Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1) (61 page)

Damn, he brought out
the slut in me. I’d always been such a good girl, fighting off my
dumb high school boyfriend, icing out everyone while I nursed my sick
father. How did Declan do it? What kind of a spell did he cast that
made me so crazy? Even now standing in front of the mirror, looking
at myself in these clothes, I could feel his gaze on me. Hot, heavy,
molten, so much power pent up in him. He lit me up like a match. It
wasn’t just this past week. It had always been like that with him,
back when we’d known each other last. Those long summer nights in
the barn.

Turned out he liked me
in these types of outfits. I hadn’t known it at first. He’d
barely looked my way. I hadn’t realized he was handing me a Get Out
of Jail Free card.

Instead, I’d kept
beating down the walls of the prison until I’d finally gotten
inside. I’d offered my wrists right up into the manacles and let
him cuff me. And once he had me fastened and trapped, I’d loved it.

I could still recall it
all so clearly, those nights together. In my reflection in the
mirror, I could see my nipples press against the thin fabric, my body
responding to just the memory of his touch. The urgency, the
darkness, the fear we’d get caught, I could still feel it all. Back
when we’d first kissed each other, he’d held back, like a
gentleman. I’d needed more. I’d been the one to push us further,
to beg for his touch.

As if I were
spellbound, powerless in the tractor beam of memory pulling me
forward, I found myself leaving the house and heading toward the
barn. It wasn’t a conscious decision. Back in that outfit, in the
heat of the summer night, it simply had to happen. I found myself
standing in the hay-filled darkness of the wooden barn asking to
relieve memories, needing to feel them close to me one last time. I
couldn’t fight it.

I knew I shouldn’t do
it. I shouldn’t allow myself to wallow in the past, to linger down
there in the barn where I’d spent long, hot nights with him. But
I’d be moving soon. Within days I’d be miles away, who knew
where. I might never come back. I didn’t have Declan, never would
again. All I had were memories. And this would be one of the last
times I’d ever have to come down here to the barn, where memories
surrounded me fast and thick, so real I could almost touch them. Like
an addict, I returned for one last hit.

Almost sleepwalking, in
a trance, I moved toward the corner where we’d lain together, legs
tangled, mouths searching and finding each other in the darkness.
He’d always slowed things down when we started to get too heated
up. He’d rest my head against his chest. I could hear the rapid
beating of his heart, pounding for me while he played with my hair.

I knew I should hate
him. And tomorrow, I would. But not tonight. Tonight in the darkness,
I’d remember our last night together that summer six years ago. I’d
gone down to help him get a thorn out of his back and we’d ended up
in his cabin on his couch. With his hands on me, his lips at my
throat, my hands roaming his massive, hard chest, he’d nearly
driven me insane. I remembered how I’d ground against him, my short
skirt pushed up at my waist, my legs parted and wrapped around his
thick, muscular thigh. Driven by need, desperate for his touch, I’d
brought his hand to my pussy and begged. I’d pressed against him,
pleading with him to touch me.

I’d been so wet. He
always made me wet for him. I played with the short hemline of the
skirt I now wore. No wonder Declan liked these flippy skirts. They
gave such easy access.

My fingers swept right
up my thighs to press against the soft satin of my panties. Standing
in the darkness, secluded in the barn, I slipped my fingers down
under the fabric. Slick and wanting, I stroked myself where no one
could see. Lips parted, I allowed myself this, only this secret
moment in the middle of the night. Tomorrow I’d become
hard-hearted, put up a cold stone façade for the world. But tonight,
for a brief stolen patch of time, I’d melt.

I remembered how he’d
groaned when he’d first discovered my wetness. Moaning slightly, I
began to slide my finger the same way he’d slid his that night so
many years ago. I’d been so wild for him. When he’d touched me
like that for the first time, coaxing the slick, sweet juice from me
and using it to circle and press on my clit, I’d never felt
anything so good. He’d talked dirty to me, making me admit things I
longed for, even though I felt embarrassed admitting it myself.

He’d touched me and
forced me to remember how he’d caught me, back then, touching
myself on his bed. He’d watched me bring myself to orgasm thinking
of him, calling out his name. I’d been so mortified, but then so
turned on that night in his cabin when he’d stroked me and made me
admit it all, confess how I was thinking about him when I worked my
own pussy on his bed. When he caught me coming on my own fingers, I
had been thinking about his powerful, muscled body, his strong,
demanding hands. I’d thrust my finger up in my wet pussy, my other
hand up pinching my nipple as I moaned. Just like I was doing now.
Stroking myself, naughty in the dark. I yearned for him.

“Kara.” The voice,
gravelly and low, emerged from the darkness.

I gasped, stumbling
back and hitting a bale of hay. Had I imagined it? Flustered, I
pressed my guilty hands down by my sides.

“Who’s there?” My
voice shook and no one answered. Had my sanity finally snapped,
merging memory with reality here in the dark?

Then Declan emerged
from the shadows like a memory sprung to life.

“Declan?” I cried
out and clasped my hand over my open mouth, shocked and mortified.
How long had he been there? Had he seen me?

“I remember what I
did to you here that summer six years ago.” He stepped closer and
spoke in a low, sizzling voice. “In this barn, and in my cabin. I
remember it like it was yesterday.”

Backing up against the
wall, I froze. I knew I should run. I needed to get away from him.
But my feet stayed fixed to the floor.

He looked like hell,
dark shadows under his eyes, rough stubble on his chiseled cheeks. A
far cry from the debonair man I’d last seen in the New York hotel,
he looked like a tortured soul. He came closer.

“Do you remember what
I did to you here, Kara? Were you thinking about it?” He whispered
now, standing near. A deep sound came from my throat, caught. I
couldn’t move but couldn’t meet his eyes. He looked haggard and
wild. I knew I should yell at him, push him away, but instead I
wanted to bring my hand up to his hair and smooth its tousle. His
eyes looked haunted.

“Declan, please!” I
pleaded. I needed to leave. I couldn’t think with this man near me.
“What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you,
Kara.” He spoke with low, ferocious intensity. “What were you
doing here in the dark?” He brought his hand to my wrist and
wrapped his fingers around my jumping, pounding pulse. The power of
his grip made it pick up even more, leaping to his attention. I
closed my eyes, trying to keep my wits about me.

Trailing a finger along
my thighs, he whispered, husky, “You’re wearing one of those
short little skirts you used to wear.” Leaning in close, his rough
fingers hot on my smooth skin, right at the edge of my short skirt,
he whispered, “I saw you touching yourself. What were you thinking
about, Kara?”

A soft moan escaped
from my parted lips. I twisted in his grasp. I needed to leave, not
stay here in the dark, panting, so close to him I could smell his
masculine scent.

“Naughty girl,” he
whispered in my ear, his fingers light on my inner thigh. Teasing,
stroking, he asked, “Did you make yourself wet?”

I whimpered, half
wanting to break away and recover my sanity, half wanting him to
strip it from me completely. His finger was so close to my pussy, so
near it and I quivered in anticipation, anxiety and need. “What
will I find if I touch you, Kara?” He brought his mouth to my ear
and licked my sensitive lobe, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to
my core. “Will you be slick and wet for me?”

“Declan,” I panted,
but it didn’t come out as the protest I intended. It didn’t come
out angry and rejecting. It came out pleading and needy.

“Oh, I think you will
be.” His fingers, so maddening, so close, so rough on my inner
thigh, inching up, down, up again. I wanted them on me already, on my
dripping wet slit where he could find me and claim me and make me
come for him so hard I nearly blacked out.

“But here’s what I
want to know,” he continued. “Who were you thinking about here in
the dark? Was it me? Or was it someone else?”

My eyes flew open.
“What?”

“What’s he got that
I don’t have?” His voice came out ragged and harsh, tortured. His
hand grasped my thigh, anguished.

“It’s not like
that.” I shook my head in protest. But I knew. That was exactly
what I’d wanted him to think when I’d written that note. I’d
told him someone else had come through for me. I needed him to
believe that there was someone else so he’d go away, leave me in
peace, stop torturing me.

“How does he make you
feel, Kara?” he continued in a deep, pressing voice. “Does he
make you scream his name?” With one hand he captured both my
wrists. I struggled in his grasp as he brought his other hand to
trace the swells of my breasts. In the moonlight, I could see my
nipples pebbled and hard for him, betraying my need. He looked down
at them, lazily teasing with his thumb, not touching my peaks.

Even as my body
responded to him, panting in the darkness, I forced my brain to
remember. I’d caught him kissing another woman. I should slap him
like an old fashioned book heroine and leave, haughty and proud. At
least I managed to suppress the deep moan welling up inside of me as
his huge hand cupped my breasts, his thumb stroking and caressing.
His breath came ragged, as if he were exerting as much energy to
restrain himself, holding himself back as much as me.

“Do you beg for him?”
He asked it low and quiet, but dangerous fury and pain coiled in his
words. He kept his touch light, tempting, igniting.

“No, Declan,” I
couldn’t help protesting. “It’s not like that.”

“Does he make you
feel like I do?” He bent down and scented me, brushing his stubble
against my cheek. I quivered and tried less successfully this time to
suppress a moan. My brain screamed at me to run away, but I quivered
with arousal.

I’d brought myself so
close to climax and he’d watched me do it. My heart beat fast and
hard, my sex clenched with slick lust, but I needed to fight it. He
couldn’t find out how wet I was. He needed to think I hated him so
he’d leave me alone. He had to believe that I’d left him and
moved on to someone else.

He took my earlobe in
his hot mouth again, sucking, then trailed his tongue down my throat.
It mingled with my fantasies, how I’d touched myself wanting him.
Now he was here doing exactly what I craved.

“Does he make you
moan like I do?” Gently, so gently, Declan brought his hand
underneath my tank top, stroked his way up my skin to the curve of my
breast. Circling my swollen nipple, he finally pinched it between his
wide, strong fingers. Hoarse and anguished, my moan broke from my
lips. I panted, my wrists pinned to the wall above my head. His
wicked hand traveled down me now, trailing down my stomach, toying
with the waist of my skirt.

“Were you touching
your pussy, Kara?” he whispered in my ear.

“No, Declan.” I
tossed my head to the side, eyes closed.

He pressed hard into my
wrists overhead, reminding me he had me trapped as I writhed beneath
his huge body. “Honesty, Kara. That’s something we have to work
on, isn’t it?”

He brushed his fingers
along my inner thighs, caressing them. I shook, biting my lip to stop
my moan. “I remember what I did to you in this barn,” he
whispered, dark and close. My breath began to come in soft pants. “Do
you remember, Kara?” I refused to answer, kept my head to the side,
my eyes closed.

With a hiss, he slid my
panties down and slipped his finger deep into my slippery sex. I
gasped in pleasure as he plunged his finger up into me, claiming my
heat.

“So wet, Kara. So
wet.” He praised me, stroking me. “But you shouldn’t be. Not
for me. You left me.”

“Please,” I
whimpered, wanting but not wanting. I needed but didn’t want to
need.

He stroked me the way
only he knew how, deliberately, slowly, building my need, trapping my
wrists above my head. I closed my eyes and felt only the waves of
heat, the shuddering, heady arousal pounding through my body, growing
with each stroke.

“Tell me, Kara.”
With slow expertise, he touched the swollen nub of my desire, a light
flick that made me gasp, then a strong, slow stroke. “Tell me. Who
were you thinking of while you touched your pussy?”

So close, I knew this
was my last chance, my final opportunity to push him away. I could
feel the waves of pleasure building within me, robbing me of my
sanity. But I remembered I had to stop this. I had to.

“Declan—” I
sobbed. His hand stilled at the broken sound of my voice. His fingers
motionless, he listened. “Declan.” I gathered my strength to
continue. “You know what you can do to me. You know you can make me
scream your name and beg for more. But, please, don’t. I want you
to stop.”

He withdrew his hands
and took a step away. I stood, panting and trembling, close to but no
longer pressed against him. At my side, his head sank down to the
unforgiving wooden plank wall of the barn. We stayed like that in the
darkness, my heart pounding in my chest, his heat and massive form so
near but each second pulling us further apart.

I ached, missed, longed
for his touch, but I knew it had to be that way. He could weave a
spell around me, make me forget everything but his hands and tongue.
I’d be moaning and doing anything and everything he wanted, giving
myself up eagerly and entirely into the intense, all-consuming
pleasure. But then morning would come and I’d be even worse off,
even more filled with self-loathing and reproach. I’d have an even
longer road ahead of me to travel before I found the peace and
wholeness I sought, far away from Declan.