Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1) (36 page)

“So you liked it?”
he asked and I could hear the smile in his voice, his pride.

“I loved it.” I
laughed and he wrapped his arms tighter around me.

But over on the wall,
out of the corner of my eye I saw his clock. 6:50. That couldn’t be
right.

I sat up. “Declan, is
your clock right?”

“What?”

Pointing, I asked, “Is
it almost seven o’clock?” I noticed the light came in less
through his windows. It had grown darker outside.

“Yeah,” he
confirmed, a hand stroking my hip.

“How did it get so
late?” I was supposed to make dinner for my father tonight. He and
I were going to eat together.

Declan shrugged. “We’ve
been busy, Kara.”

My eyes moved over to
his face, the dark stubble on his chin and jaw that had felt so rough
and right against my cheeks. I realized that he must shave before he
met me in the barn at night. My heart squeezed, I felt so much love
for this man. I wanted to spend all night, the rest of my life with
him.

“I have to go,” I
said sadly. “I’m fixing dinner tonight for my father.”

“You have to go?”
he asked, one hand up to his black, rumpled hair. Oh, I wanted to
stay. But I needed to go.

Using every last ounce
of willpower and strength I didn’t even know I had, I pulled myself
up from his lap, tugging my panties back into place. Declan followed
suit, standing next to me. He took my hand and walked me toward his
door. In the entryway, he wrapped me up in his arms and kissed me,
full and sweet.

“Thank you,” he
whispered into my hair, kissing me there as well.

I smiled up at him, not
even finding words to express what he meant to me. Instead, I kissed
him again with all of my love.

Barefoot, I drifted
away on cloud nine, up to the house to fix dinner. My hands floated
lazily to my lips, feeling his kisses there still. Declan was so
gentle and so commanding all at once, so demanding yet so intently in
tune with my every feeling and need. I’d never felt so fulfilled,
so satisfied, so cared for.

What we had between us
was real. I knew we had a future together. We hadn’t discussed it
yet, but I knew it in my heart and soul. We belonged together.
Somehow we’d manage to make it happen. I was the luckiest girl in
the world.

Seven thirty and Daddy
wasn’t there while I sang and cooked in the kitchen. Nine o’clock
and he still didn’t show up while I waited for him, keeping the
food warm in the oven as I folded laundry. Ten o’clock and I put it
all in a Tupperware container for tomorrow. He must have gotten hung
up somewhere, maybe decided to grab a bite with a neighbor or join in
that poker game I knew he enjoyed with some of his buddies. It wasn’t
like him to not call and let me know, but I couldn’t worry about
it. Not tonight, when my life was taking off.

Tonight, I had wings
and my heart soared. Usually around this time of night I’d be
pacing in my room, counting the seconds until I could run down to the
barn at midnight. Tonight, though, I felt so happy and relaxed and
certain that I lay down on the couch. I grew so drowsy and
comfortable that I smiled myself right to sleep.

Now

I barely made it to the
bathroom. My legs felt so weak. I felt like I’d been out in the sun
all day, lounging in the heat. Only tonight, the heat came from
within.

I sank down onto the
wide marble ledge surrounding the Jacuzzi tub and brought my shaking
hands to my head. What was going on? I couldn’t think. I usually
moved through my days with clear efficiency. Even in the depths of
grief I’d still risen in the morning to make coffee, place phone
calls, thank sympathetic friends and neighbors who’d brought over
banana bread or a casserole. I got stuff done.

I didn’t dress up in
a French Maid costume and dust some man’s penthouse while he
stroked and spanked me, then fucked me senseless. But Declan wasn’t
just some man. And I hadn’t just let him do all that to me. I’d
liked it. No, I’d loved every second of it.

“You may touch
yourself in the bath.” That was the last thing Declan had said to
me in his office. I could still feel his thick, broad shoulders
leaning over me and the rough stubble of his face against my own.
With his deep voice, he’d whispered in my ear, low, controlling,
filthy, “You can play with yourself, touch and stroke. Think about
what I might do to you next. But you may not come. You only come for
me.”

Whew. To my left lay an
oval ring of marble around a huge, immaculate, sparkling white tub.
The sides looked like they’d been bedazzled with jets and lights
and knobs. Even the faucet handles felt expensive as I turned on the
water, the way they moved so smooth, the engraved “H” on the
white porcelain amidst the polished nickel.

What did Declan think
about it all? Had he grown used to all of the opulence? Did it seem
normal to him now, the marble and the mahogany and the views? It had
only been six years since I’d known him last, and back then he
hadn’t had anything. Though maybe he’d already been saving up,
putting everything and anything he could aside to make his first
investment?

I really knew nothing
about it, how he’d accomplished his meteoric rise. During all those
long years I’d deliberately refused to ask anyone or even search
for him on the Internet. I couldn’t control my heart, stubbornly
locked on the man, or my head which infuriatingly continued to churn
out memories and fantasies. But I could stop myself from finding out
more about him. So now I knew next-to-nothing about his business
ventures, how he first got the ball rolling and then how fast and
successfully he’d found his path.

Folks who met him now
wouldn’t recognize the man I’d known back in the day, so lean and
rangy like a wolf. But I could still see all of that inside of him,
though wrapped now in expensive, custom-made clothes. His body had
grown larger, more packed with muscle. Now he looked like a
powerhouse, big, hard and solid as a rock.

I never could have
imagined him hotter than he had been years ago, but it was true. When
I’d first seen him on Friday it was as if I couldn’t look at him
full-on, as if I didn’t want to risk getting burned by being too
close to the sun. And I realized I hadn’t even had a chance yet to
see him naked. He’d sure stripped my clothes off again and again,
but he’d never even taken off his shirt. He’d never relinquished
control like that.

Steam rose from the tub
beside me. I stood, steadying myself against the wall. I slipped out
of my tiny lace skirt and unclasped the bra to remove it. Sitting
again, I slid off my thigh-high nylons and heels.

I swiveled, dangling my
feet into the deep basin. Slipping into the tub, it felt so good to
be enveloped in heat. I sighed in pleasure, stretching out my legs
and arching back my head, luxuriating in the buoyancy, the water
lapping and licking my toes.

I closed my eyes, but I
could still see the tiny scrap of skirt I’d worn that night for
Declan. I couldn’t believe what he had me doing for him. Dressing
up like a French maid? A wave of embarrassment engulfed me. Dear
Lord, had I actually role-played, slipping on a costume and heels and
pretending to dust an immaculate surface with a feather duster? If
someone had told me that last week, I would have laughed them off as
crazy. I’d never do that kind of thing.

When he’d told me to
strip naked and put my hair up, I’d been shaking with nerves. And
lust, too. Anticipation. But when I’d first stepped into the master
bedroom and seen the revealing scraps of lingerie, the black lace
skirt and tiny white bows, my first thought had been, “Oh, hell
no.” French maid? The whole idea seemed ridiculous. Who could dress
up in a costume not on Halloween and act sexy? What would he want
next, Little Bo Peep? Marie Antoinette? I could picture myself in a
huge wig trying to seduce Declan while wearing a large basket skirt.

I’d never understood
role-play, and it had never entered into my fantasies. It seemed too
silly. “Oh, carry me away, you big handsome firefighter.” Nope.
I’d just crack up laughing.

But there on the bed
I’d seen that g-string and the tiny triangles of lace that passed
for a bra. Plus a lacy skirt with fasteners and straps that clipped
onto sheer, silky stockings—that must be what people called a
garter belt, I’d realized. So, OK, I’d felt curious. It couldn’t
hurt to put it on.

Once I had, there was
no going back. I’d spent more than a few minutes in front of the
full-length mirror. I got it, in that moment, why lingerie was sexy.
It sounded ridiculous to not have realized that, but at the ripe old
age of 24 I simply hadn’t experimented much in that department. I’d
had too much else that demanded my attention and not enough incentive
to go outside my comfort zone.

But then I saw myself
in that outfit, long legs dipped in high heels and dark, sheer, silky
stockings, a patch of skin showing along my upper thighs. When I
turned around, because of course I had to see myself from all angles,
my eyes had widened over how much I bared. The whisper of a bra was
barely held together in the back with a single satin ribbon tie. The
g-string of course revealed everything. And that skirt. What a moment
ago had seemed laughably ridiculous now looked dirty and tempting,
grazing the swell of my bottom, leaving the lower half of my cheeks
exposed and begging for attention. I couldn’t help but strike a
pose in the mirror, breasts pressed forward, stomach in, ass out as
if asking for Declan’s hand.

I couldn’t believe I
was going to let him see me in that outfit. But once I had it on, I
couldn’t not share with him. My fingers trailed down my stomach in
the steamy, caressing water. My other hand circled up to my breast as
I relaxed in the bath.

I couldn’t believe
the way he’d drawn me up over his lap and smacked my ass, so sharp
and surprising, but then caressed me so gently, so sweetly, drawing
out my honey for him. The feel of his wide, thick hands on my hips.
How deeply he entered me, so commanding and full. The harsh sound of
his voice as he groaned in release.

Parting my thighs
slightly, I lifted my hips and brought a finger down to my sex. So
slick, still so swollen and slippery from Declan’s assault. I
cupped myself, then brought my own finger deep inside my folds. Lips
parted, I realized how quickly I could make myself come. A few
strokes working my clit, and I could bring myself up to climax all
over again.

I opened my eyes and
moved my hands to the sides of the tub. No coming. Declan had told me
I could play with myself in the bath, but I wasn’t allowed to come.

That rule was hard to
follow. So why was I following it? It wasn’t as if he had hidden
cameras trained on me. Or did he? I looked up and around the
bathroom, scanning for surveillance equipment. No lenses, no blinking
lights. I supposed high-tech gadgets intended for spying would be
more subtle than that, but somehow I didn’t feel like I was being
watched. Not that I would mind, if it were Declan.

Where did that thought
come from? I shook my head and decided to otherwise occupy my hands
by shaving my legs. Perching up on a ledge, I found a razor and
shaving cream. Something about the mundane task seemed soothing, like
washing dishes. Uncomplicated, you started at point A and ended at
point B and voila! Accomplishment. Better yet, it was something I’d
done a million times before. Familiar territory.

I was on dramatically
unfamiliar territory now with Declan. I’d never engaged in the kind
of play he liked. No one had ever made me want to, certainly not
Bruce back in high school, and no man since either. Bruce was back in
town now. He’d moved back about six months ago and started texting
me, letting me know his divorce to the girl he’d married in college
was finalized. Like that would get me hot.

But Declan? He made me
crazy. The sharp slap of his hand on my ass made me so hot. I’d
been so shocked at first, not to mention a bit angry and embarrassed.
Who did he think he was, spanking me like I was some naughty
schoolgirl? But then when his hand became a caress, soothing my skin
and swirling into my wet depths my mind had gone blank with need.
Something about the combination, the juxtaposition, the punishment
followed by pleasure heightened the intensity, nearly blinded me with
passion.

I slipped back into the
bubbles, my skin now shaved smooth. I closed my eyes and remembered
how he’d pinched my nipple. I’d been so surprised. I pinched my
own nipple now, arching my breasts out of the steaming water, and a
similar flood of pain and pleasure flooded my senses. But not like
when Declan did it. The rough callouses on his hand, his large
fingers. Drawing my finger down to my sex again, I stroked,
remembering how he’d done that so expertly, so maddeningly.

It didn’t matter if I
shouldn’t let him do that to me. I loved it. I didn’t understand
it. It didn’t make sense. Logic dictated that his behavior should
make me furious. There wasn’t another man in the world I would let
do that to me. I wouldn’t enjoy it. But with Declan? I craved it. I
needed him to do it again.

I drew a bar of soap
across my skin, imagining it was Declan’s touch. Every inch of me
felt sexual, sensitized. Flames of desire licked up through my core,
throbbing deep and low in my belly, between my legs. I wanted his
mouth on me again. He’d gotten me so crazy, drawing me so close
again and again. He always knew exactly how close to bring me,
exactly when to stop to deny my release.

I moaned. Why did I
love him controlling me like that? Why was it such sweet torture to
put myself completely in his hands? He seemed to read every signal
within me, ones even I hadn’t been aware of.

Opening my eyes, I
realized could see myself. Most of the mirror over the vanity faced
the opposite wall, but one strip faced me in the bath. I could see my
hair piled on top of my head, tendrils escaping. I licked my plump,
parted lips. A breast rose out of the water and I stroked it,
circling the erect nipple, watching myself the whole time. I’d
never seen myself like this, a wonton sex goddess.