Unleashed: Volume 2 (Unleashed #2) (16 page)

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.

“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.