“You are here to serve me.” I brought my hand down with a hard smack. She gasped and tensed. Leaving my hand on her ass, I caressed her curves with my fingers, dipping down once more to her wet heat. The pain followed by the pleasure drove her wild. She groaned, twisting in my lap, desperate to press against the hardness of my cock. I brought my hand down on her again and again, assaulting her soft, pink cheeks with harsh smacks. Then I angled my large hand so my fingers landed on her pussy. I started following each stinging whack with a long, demanding stroke.
“Declan!” she screamed, so close, right on the edge. I brought my hand down and quickly shifted her, turned her so she was sitting up in my lap. One hand fisted in her hair to tilt her head back, I brought the other hand to her ripe breast. I took the aching nipple between my fingers and gave it a twist. She screamed again, about to come, digging her ass into the rigid budge of my cock.
“Don’t come,” I growled down close into her ear, rolling her nipple between my fingers, lightening the pressure into a caress, then clamping down again. Swiftly, I slid a hand down again to her molten core, stroking her there. Reading her every reaction, I worked the waves and near crests of her desire. I teased and tormented her ripe, aching nipples. I slid one, then two fingers into her slick folds, plunging in deep, then withdrawing, then plunging in again.
Just as I could feel her starting to disobey me, starting to let her quivering and moaning mount into shudders of ecstatic release, I withdrew my hands. I placed her to the side and abruptly stood up. She leaned against the desk for support, her eyes glazed with lust. I nearly forgot my game looking down at her like that, so very much mine, belonging only to me.
I took a few steps back.
“Stay there,” I ordered, then strode out of the room and over to the bar to fix myself a new drink. I needed to put some distance between us. This was about getting her fired up, but I needed to stay cool. The ice in my drink had melted. I’d been playing with her for a long time.
She liked this game, this play of power. I was giving her a mere glimpse at the BDSM world, a taste of how it felt to be a sub serving her dom. I’d figured she’d like it, but I hadn’t been prepared for how much. Or the rush I felt with it, the thrill she gave me as she responded so rapidly and intensely to my commands and punishments. I needed to keep my shit together.
A minute later, cold glass of bourbon in hand, I re-entered my office. She stood at my desk where I’d left her, the palms of her hands pressed to the surface at either side as if propping herself up. It also had the effect of thrusting her shoulders back, her tits out, her nipples hard, aching and raw with need.
I approached her. With one hand, I stroked her skin, appreciating the smoothness of her tapered waist, the swell of her hips. She panted as I caressed her. That was how I wanted her all week. I wanted the slightest touch from me to coax a dramatic response, a spark of my physical dominance igniting her flame within.
I set my drink down on the desk. With one finger, I lightly traced the outline of her slippery sex. I crooked the other finger under her chin, making her look up at me with those lustrous, pleading eyes. Then I slipped my other finger down into her juicy folds. She gasped.
“So wet,” I murmured in appreciation. “Are you wet for me?”
“Yes,” she moaned.
“Say it.”
“I’m wet for you, Declan. You make me so wet.” Wanton, her lust made her uninhibited. She gave me exactly what I wanted.
But she needed more punishment. “Pick up the duster,” I commanded, pointing an accusing finger at it. She’d dropped it when I’d pulled her across my lap to spank her. Shaking slightly, she bent down and retrieved it, her swollen nipples now fully exposed, her shaved pussy glistening and slick between her legs.
“Over here.” I stood behind my desk, making her walk around to the other side of the mahogany expanse. Pointing to the immaculate surface, I ordered, “Dust it.”
Heels apart, ass up, she bent over and assumed the position, eager and desperate. With her back straight down over the desk, her exposed breasts splayed out above the smooth surface. I looked at her drenched slit and could feel the satisfaction of taking her. I knew she’d come instantly, then again and again as I fucked her hard and deep and relentless.
But for now, I went back to tracing her cheeks. “Keep dusting,” I reminded her. She dutifully moved the feathers over the surface.
“Remember how I used to work for you?” I asked in a deep, husky voice. “I was a lowly ranch hand. You were up in the house on the hill.” She said nothing, breathless, as if hanging on my every word. My fingers swept and swirled, drawing her under my spell.
“Now you work for me.” I plunged a finger deep into her wet heat, pressing my other hand on her back to force her sensitive nipples and breasts onto the cool, gleaming wooden surface of the desk.
“Now, you do what I say. I’m in charge.” Her moans mingled with my commands.
Hand up, I spanked her again, then stroked and teased. Then another firm slap until she was nearly begging and crying out in shaking need, a trail of her juice sliding down her inner thigh.
“Please, Declan,” she begged, straining against my finger. First I used one, then two, then three fingers to fuck her deep in her hot, tight, pussy. Then I brought a thumb up to tease her quivering asshole, circling, caressing.
“Please,” she pleaded, begging for my fingers to go deeper. My huge cock strained for release, desperate to ram inside of her.
“You like serving me, don’t you?” I demanded.
“Yes,” she moaned, panting, begging. All pretense of dusting gone now, her fingers spread wide against the desk. I stroked her glistening mound and rubbed her clit.
“So wet,” I praised. She trembled and moaned against me. “Do you want me inside of you?”
“Yes!” she moaned.
“That’s good,” I grit out, my teeth clenched. “Beg me, Kara.”
“Please, Declan,” she begged, thrusting her hips toward my hand. “Please fuck me!” Her voice sounded urgent, her eyes closed. Spread out over my desk, tits bare on the cold surface, she begged for me to take her with her words, her legs spread wide, her sex dripping and throbbing. Making fast work of my belt and buckle, I undid my pants and slid down my briefs. My giant, hard cock sprang out, veins engorged, ready to pound.
“Remember those nights together in the barn, kissing in the darkness?” I asked. She whimpered in response, panting. “I couldn’t do this back then. But I can now.”
Grasping her hips in my large, wide hands, I positioned the thick tip of my shaft at her slick entrance. With one long, powerful thrust I entered her, sheathing my steel inside of her delicious, wet heat.
“Kara!” I called out, nearly driven insane by the feel of her, so tight and ready.
“Yes!” she cried in response, pressing against me. I closed the small distance between us in an instant, pressing my hard length completely into her yielding softness.
I pushed her back down with one hand and used my other to arch her ass up for better access. “Like that, baby. So good. Now hold on. I’m going to fuck you hard.”
She grasped the sides of the desk like she was told. I started in on a rhythm of long, strong, forceful thrusts, plunging into her again and again. Driving, relentless, I demanded everything from her. She gave it willingly. She wanted it all. She stood up on tiptoes and I nearly lifted her up off the ground each time I pounded into her.
“Fuck! You’re so tight,” I groaned.
“Declan!” she moaned.
“Take my cock. All of it.”
She opened her legs as wide as she could and bucked up against me, offering all of herself up into the intense pleasure. She cried out again and again as I thrust and pounded into her. I stroked her clit, circling and stroking, working her up again with me toward climax.
I never wanted it to stop, this animal abandon, the raw, overwhelming lust, building and building as I rutted into her like a beast. But I co
uld feel it erupting, flowing through me with consuming power.
“I’m coming!” I shouted as I started to gush inside of her, pouring my hot seed into her depths.
“Yes!” she screamed, shuddering and coming around my cock, milking it with her contractions.
“Kara!” I groaned, one last thrust, sweaty and thoughtless and completely, utterly spent.
CHAPTER 6
Kara
Then
I sat out on the porch swing in front of our house, dangling my feet and staring off into the middle distance. I was useless. I knew I should be doing laundry or cleaning the kitchen or getting things ready for dinner. It was four o’clock on a Tuesday. I had no business sitting around doing nothing, but I seemed incapable of doing anything but that.
A soft rain fell all around the porch. It had rained pretty much non-stop these last couple of days, like the sky had given in exactly when Declan and I had. There was only so long you could hold things inside. Sooner or later, that dark, looming cloud would burst open and you’d find yourself in a deluge.
Last night in the barn I’d practically thrown myself at him. I couldn’t help it, when I was with him my body took over. I could still feel the stroke of his fingers, hot and rough and urgent, reading my body like he knew it by heart. I hadn’t known it could feel so good to be with a man. Now, it was all I could think about.
After all those months, all that fantasizing, he was more incredible than anything I’d ever imagined. My own brain couldn’t conjure it up on its own. I had nothing to compare it to. Technically, I’d had some experience with boys. I’d kissed three of them, Bruce, of course, plus a guy in 10th grade who, for three weeks, had carried my books and waited for me outside of school every day. And, if you insisted on counting it, there was the 9th grade Spin-the-Bottle game with Tony Falcone. Then Bruce and I had spent some time making out in the cab of his truck, his breath steaming up the windows as his paws roamed me and tried to make their way up and under my clothes. It had felt a lot like a game of whack-a-mole, my hands finding his and battling them off until he found the next opening somewhere else. I’d thought it hadn’t been too bad, that maybe that was all there was to it anyway. Now I knew.
You could buy a strawberry from the supermarket that had been shipped, packed, maybe even frozen along the way until it turned into an angry little nub that tasted like cardboard. Or you could pick a strawberry right off the plant in late June, pushing aside the leaves and twisting it off from the stem to pop it into your mouth where it exploded, melted, and pulled together all the flavors of summer into one, sweet, succulent bite with the juice dribbling a bit at the corner of your mouth. Technically they were both strawberries. The experience sure wasn’t the same.
When I was with Declan, my heart started beating out of my chest. I could barely remember my name. I knew, when we were together, when I was in his arms and could smell him and feel and touch and his lips were on me, he could ask me to do anything. Without a moment’s hesitation, I’d say yes. He touched me like he was worshipping me, memorizing every curve.
And who knew it could feel so good to be bitten? It wasn’t like he bit me hard, he never drew blood or anything, but every now and then he’d give me a light nibble on my lip or my earlobe. I blushed at the memories, my body responding instantly. Sitting pretty on the porch swing, I felt a throb between my legs and my breasts felt heavy, restrained in their bra, with two hard, ripe pebbles at their centers pressing against the cotton of my dress.
Now that I knew, how could I manage to stay away from him? I already felt like I couldn’t breathe during the day, like I literally held my breath until midnight. Sometimes I’d see him around the ranch and it physically hurt not to be able to run to him, to throw my arms around him and bury myself in his chest.
He was supposed to leave soon. It was the end of August and he had plans to head out in a couple of weeks. But that couldn’t happen. Most days I simply pushed the thought of him leaving out of my head, telling myself it couldn’t actually come to pass. I knew I couldn’t live without him. He’d become like air to me. The way he held me all night long, breathing me in like he couldn’t get enough of me, like I was his oxygen support, I had to guess he felt something like the same way. He’d want to keep seeing me, wouldn’t he? He couldn’t see this just ending, abrupt, never seeing me again just because his season as a ranch hand happened to be over?
I knew he’d be going to work at another ranch a couple of hours away. I’d drive those two hours in 90 minutes flat, watch me do it. We could keep seeing each other, keep spending time together. And then, maybe, who knew what could happen next?
I wasn’t dumb, I knew my father wouldn’t like Declan and me together. I knew it made sense while Declan worked here to only see each other in cover of darkness, a deep secret, hidden away. I liked the world we’d created in the barn, warm together in the hay, resting my head on his chest so I could hear his heart beat. But it was also true that we were hiding out.
Because Daddy, if he found out about us, he might more than not like it. He might flip the hell out. Declan was right, my father was a bit overprotective. Or, OK, crazy overprotective. I was his only child, his princess, the only family he had. He’d raised me all on his own and he’d made it his life’s mission to make sure everything worked out perfect for me. In his mind, that meant getting me safely tucked into a picture frame with exactly the right kind of stand-up guy from exactly the right kind of respectable family. He’d warned me off of no-good, tattooed, low-life guys my whole life and that I understood. Where we parted ways was I loved life on the ranch, but he was dead set on wanting more than that for me. He still talked about me going off to college, like we could ever afford that. He told me he didn’t want me worrying over the weather and government policies affecting prices, he didn’t want me toughing it out under the sun, calluses on my fingers and sweat on my brow. He wanted me in the lap of luxury.
But Daddy would come around. It might take him a little while to adjust, to move off of that college-kid mayor’s son track he liked so much. Bruce was OK, but Declan. Every other man paled in comparison. My father was stubborn, but he loved me more than anything and, if I had to say so myself, I had him wrapped around my little finger. What I wanted I generally got. And I wanted Declan.
I believed in him. I knew he didn’t have a penny to his name, but I didn’t care about that. He was smart, tough and hard-working. He was full of ideas and somehow I knew he’d make good on them. I wanted to be part of it all, take on life together as an adventure.
I loved him with all my heart. I hadn’t told him, of course I hadn’t. I didn’t want to scare the man like that. I’d only admitted it to myself that day the rains came when Declan had called me over underneath the weeping willow tree and finally taken me into his arms and kissed me like his life depended upon it. That moment with him, the feelings had flooded through me: bliss, safety, home. Love. Not to mention the deep fires he stoked within me, the urges, the needs he’d uncovered in me and turned on full-blast. I couldn’t get enough of him and knew somehow that I never would. And I knew in my heart this wasn’t a teenage infatuation, this was a deep love that would only ripen and mature over time.
If only he felt the same way. When we were together in the darkness, I knew he did. I felt it deep in my bones. Our hearts beat together as one. But then daylight would come and with it, doubts. Maybe he thought I was boring? I had no experience, that must be clear to him, and he was used to girls who knew how to please a man. I probably seemed like a grade-school idiot to him. He might lose interest. Maybe he even looked forward to leaving the ranch?
But at night I didn’t worry. I knew, in his arms, it was exactly where we both wanted to be. I felt his craving and had no doubt that he needed me as much as I needed him.
Down past the barn I saw a tall, lean form. In a fraction of a second I knew it was Declan. The slope of his shoulders, his stride, everything about him had been burned into my DNA. I thrilled to his t
ouch, his nearness, everything in me zipping to life at the sight of him.
We usually met at midnight, but I couldn’t help myself once I’d seen him. I’d only have a couple more weeks, a handful of days and nights when I’d be able to see and touch and taste. Who knew what would happen after then? It made me reckless.
I flew down to him, not even wearing shoes on my feet.
“Declan,” I called out, breathless. He looked up, his face twisted in pain. “What’s wrong?” I rushed to his side.
“It’s nothing.” He tried to brush me off, but winced again as he reached his hand around to his back.
“Let me see.” Bringing my hand to his arm, I turned his back to face me. Blood smeared his t-shirt right at the center of his upper back. “What happened?” I gasped.
“It’s nothing,” he tried again, though now I could see it wasn’t nothing. “A stupid thorn. I’d pull it out but I can’t reach it.” He brought his hand around and up his back again, but his fingers landed a few inches short of where they needed to get.
“Let me help you,” I insisted.
“It’s fine.”
“Um-hum.” I was used to big, tough men who didn’t know when they needed help. My father had made that mold. I took Declan’s hand in mine. “Let’s get this thorn out and clean you up.” I remembered he had a First Aid kit in his medicine cabinet.
He gave a frustrated grunt and followed me, admitting defeat.
Inside his cabin, I headed straight for the bathroom. He sat outside of it on his bed and stripped off his bloody t-shirt. He groaned as he did it, probably pushing that thorn deeper inside of him as he twisted to get it off.
“I could have helped you with that,” I chided. Men. Sometimes they behaved like big, overgrown bears. I half expected him to take a swipe at me with his paw.
Now that I got a closer look at his back, I could tell it wasn’t a serious injury. He just needed someone to get the thorn out.
Unleashed: Volume 2 (Unleashed #2) Page 11
