,
kissing his way up my throat, nestling me in his arms as if I were a
treasure beyond compare. “You’re incredible.”

I smiled and nuzzled
into him, his warmth enveloping me. He brought a hand down to my low
back and pressed me into him. I rested my head on his chest and heard
his heart beating fast, a crazy rhythm for me.

“Are you OK?” he
asked, kissing the top of my head.

“That was amazing.”
I glowed, bringing my hand up to his chest.