Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1)

by Callie Harper

  Plus, if I didn’t bail her out even my stone cold heart might have a moment of pause. I might look back and feel some of that…what did people call it? I think it was guilt. I didn’t want to mess with that. I would give her the money she needed.

  I could help her with no strings attached, no need to pay me back. Then it would be back to business as usual. I’d head to Bozeman for the weekend to check on some of my properties. Monday morning I’d hop a flight to New York, next week New Zealand and I wouldn’t look back. There’d be no reason for us to ever see each other again.

  The beast within me roared for more.

  I headed into the master bath and cranked on the shower, hot. Steam started curling out of the glass-enclosed chamber. I stripped down naked.

  The problem was, it wasn’t often that life served you up your fantasies. And this wasn’t just any fantasy. This wasn’t the sexy substitute teacher in high school I’d hoped wasn’t wearing panties. This was the one who got away, the girl who’d kept me hard for months on end and continued to torture me all the years since. I’d never gotten her out of my system. Even now on a warm summer’s night, six years slipped away and it was her soft, plump lips, her erect, needy nipples and her sweet, juicy ass that starred in my most hardcore erotic fantasies.

  Stepping into the shower, I lathered my skin, letting the hot water pound into my wired muscles. That workout could have killed an ox, but I was still raring to go. My cock stood up full, demanding and rock hard.

  Who’d believe Kara Brooks had come walking back into my life? The one woman I couldn’t forget. It wasn’t as if I was hurting for company. I knew I could pick up my phone and have a woman with me in the shower in twenty minutes. I didn’t work to get women, they came to me, flocked was more like it, with an almost boring predictability. It had always been that way. Even back when I’d been a piss-poor kid in trouble with the law, I’d still had that bad boy edge girls loved to run their fingers along, even if it got them hurt. Now that I had money, there wasn’t a woman I couldn’t get my hands on. Model, porn star, married bored and rich, I’d tasted them all.

  But Kara, she was my ultimate fantasy. Back when I’d known her, I hadn’t even realized what I fully wanted. Now I knew. I’d gotten more sophisticated over the years. I didn’t just go to random bars anymore and pick them out of a line up, though I was pretty good at that, finding the ones whose eyes would glaze over with lust when they gave in to submission.

  Now I went to clubs that catered specifically to men with my particular tastes. BDSM clubs, where you could train someone new or acquire someone who already knew the ropes. Literally. Billings even had one, small and basic but it did the trick. And once I got to New York, I had my pick of the darkest fantasies the world had to offer. I’d learned how to wield power and wield it well, how to bring a woman to the brink again and again, taking her further than she’d ever dreamed and finally giving her the release she deeply craved.

  Back when I’d known Kara, I’d only known that I wanted her. Now I knew I wanted to possess her, own her, dominate every inch of her and more.

  And she’d come to me needing me. Vulnerable. Asking for my help. Wanting to be put under my control, actually asking to work for me. I had to bite back an ironic laugh. She was an innocent. I could see it in her eyes. Years had passed but she had no idea what she was messing with.

  I reached down and took my hard-on in my hand. Grasping my thick shaft, I began to stroke. I could feel the need within me. She’d once had power over me. Now it was time to have power over her. Complete power.

  I had her right where I wanted her. I could strike a bargain, require an exchange. Force her to submit. The steam curled around me. The rhythm of my hand sped up, my breathing faster, harder.

  It was time. The beast needed to be let out of the cage. It was time to torment her the way she’d tormented me. How I’d longed for her and could never have her, not the way I’d wanted. Not the way I’d needed.

  Now I wanted her completely in my power. I needed to see her pant and cry out and plead for the fulfillment that I’d deny. I’d had years to cultivate dark sexual fantasies. Now it was time to unleash them.

  One week. I’d strike a bargain. I’d agree to help her. She’d even suggested that I name the terms. My terms would be that she submit to me and serve me for one week. It would be an exchange, a business transaction. I’d have seven days to do everything I’d always wanted and make her beg for it.

  Because deep down I knew Kara wanted it. She needed to serve me, yearned for it, even if she wasn’t yet aware of her own base desires. She needed me to stoke them, teach her the nature of her own lust. She was a true submissive, I could tell, and she needed her dom to bring it out.

  I wanted to teach her how much she needed it. I wasn’t going to force her. I didn’t get off on coercion. If a woman wasn’t into it, it wasn’t hot. What got me hot was the thought of making Kara crave the discipline she knew she should fight. The thought of her choosing my power, asking for it, helpless without it. When she knew she should pull her panties up and march right out of the room, I wanted her to slide them down, baring her flesh and then see her arch her ass up, quivering, desperately seeking the palm of my hand. I needed to hear her beg to serve me.

  My thick cock grew larger in my hand and I pumped its rigid length, drawing close. I could picture Kara in the next room, naked, wrists bound to the headboard of my bed. I could hear her voice begging me, please Declan, pleading with me to fuck her. My breathing grew ragged, my cock straining for release as I imagined taking my time with her, mercilessly making her come again and again. I could hear her calling out my name, raw, pleading for more until I finally plunged hard into her tight, wet, needy pussy.

  I came hard, shooting out a thick load as I groaned. I rested my palm and forehead against the shower wall. Panting. Still hard. Ready to take control.

  CHAPTER 5

  Kara

  Then

  If you’ve never been to Montana, you can’t possibly imagine what you’re missing. Everything’s so crystal clear, the blue of the sky, the white of the puffy clouds, the outline of the mountains in the distance. Picture all that, then add a big, drop-dead gorgeous man on horseback in the middle of it. Long legs in worn jeans, faded cotton shirt clinging to his broad shoulders, a cowboy hat dipped down low.

  Let me also say a few words about cowboy hats. There are a lot of different kinds and, honestly, men who haven’t worked on a ranch probably shouldn’t even try to wear one. The risk of looking like a tool was too great. On a scale from 1 to 10, a cowboy hat on a guy was either going to be a zero or an 11. On Declan, he went right to 11. The brim pulled down, it highlighted the strength of his jaw, the hard angle of his chin. He let it shade his eyes and I could never tell what he was thinking, or if he was even looking at me. It drove me crazy.

  Today, I decided to bring him lemonade. Technically, I wouldn’t bring out an ice-cold pitcher to just Declan. It would be for him plus the other couple of guys working on our ranch. But it was all for Declan.

  A twinge of guilt gnawed at me. I did have a boyfriend. But school was almost out and I didn’t see us dating much longer than that. As the quarterback and the cheerleader, pieces of the larger puzzle of our high school scene, we worked. But as Bruce and Kara? Not so much. We never talked about what would happen when he left for college in a couple months. We both knew it would end, and neither one of us would be torn up about it.

  Walking toward the barn, pitcher of lemonade in my hands, I wondered if I’d chosen the right outfit. First I’d tried on jean shorts with a cropped tee and wedge sandals. With some lip gloss and my hair in a high ponytail, I thought I had it going on. Once I hit the hallway, though, I lost my nerve. How could I seriously strut out across the yard in the middle of the day in 3-inch heels? Even if my father didn’t see me, Bill, our foreman, probably would. He’d known me since I was about six years old and he’d be sure to shake his head, maybe even tsk tsk. I’d feel like an idiot, p
robably fall flat on my face.

  I’d changed out the wedges for flip flops, but then the shorts went from Daisy Dukes to Farmer Teds, so I’d settled on a sundress, simple blue and ending above the knee. Thin cotton but not tight, it was the kind of thing I might wear around the house even if Declan weren’t there. Honestly, I’d probably be in something old and ratty like my 8th grade class t-shirt and boxers. But still.

  The dress had thin straps that sometimes slid down my shoulder. You could see my bra straps when I wore it, and I did have a pretty new pink one. But what did I know? Maybe guys didn’t like pink bras?

  There was so much I didn’t know, and I used to not care. That was life before Declan. Before Declan, I’d been a kid, a little girl who had everything she wanted. True, it had always been just me and my dad and we didn’t exactly live like kings, but I’d never wanted for a thing. I had love and birthday parties and Christmas trees, plenty of friends and sleepovers. I didn’t exactly knock the ball out of the park in school, but I could get Bs without too much effort and that suited me fine.

  Things had coasted along smoothly, not many ripples in the pond. In 9th grade I sprained my ankle toward the end of football season and missed cheering at the final games. I tried out for the school musical in 10th grade and only made the chorus. Junior prom had been lame. My date had pawed at me like a drunk circus bear, then spewed vomit all over the side of the road. But besides that, I’d been happy. Content. It had been enough, more than enough.

  Then there was after Declan. AD. He’d shaken up my world like fake white flakes in a snow globe. I barely knew which end was up. I had a month and a half left of school before graduation. I should be living it up, all keggers and bonfires and goofing around in the DQ parking lot. Instead I felt restless and unsatisfied, wanting something more even though I didn’t know exactly what that was.

  When I finally got to the barn, I didn’t see anyone. I ducked inside where it was darker and cooler. At 11 a.m. I guessed it had to be around 80, so it was bound to climb even higher that afternoon. My friend Mandy had already asked if I wanted to go swimming. Crazy person that I was, I kind of wanted to stay at the ranch, even if just to catch a glimpse of Declan’s stubble. Even though it seemed like he shaved pretty regularly, he always had stubble by the end of the day. With his black hair it made him look so savage, like a wild pirate from a romance, the kind you really hoped would capture you. I wanted to bring my hand up to his face, feel him rough against my smooth skin, press my check against his.

  Shaking the crazy out of my head, I walked over to the long, wooden table. The guys usually made their way over there at various points in the day, some even coming in to eat lunch. Declan, of course, seemed to prefer eating on his own like a lone wolf. Honestly, the man didn’t seem to want any company at all. Sun up to sun down and sometimes long after that, Declan was all work and no play.

  You’d think with us both living on the same ranch we’d see each other more often. But Declan kept to himself. Bill lived in a cabin down by the stream, more remote than Declan’s place, but he still made his way up to the big house almost every day. He’d amble into the kitchen, help himself to whatever I’d baked. Say a few words about the weather, nothing too much but sociable, friendly.

  Declan? He’d never once come inside the main house. I knew because I’d hoped so badly he would. He’d stood outside it plenty of times, talking to my dad. One time he’d even made it up onto the porch, holding his hat in his hands and twisting the brim like he wished he were anywhere else. My father had called out to him from an open window and Declan had continued the conversation from outside. It was almost like he banished himself.

  I’d see him out working, of course, but I had to do the looking. Sadly, I did. I couldn’t help myself. The handful of other guys working on the ranch were all polite, friendly. When I’d come around and see if they were hungry or thirsty, bringing them a little something, they’d all thank me kindly. Not Declan, though. He’d stay real busy with something or other. It was almost like he was avoiding me.

  I set the pitcher down, my eyes adjusting to the darkness after the bright April sunshine. With high ceilings and exposed rafters, I loved the barn. It almost felt like church to me. We kept hay, equipment and tools there and I breathed in, looking up at the sunlight streaming in through a few loose boards up top.

  Something moved over in the corner by a tractor.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  No answer.

  “Bill? That you? I brought some lemonade.”

  A distinctly male grunt came from behind the tractor.

  “Are you OK?” I made my way over and found Declan kneeling on the wooden floorboards, twisting a wrench or something on a something. I couldn’t quite follow what was happening because he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I took a stumbling step back. He looked up, that sardonic, half-amused, half-mocking expression he usually wore on his face.

  “’Sup, Betty Crocker? You bake me a cake today?”

  “Um, no!” I took another step back. I’d never seen him without his shirt. I’d imagined it before, but even my wildest fantasies hadn’t gotten me this far. He was so defined, so hard, all muscle with a few veins traveling down his biceps, near his neck, down below at the waist of his jeans. I swallowed hard, my throat completely dry, my eyes as round as saucers.

  “Feeling OK, princess?” He gave me a knowing look. He knew what was making me nearly pass out.

  “Um, I think it’s the heat.” It wasn’t the heat. Not radiating from the sun, anyway. I tried to look away. I knew I was being an idiot, but he had tattoos. Two of them, one on his shoulder, the other around his bicep. The one on his shoulder looked like it said something, the other looked like a pattern stretched taut across his large, bulging muscle. Dear lord, I really might pass out.

  “Why don’t you run along home now? Go cool off.” He waved a wrench at me.

  That made me look away. He was such a jerk. Why did he always brush me off like a pesky fly?

  “Do you want some lemonade?” I asked, my voice shy and whispery. I was such a 13-year-old around him.

  “Nope.” He turned his attention back to the tractor.

  “Is it broken?” I really didn’t want to leave yet. Maybe if I feigned interest in the tractor I could go stand next to him.

  “No, it’s working fine. I just felt like coming in here and messing around with it.”

  “Really? Why?” I asked, taking a step closer.

  He looked up at me like I was a moron and I realized that I was. It was broken. He was being sarcastic. I could feel myself blushing, a deep crimson flush working its way up across my chest, neck and face. I hadn’t factored in that possibility when I’d so carefully chosen my outfit. The more exposed skin meant the more embarrassingly obvious it would be if I blushed.

  “You pink right up, don’t you?” He had his wrench resting on his thigh and he watched me now with dark eyes.

  “My skin’s just… sensitive.” I shrugged, wishing I could disappear into the floorboards.

  “Um hmm.” Good lord, how did he make that sound so sexy? It came out like a deep rumble in this throat. Suddenly the word ‘sensitive’ seemed ridiculously suggestive. He made me so aware of myself, the way the cotton of my dress clung to my shape, how short the hemline really was, ending several inches up my thighs. I swallowed again and I swear it was so loud it echoed.

  I felt so nervous, and when I got nervous I babbled. “I hate how I blush. I don’t know why, but I’ve always blushed really deep red ever since I was a kid.”

  He shook his head and returned his focus to the tractor. “You are a kid. Now let me get back to work.”

  Tears pricked my eyes and I turned tail. He was so mean to me. It was like he hated me.

  Why did he treat me like I was a toddler? I was 18. He couldn’t be that much older. I had to admit, he seemed much, much older, but I wasn’t a baby. Some girls were married and pregnant—not necessarily in that order—by my age. He treated
me like I belonged in a preschool.

  I fairly ran back to the big house, grabbed my stuff and burned rubber tearing out of there in my truck. I didn’t need to stick around and take his abuse any more.

  §

  Later that night, I let Bruce take me to a movie. We went on a double date. Mandy was seeing his buddy from the football team, Vance. First we got burgers and fries and then we went to see some slasher flick neither Mandy nor I had any interest in but the guys picked it anyway. I was pretty sure they hoped we’d end up scared and in their laps or something.

  In the bathroom before the movie started, Mandy asked me about Declan. “What’s up with that guy working on your ranch?”

  “Who?” I acted like I didn’t know who she was talking about, even though I knew full well. She certainly didn’t mean Bill.

  “You know, the one who’s hotter than hell! He looks like a freaking rock star or something. I saw him down at the Shop ‘n’ Save the other day and nearly pissed my pants.”

  “You saw him at the Shop ‘n’ Save?” The wistful, whiney quality to my voice wasn’t lost on Mandy.

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” She gave me a gleeful smile. “Does someone have a crush?”

  I turned away and put some lip gloss on in the mirror. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mandy was always crushing on some guy or another. I’d always listened patiently, or mostly patiently, sometimes not so much listening. But I’d never had my own crush to gush about. Until now.

  Only now I found I didn’t want to talk about it. Declan was mine. Only he wasn’t mine and I felt all bent out of shape about it, hot and cold and frustrated as hell.

  “I’m surprised your dad hired him.” Mandy came over closer with a conspiratorial air. “I heard he did some time in Riverside.”

  That got my attention. “The detention center?” It was about two hours south, a place I’d heard was rough and full of meth heads.

  “Juvie!” She declared, all too happy with her revelation. “He’s a criminal.”