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 could 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 touch, 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.
“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 fo
r 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?”
Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1) Page 26
