“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.
“So you liked it?” he asked and I could hea
r 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.
Unleashed: Volume 2 (Unleashed #2) Page 12