Unleashed: Volume 2 (Unleashed #2) (13 page)

“I want to get them
some champagne, too.”

“Spare no expense?”
I couldn’t resist teasing.

Her face fell. “Declan,
I’m really sorry if I spent too much money. I’ve never spent so
much money in all my life. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Good.” I stepped
closer, tipping a finger under her chin to tilt her head up. “I’m
glad you did. I wanted you to.”

She looked up at me,
hesitant. I traced her cheekbone with my finger and she shivered, her
eyelids fluttering closed for a moment. I loved how she responded to
me, as if every touch stroked her to the core. I continued to caress
her face, bringing my finger down to her lips. Lightly, I drew the
pad of my thumb across the lower edge of her mouth. Her lips parted
slightly, opening for me.

I’d never met a more
naturally sensual woman. I’d met plenty who tried, using every
trick in the book to wax, tweeze and dye themselves into a mold: The
Femme Fatale. Like pizza, it usually did the trick. Until you had the
real thing, actually traveled to Rome and waited outside a restaurant
in a cobblestone courtyard drinking chianti until they brought you
out something so perfect, with such an unexpected blend of chewy and
crispy and salty with a bit of sweet that supposedly came from their
ovens but clearly had dropped straight down from paradise. It made
everything you’d had before then taste like chalk.

I brought a hand to the
small of Kara’s back and she leaned in to me, reaching a hand up to
my shoulder and resting it there lightly as if she were still shy
about touching me, still getting used to it but unable to stop
herself nonetheless. Her hair felt like silk between my fingers,
long, cascading, shimmering waves of it.

The doorbell rang. We
stepped apart like kids whose parents had come home early.

“I’ll get that,”
she mumbled, biting her lip.

I watched her move, the
unstudied sway of her hips. Her rear, so perfectly round and lush and
tight. I wanted a bite.

She opened the door to
two more delivery boys bearing bags upon bags of what looked
like…stuffed animals?

“Oh, perfect!” she
exclaimed, telling them they could put them down near the couch. I
acted more quickly this time, handing them a crisp couple of bills
before she had the chance to tip them herself. I closed the door and
turned to watch Kara.

Giggling, she started
pulling out colorful things from the bags and putting them on my
living room furniture. Pillows, I realized. Throw pillows, lots of
them.

Seven went onto my
couch, the long, black leather couch made in Italy that had set me
back about $8,000. My designer had called it “minimal contemporary
modern” or some such nonsense. Whatever the label, I liked it.
Sleek, clean, uncomplicated.

Now it bursted with
fruit flavor. One needlepoint throw pillow had an American flag on
it. Another, a big red star. A few more with stars, another with
stripes. I sensed a pattern.

“Feeling patriotic?”
I managed, eyebrow arched as I watched her fuss over it all. Humming
again, she put a big decorative pillow there, a small one here, then
switched everything back up where they’d started.

“It is almost July
Fourth,” she exclaimed. “That’s America’s birthday.”

The woman was
certifiable. But again, I felt the slight start of a smile, just when
I had every right to be pissed off about her ridiculous assault on my
penthouse. It would all have to go, clearly, right back into those
bags they came in and returned to the knick-knack brick-a-brack flea
market where they belonged. But not right this second.

“Oh, I love this
one!” she exclaimed, pulling yet another pillow out of the bag. It
had a big, red heart on it. She tucked it against the arm of a
matching large black leather chair. Surveying her work, she giggled.

“You having fun?” I
asked dryly.

“Declan, even you
have to admit, your apartment is so bleak.”

“Bleak?” I looked
around. This penthouse apartment? Chicks loved it, high up looking
over the world, everything in it high-end, luxury. Hell, I loved it.
What was wrong with it?

“Bleak, you know,
lacking color. Seeming cold and empty.”

“I know what the word
means, Kara.” Now a lecture on vocabulary, this girl was going to
put me over the edge. Up to this point, all I’d heard in my
apartment from members of the fairer sex had been oohs and aahs,
first while admiring their surroundings, then while enjoying
themselves in my bed.

“There’s nothing
homey about this place.” Kara giggled again, sneaking back over to
her bags. One thing remained. She lifted it up, now bursting out in a
gale of laughter. “Until now!”

She held one last
pillow in her hands, her crowning achievement. Tassels, that was the
first thing I noticed, lots and lots of red tassels all around the
edges. The bulk of the pillow looked like it was made out of velvet,
a background in pink, a large smiling bear in brown, and a big, fat
heart in red, of course. The bear held the heart in his paws, as if
offering it up in exchange for a big hug.

“Are you fucking
kidding me?” I asked.

She burst out again in
what could only be called a gleeful cackle. “I thought it would be
perfect in your favorite chair!”

Oh no, she wouldn’t
dare.

But dare she did,
walking her sassy little self on over to my favorite leather chair,
the only one in my apartment I had to admit that really felt
comfortable for sitting. My decorator hadn’t liked it, said
something ridiculous like it was more country manor than city slick,
but I’d insisted anyway. It had a few cracks in it, a warm chestnut
brown leather.

And now it had a pillow
on it with a bear offering up his heart.

“That’s the ugliest
thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” I took a step closer, almost
admiring the handiwork. It took some doing so make something that
bad.

“I know, isn’t it?”
she laughed. “It’s so over-the-top.”

“Do you think someone
handmade it?”

“Definitely.” She
nodded. “Someone took a long time stitching up that smile.” She
poked me in the chest, turning the full force of her 100-watt smile
on me. “And now you’ve got him in your favorite chair.”

“How do you know
that’s my favorite chair?”

“How could it not
be?” She gestured at the other two pieces of furniture in my living
room. Gleaming with hard leather, they imposed rather than welcomed,
seeming to dare onlookers to try to sit on them. I guessed she had a
point. She hugged her hands to her shoulders and rocked back onto her
heels, glowing with satisfaction over her accomplishments.

“You’re enjoying
yourself, aren’t you?” I asked.

“I am.” She
laughed. “I’ve messed up your whole apartment with flowers and
pillows. You’re just lucky I didn’t get you any potpourri. Or
scented candles.”

I took a step toward
her. She took a step back, a teasing gleam in her eye.

“Hardly looks like
your place anymore,” she continued. “No more Mr. Cool.”

“Mr. Cool?” I took
another step toward her. She took another step back, laughing.

“That’s your thing,
right? Mr. Cool. Mr. Control. So dark and mysterious.”

She was teasing me?
Nobody teased me.

“So, I’m dark, am
I?” I had her cornered now against the wall. I placed a hand up
above her shoulder and leaned over her, not touching her but
commanding the space she inhabited.

“Yeah, you know.”
She cleared her throat, clearly growing a little nervous. Unsettled.

“Mysterious?” I
whispered, bending down, closer, toward her neck. She smelled
incredible, not something you could buy in a bottle, musky and sweet
and I wanted more of it. I wanted to scent her like an animal and
bury myself in her. But still I didn’t touch her. I liked the feel
of her starting to quiver underneath me.

“Do you like that?
Not knowing what I’ll do next?” I leaned in to her ear, flicked
my tongue just once against her lobe and then sucked it full into my
mouth, capturing it between my teeth. She shivered against me.

I released her. Now
with both large hands up close above her shoulders, I looked down
into her eyes. Their crystal blue was starting to turn smoky.

“I am dark,” I
continued in a low voice. “And I do like control.” Her eyelids
fluttered closed for a moment. I watched her swallow in anticipation,
her breath starting to come faster.

“I think you’ve had
your fun for today, Kara. It’s time for you to get to work.”

“What?” Her eyelids
flew open, startled.

“You heard me.” My
voice grew stern. “You need to get to work. Go into the bathroom
and strip naked.” I commanded her as if issuing a punishment. “Put
your hair up.”

Her eyes wide, she
looked up at me in surprise, unsure.

“I’m going to leave
something for you on the bed. Put it on and come to my office.”

I turned away and
strode toward the kitchen. I heard nothing for a moment, then the
satisfying sound of her heading into the bedroom and the bathroom
beyond. I picked up the black shopping bag I had with me earlier and
looked in to make my selection. Now it was my time to play.

After laying out my
selections for her on my bed, I closed the door behind me and went to
fix myself a drink. I wanted to give her time alone to hesitate. I
wanted her to feel nervous, and then to choose to dress up for me. I
wanted her to see herself in my full-length mirror, how slutty she
looked, how hot. Maybe she’d turn and stick her ass out, admiring
how she filled it out and how much she revealed. Maybe she’d reach
a naughty finger down to touch herself, already wet, while she
watched.

Fuck, I was hard
already. I poured myself a drink, quick, devoid of any rituals I
might typically enjoy with decanters and twists of lime. I took a
sip, welcoming the burning sensation in my throat. It took a lot of
willpower to stay on the other side of that door. But I was good at
that. Especially when I knew that taking my time, delaying
gratification, would stoke the fires, making them burn brighter.
Problem was, I already felt like a raging inferno. Instead of
quenching my thirst, spending time with Kara just seemed to fan the
flames.

I walked down the
hallway to my office, entered and sat down in my large, wooden desk
chair, drink in hand. I placed one last thing for her on the wide,
flat, empty surface. Then I waited for her to come to me.

Tonight would be her
introduction to submissive play. I’d make her work for me and I’d
discipline her. It would require a lot of restraint from me. I’d
had many years to cultivate my cravings, and now they howled to be
let out. But I needed to hold back. I’d always had to hold back
with Kara. All those long, torturous months back when we’d first
met. All of the intervening years.

Tonight would be tame,
a test to see how she responded. I’d see if I couldn’t make her
yearn to serve me. I had a feeling I could make Kara discover a
craving she never knew she had. But I needed to build things slowly.
If I tended the fire in her, stoked it so her pleasure overcame any
shyness or reservations, I bet by the end of the night I’d have her
begging for my discipline. Then we’d have the whole week together
to explore and explode.

Shy, moving slowly, she
finally emerged. I was glad I was sitting down. I swallowed but
remained seated, surveying her intently as she approached.

She wore stiletto heels
and sheer black stockings that ended in a band mid-thigh. Small
fasteners connected a garter belt to a short, sheer black skirt with
a lacy frill along the edge. Could it be called a skirt when it just
skimmed the edge of her pussy? I could see her sex outlined through
the lace, black in a g-string thong underneath. The sheer, demi-cup
bra revealed so much of the swell of her breasts, pushing them up and
out but still covering the tips of her nipples with an inch of lace.

Hesitant, yes, but I
could see her sensuality in the way she moved, the slightly
languorous way she placed one foot in front of the other in those
heels. The way she held her shoulders back, erect posture for me,
giving me the full display I desired. Little white satin bows flitted
along the tops of the stockings, the edges of the skirt, the bottom
of the bra. They gave the outfit the coquettish vibe of a French maid
without going over-the-top Halloween costume. I already knew the bow
I liked the most: the one in back of the bra I could use to take it
off.

But not yet. First,
play time.

She stood before me,
her long blonde hair drawn up into a neat high ponytail, just like
I’d instructed. She looked to the side, flushing pink.

I scrutinized her from
top to bottom as if she’d come in for a job interview with a tough,
demanding boss. The skirt rested low on her hips. She started to
fidget with it as if embarrassed by how little it covered, trying to
pull it down.

“Stand still,” I
commanded. I didn’t want her covering herself up. That wasn’t in
the cards tonight.

She pouted slightly,
but brought her hands to her sides, standing back at the ready.

Sitting in my chair,
drink in hand, I nodded at my desk in front of me. The surface lay
bare except for a feather duster.

“Pick it up,” I
ordered.

“The duster?” she
asked, hesitant.

“Now.”

She hurried to grab it.
Clearly awkward, she stood pressing it to her thigh, almost hiding it
behind her leg. Like if she did I couldn’t see it.

“Start over here.”
I pointed to some built-in shelves by my side, as if giving orders to
new help.

Kara looked at me,
unsure. I could tell she hadn’t done any role-play before. I was
happy to give her instructions, but I was a strict teacher with high
expectations.

“Don’t make me
repeat myself,” I warned her.