“No!” I couldn’t help but protest. He couldn’t put his finger there! He wasn’t supposed to! But though my words said no, my body quivered in response. It felt so good. So hot and tight and wrong and nasty. He stroked me, slowly, his index finger up my ass.
“That’s it,” he coaxed me, his other hand on my lower back, working my ass back and up for his enjoyment. “Let me in.” He brought his finger back out, dipped down into my pussy lube again. Then back up to the rim, he pushed again into my puckered hole.
This time I gasped at the assault because it felt so good.
“Watch me, Kara.” He fisted his hand in my hair and pulled my head up. My eyes flew open. I hadn’t realized I’d closed them. Feeling all the intense pleasure, I guessed I had. I looked back into the glass, now seeing his big, thick finger work in and out of my asshole.
“Oh, yes!” I called out, shocked by what I saw but loving it, straining toward his hand.
“You see how your ass wants it?” Declan asked, low and intense. “See how you’re begging for it? This ass is mine.” Suddenly, with his finger still up inside of me, he took his other hand and brought it down with a sharp, hard smack on my bare cheek. The spanking stung and burned against my flesh. I gasped and heat gushed between my thighs.
“Yes,” Declan praised my response. “Do you see the red mark of my hand on your ass?” I could, the evidence of his smack right there on my pale flesh. My pussy clenched.
“You like my finger up your ass, don’t you?” He finger-fucked me harder now, more relentlessly.
Oh, yes, I did, but I still felt bad telling him. I still felt like I shouldn’t want this. A good girl would be protesting the whole time, not begging for more.
“You want it deeper in you, don’t you? Tell me, Kara.”
“Yes,” I moaned from a place far within myself. I couldn’t fight it anymore. This man owned me, did things to me no one else ever could. With him, I could offer no resistance. He made me crave every depraved thing he could possibly think of doing.
“Keep quiet now,” Declan warned me. “You don’t want to get caught, you bad girl.” He spanked me again and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out. I lifted my bottom up into the air for him, giving him full access. He spanked me again. “So dirty,” he murmured, his finger working my ass. “You want it so bad.”
Mewling, I begged. “Yes! Please!”
He twisted my nipple. “Stay still.” Stroking me more, he brought two fingers down to my pussy to play and tease, drawing lazy circles around my clit while he still worked my ass in and out with his broad index finger. Where once I fought, my tight asshole now took in his entire length. It was all I could do to try and stay still for him.
“There’s a lot I’m going to do to you this week, Kara,” Declan told me. “It’s going to be dirty and nasty and you’re going to love it.” With that, he took his finger out and plunged it back into my wet pussy again. This time he coated both his index and his middle finger.
“I’m going to spread you wider, now.” I gasped as he plunged both fingers in, stretching me even more. It hurt at first as I strained to take him in.
“Kara, are you watching?” I opened my eyes and looked up again, seeing his two large fingers disappearing into my asshole, working me in and out. “Do you feel my fingers inside of you?”
“Yes,” I moaned.
“Remember how huge my cock is? How hard you get me? This week, I’m going to fuck your ass. My cock is going to stretch you and fill you so deep. And you’re going to take every inch. ”
“Oh! Ah!” I started mewling, quivering and shaking. His words were so nasty, so naughty and wrong. But I couldn’t wait for him to do what he promised. His fingers stretched me, filled me, stroked me. He built my desire, pushing past where I ever dreamed I could go, higher and higher.
Just when I was about to climax and let the waves crash down over me and surrender into orgasm, Declan pulled away.
“You don’t get to come,” he reprimanded me. “Not yet.” One finger up to stroke my rear, he added, “Now I want you to think about what you just let me do. How much you loved it. And know that later this week, after I’ve trained your ass, I’m going to fuck your ass hard and you’re going to come all around my cock.”
I shuddered and shook under his light touch, knowing what he said was all too true.
CHAPTER 4
Declan
“I have a few more concerns I’d like to voice.” The chairman of the board kept droning on and on. I couldn’t stop looking at my watch, even though the hands barely ever moved. It might never get to one o’clock. I’d told Kara to be back at the hotel at two. At this rate, I wouldn’t get out of my meeting until nightfall.
It was Wednesday, our second day in New York, and I’d barely even seen her. Sure, a little yesterday for brunch and at the park. And at the dressmaker’s shop, that had been good. I shifted in my chair beneath the table, even a brief memory provoking instant response.
But then I’d had to spend the entire goddamned night in yet another business meeting that would not end. Usually, I didn’t mind. I was a night owl myself and the whole European vibe of starting dinner at 10 p.m., finishing up around 2 a.m. worked for me. Last night? I’d wanted to yell at them “You’re not Italian! You’re American! Finish the hell up!”
It wasn’t like me to not want to put business first. Every deal mattered, every conversation, every potential partnership. I hadn’t come so far so fast by overlooking opportunities or missing chances. Ever vigilant, I never turned off, not for a second.
Now, though? I wanted these blow-hards to shut up. Yes, they had their concerns about the growth potential in Alaskan wilderness tourism. I’d seen enough visuals about global warming to last me a lifetime. They were overthinking things. A whole slew of data points didn’t change the fact that Alaska was an incredible place to get away from it all. I should have flown them up in my plane and had the meeting while ice fishing outside Anchorage. That would have shut them up. And freed up my time here in New York.
I had pressing business to attend to back at the hotel. Right now it was pressing against the zipper in my pants. I wanted to get back there with Kara. I needed to.
I glanced at my watch again. Maybe it was broken, the hands hadn’t moved a goddamned millimeter.
This wasn’t like me. He who dies with the most toys wins, that was my motto. Let people who’d grown up with their own polo ponies question my values. I’d grown up with a whole lot of nothing and I could tell you, it felt good now to have so many toys. I thrived on all of it, the chase, the acquisition, the accumulation. Winning a new contract, pulling in a new investor, opening a new site, that’s what drove me. My single-minded purpose was the key to my success.
But right now, I didn’t want any of it. I wanted to see Kara. I had a whole afternoon planned. And, yes, a three o’clock call during which I would drive down the asking price from a skittish seller. It was a call that mattered and required my energy and attention, the full force of my persuasive abilities. I’d do that, too. But before that and after? Kara.
I wanted her spread against the bed, her hair around her like a halo without a stitch of clothing on her body so I could worship every inch. Maybe I would tie her up so I could take my time. I wanted her in the shower, in the tub, over the desk, on the couch, against the wall. My imagination knew no bounds. I wanted to ruin every fucking inch of that hotel room, make her mine in every way I possibly could and more.
Finally, I got my get out of jail free card. The younger brother of the board president told us all about a dream he’d had the night before. Apparently their late mother had appeared and told him that she wanted him to take risks. Then she’d flown off with eagle wings. I’m not making this shit up. I hated family-run boards, they were always the most dysfunctional. But, hell, when crazy ass-backwards decision-making landed in my favor, I was all for it. The guy said that their eagle-winged mother wanted them to invest, and so they’d invested. Hallelujah, I was o
ut of there.
Vladimir was outside waiting for me in the limo. I knew a lot of business associates were moving over to the car service Uber. I’d taken their cars a few times, but I preferred my own driver at my beck and call. Call me a control freak and I’d agree. What I could control in my life I did. What I couldn’t, I beat down into submission anyway.
“How’s Miss Kara?” Vladimir asked.
“Looking forward to finding out,” I growled. Impatient, I pictured her waiting for me at the hotel.
“She did not call for any rides,” he informed me. I figured. Too stubborn and independent. And it would be so foreign for her to think of calling a personal driver. I’d have to accustom her to that kind of thing.
Plus, this morning she’d mentioned wanting to walk around Times Square. I didn’t like the idea of her wandering around alone, Dorothy stepped out from Kansas. She’d have every panhandler and hustler within a five-mile radius all over her. I had to take a meeting or I would have gone with her, even though I usually avoided walking through Times Square like the plague. Too many tourists, too many distractions and too many people getting in my way between point A and point B.
But with Kara, I had to admit, she snapped me out of my usual routine. A carriage ride around Central Park? That’s exactly the kind of corny bullshit I stayed far away from. But with her? Had I enjoyed sitting there with her pulled tight next to me, arm around her as she oohed and aahed and squealed like she was on an amusement park ride? Yes, I had. She’d pointed out the kinds of things I looked right past, the funny little dogs poking out of huge, fancy purses, the flowers growing at the base of an old oak tree. I found myself noticing things she’d like and pointing them out to her, too. New Yorkers wore the craziest shit and I loved seeing the look on Kara’s face when I drew her attention to a man in a tiara, lavender leotard and heels, or someone walking down the street in a full panda bear suit.
She cracked me up. Not much did and I had to admit I liked the feeling. She didn’t mind acting like a kid in a candy shop, didn’t try to be something she wasn’t, and being around someone unguarded and unpretentious, it was just plain enjoyable.
“Miss Kara has my number?” Vladimir continued, sounding concerned. “She knows what to call?”
“OK, yes, Vladimir. She knows the number to call.” Irritation seeped through my voice, though I knew he was simply trying to do his job well. And it wasn’t his fault he’d fallen under Kara’s spell like everyone else. I knew all too well how that felt.
It had happened immediately, the second we’d stepped off the plane. Kara had greeted my driver Vladimir like an old friend, shaking hands, big smile, all hospitality and charm. It made me grit my teeth. I didn’t like her laying that on other guys, even in passing. All that honey was mine.
“Tonight, I’ll be back seven o’clock?” Vladimir confirmed.
“Yes, at the hotel.”
I was going to take Kara out tonight and do it right. Dinner and a Broadway show. I’d pulled some strings to get us into an A-list restaurant that booked a solid six months in advance, plus tickets to the hottest show in town. I couldn’t wait to see Kara’s eyes light up with it all, the glitz and glam, the unique blend of old-money sophistication plus new-money flash that made the pulse of New York beat fast. Kara would be happy with a pretzel from a cart and a stroll around the city sidewalks. That’s why it would be so fun to spoil her, get her in to all the VIP hot spots and make her eyes pop. She expected nothing. I wanted to give her everything.
That dress she’d tried on for the gala Saturday night. Shit. I’d stood watching her from the back door, far enough away she hadn’t seen me. She’d looked so beautiful. I knew she’d clean up good, but now I couldn’t wait to have her on my arm as we walked into the Met. She’d show those New York socialites what a real woman looked like.
I smiled, remembering when I’d told her I’d be taking her to the Met on Saturday.
“Oh, the Mets?” she’d exclaimed. “I love baseball!”
She got excited about the idea of my taking her to a baseball stadium in Queens. “Yeah, I’ve got some bleacher seats,” I’d teased her. “Maybe I’ll buy you some beer in a plastic cup.”
She’d laughed more at my tone than in understanding my joke. I loved that in her—she really would be happy drinking warm beer in shitty seats at a ballgame. I hadn’t realized how accustomed I’d become to the sharp claws and snarling attitudes of the models and aspiring actresses I tended to take to these charity parties. In the bedroom, I enjoyed one type of girl, but I had yet to find someone who could bridge both worlds, lighting up my fires in private while also networking and dazzling at private functions. I had a feeling Kara would have the big donors eating out of the palm of her hand.
She’d asked me about my hosting it. Apparently the girls in the dressmaking shop had been talking. Out of habit, I’d brushed her off, explaining I was one of many. And that was true, the gala at the Met was a fundraiser for about ten different charities benefitting children in need.
Plus, I generally didn’t like talking about the charity I’d started for foster kids. I knew I could use it for marketing purposes, but I usually preferred to keep it quiet, refusing interviews on the subject and largely keeping my name separate from the endeavor. I provided the funding. I had staff that saw to getting it disbursed. I didn’t want to talk to strangers about why I’d started the charity and why I cared about foster kids.
Kara would get it, I knew, without my having to explain anything. She knew I’d spent some time growing up in foster homes. I hadn’t told her much about it, but she’d known me back then, seen what a lean, rangy motherfucker I was. Hell, when I’d met her I’d still had the look of someone who didn’t know where his next meal was coming from. Once you’d been like that, you never forgot the feeling. It stayed with you the rest of your life. I’d learned how to cover it up, tamp it down so well no one around me now would have guessed. But Kara knew.
I’d devoted so much time to divorcing myself from my past, leaping out and away from it into the stratosphere of success, you’d think I’d cringe at the thought of taking someone from that past into my present world. Instead, I couldn’t wait. I wanted Kara by my side. I wanted to show her what I was able to do now with my money. I didn’t harbor any illusions about playing superman. At most, I figured maybe I could save a few kids some of the worst kinds of suffering. But even that felt pretty damn good, and I bet Kara would understand.
The traffic light turned green and we started onto the city block of our hotel.
“Finally,” I exhaled.
“New York traffic.” Vladimir shook his head.
Kara would be up there waiting for me. “Good to be home,” I murmured.
Where had that come from? Home? Why had I called it that? This was a hotel, not even the one I usually stayed at when I visited the city.
I rode up the elevator, still wondering at my choice of words. Home. What did I know about that? My father had left town before I was born, never even stuck around to meet me. My mother had been a junkie her whole life, her addiction leading her to prison and an early grave. I’d been twelve when I’d entered my first but sure-as-hell-not-last foster home. You got so you didn’t even unpack your bag. It was easier to sneak out at night if things got rough, or simply shrug it over your shoulder when they told you it was time to move on. Either way, one bag worked best.
I headed to our suite, trying to shake off my thoughts. Why was I thinking about that time in my life? Next thing you knew I’d start in on thinking about that little girl Shelly from my last foster home, worrying over what ever became of her, knowing deep in my heart it wasn’t good.
It didn’t make sense to dwell on any of it. And I definitely didn’t open up to anyone about it, ever. No one in my life now knew about my childhood. No one even guessed at it. I was great at evasion, so smooth most didn’t even realize I was doing it. The trick was simple: get people talking about themselves. People ate that shit up. All you
had to do was give them a vague line or two and let them believe what they wanted.
“You go to U Montana?” a guy might ask.
“Go Grizzlies,” I could reply, then ask where they’d gone to college. Then all I had to do was sit back, relax and listen to their stories about undergrad hijinks.
And most of the time, it was enough. It was more than enough. What were the odds on a kid like me making it into the top 1%? Without being a pro athlete. Slim to none. I had it good. So why was I dwelling on the past?
I wouldn’t do it. Not anymore. Not when I had Kara Brooks waiting for me in my hotel room.
“Kara!” I opened the door. No response. Not in the bedroom or bathroom. She wasn’t there.
Where was she? I’d been counting down the minutes until I got to see her again, itching at my skin to feel her, kiss her, wrap her up in my arms. But where was she? Out somewhere. My heart pounded and I could hear myself breathing hard as I battled feelings I never let come to the surface. Disappointment. Vulnerability. That ache of wanting and not having. I didn’t do those emotions, not anymore.
I took off my jacket, loosened my tie and started to pace the floor. She’d probably run off with someone in Times Square. Maybe the naked cowboy. Or maybe she’d met someone there, made plans, had a whole hidden agenda I knew nothing about.
That was crazy. Even while I roamed the hotel room like a jealous animal, I knew I was thinking like a maniac.
But something could have happened to her. She had the street smarts of a teddy bear. Someone could have easily lured her into a car. All they would have had to do was fake a sprained ankle.
Pulling out my phone, I texted her:
Where are you?
Waiting for her response, I fixed myself a drink. There was the chance that she’d left town. I knew she struggled with this arrangement, as well she should. What the hell was I doing, making her serve me for the week in exchange for money she sorely needed? I was being a dick. I should just cut her a check.
But then she’d be out the door. There was that voice in me: she’s just in it for the money. She’d never be here if she weren’t desperate. That old feeling, she’s the princess and I’m the beast. Of course she’d rather leave.
Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1) Page 34