Trailing a finger along my thighs, he whispered, husky, “You’re wearing one of those short little skirts you used to wear.” Leaning in close, his rough fingers hot on my smooth skin, right at the edge of my short skirt, he whispered, “I saw you touching yourself. What were you thinking about, Kara?”
A soft moan escaped from my parted lips. I twisted in his grasp. I needed to leave, not stay here in the dark, panting, so close to him I could smell his masculine scent.
“Naughty girl,” he whispered in my ear, his fingers light on my inner thigh. Teasing, stroking, he asked, “Did you make yourself wet?”
I whimpered, half wanting to break away and recover my sanity, half wanting him to strip it from me completely. His finger was so close to my pussy, so near it and I quivered in anticipation, anxiety and need. “What will I find if I touch you, Kara?” He brought his mouth to my ear and licked my sensitive lobe, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. “Will you be slick and wet for me?”
“Declan,” I panted, but it didn’t come out as the protest I intended. It didn’t come out angry and rejecting. It came out pleading and needy.
“Oh, I think you will be.” His fingers, so maddening, so close, so rough on my inner thigh, inching up, down, up again. I wanted them on me already, on my dripping wet slit where he could find me and claim me and make me come for him so hard I nearly blacked out.
“But here’s what I want to know,” he continued. “Who were you thinking about here in the dark? Was it me? Or was it someone else?”
My eyes flew open. “What?”
“What’s he got that I don’t have?” His voice came out ragged and harsh, tortured. His hand grasped my thigh, anguished.
“It’s not like that.” I shook my head in protest. But I knew. That was exactly what I’d wanted him to think when I’d written that note. I’d told him someone else had come through for me. I needed him to believe that there was someone else so he’d go away, leave me in peace, stop torturing me.
“How does he make you feel, Kara?” he continued in a deep, pressing voice. “Does he make you scream his name?” With one hand he captured both my wrists. I struggled in his grasp as he brought his other hand to trace the swells of my breasts. In the moonlight, I could see my nipples pebbled and hard for him, betraying my need. He looked down at them, lazily teasing with his thumb, not touching my peaks.
Even as my body responded to him, panting in the darkness, I forced my brain to remember. I’d caught him kissing another woman. I should slap him like an old fashioned book heroine and leave, haughty and proud. At least I managed to suppress the deep moan welling up inside of me as his huge hand cupped my breasts, his thumb stroking and caressing. His breath came ragged, as if he were exerting as much energy to restrain himself, holding himself back as much as me.
“Do you beg for him?” He asked it low and quiet, but dangerous fury and pain coiled in his words. He kept his touch light, tempting, igniting.
“No, Declan,” I couldn’t help protesting. “It’s not like that.”
“Does he make you feel like I do?” He bent down and scented me, brushing his stubble against my cheek. I quivered and tried less successfully this time to suppress a moan. My brain screamed at me to run away, but I quivered with arousal.
I’d brought myself so close to climax and he’d watched me do it. My heart beat fast and hard, my sex clenched with slick lust, but I needed to fight it. He couldn’t find out how wet I was. He needed to think I hated him so he’d leave me alone. He had to believe that I’d left him and moved on to someone else.
He took my earlobe in his hot mouth again, sucking, then trailed his tongue down my throat. It mingled with my fantasies, how I’d touched myself wanting him. Now he was here doing exactly what I craved.
“Does he make you moan like I do?” Gently, so gently, Declan brought his hand underneath my tank top, stroked his way up my skin to the curve of my breast. Circling my swollen nipple, he finally pinched it between his wide, strong fingers. Hoarse and anguished, my moan broke from my lips. I panted, my wrists pinned to the wall above my head. His wicked hand traveled down me now, trailing down my stomach, toying with the waist of my skirt.
“Were you touching your pussy, Kara?” he whispered in my ear.
“No, Declan.” I tossed my head to the side, eyes closed.
He pressed hard into my wrists overhead, reminding me he had me trapped as I writhed beneath his huge body. “Honesty, Kara. That’s something we have to work on, isn’t it?”
He brushed his fingers along my inner thighs, caressing them. I shook, biting my lip to stop my moan. “I remember what I did to you in this barn,” he whispered, dark and close. My breath began to come in soft pants. “Do you remember, Kara?” I refused to answer, kept my head to the side, my eyes closed.
With a hiss, he slid my panties down and slipped his finger deep into my slippery sex. I gasped in pleasure as he plunged his finger up into me, claiming my heat.
“So wet, Kara. So wet.” He praised me, stroking me. “But you shouldn’t be. Not for me. You left me.”
“Please,” I whimpered, wanting but not wanting. I needed but didn’t want to need.
He stroked me the way only he knew how, deliberately, slowly, building my need, trapping my wrists above my head. I closed my eyes and felt only the waves of heat, the shuddering, heady arousal pounding through my body, growing with each stroke.
“Tell me, Kara.” With slow expertise, he touched the swollen nub of my desire, a light flick that made me gasp, then a strong, slow stroke. “Tell me. Who were you thinking of while you touched your pussy?”
So close, I knew this was my last chance, my final opportunity to push him away. I could feel the waves of pleasure building within me, robbing me of my sanity. But I remembered I had to stop this. I had to.
“Declan—” I sobbed. His hand stilled at the broken sound of my voice. His fingers motionless, he listened. “Declan.” I gathered my strength to continue. “You know what you can do to me. You know you can make me scream your name and beg for more. But, please, don’t. I want you to stop.”
He withdrew his hands and took a step away. I stood, panting and trembling, close to but no longer pressed against him. At my side, his head sank down to the unforgiving wooden plank wall of the barn. We stayed like that in the darkness, my heart pounding in my chest, his heat and massive form so near but each second pulling us further apart.
I ached, missed, longed for his touch, but I knew it had to be that way. He could weave a spell around me, make me forget everything but his hands and tongue. I’d be moaning and doing anything and everything he wanted, giving myself up eagerly and entirely into the intense, all-consuming pleasure. But then morning would come and I’d be even worse off, even more filled with self-loathing and reproach. I’d have an even longer road ahead of me to travel before I found the peace and wholeness I sought, far away from Declan.
Into the darkness of the night, he whispered, “Why did you leave me?”
“I didn’t.” I shook my head. I couldn’t leave him even if I tried.
“You did,” he insisted. “Is it Bruce?”
“What?” I couldn’t make sense of his words. Did he mean Bruce from high school? Newly divorced Bruce who interested me about as much as Lymon Culpepper?
“Who did you leave me for?” he continued, rifling his hand through his hair, tortured, his massive frame silhouetted against the barn walls.
“Declan, I can’t do this. You need to leave.” He had other women in his life. Why didn’t he go to them instead of torturing me? I straightened my skirt and smoothed my tank top down over my breasts. I needed my clothing, literal, physical barriers helping me put up even more distance between us.
“Kara.” The pain in his low, throaty voice nearly made me double over. I hated hurting him so much. But I had to remember what I’d seen and who he really was. My hands, voice, body, everything shook as I walked over to the barn entrance. I placed some space be
tween us before I turned to face him.
“It’s Bruce, isn’t it?” he asked, tortured, hand up to his hair as if to pull it out.
“Declan, please! Why are you doing this to me?” Tears sprung fresh to my eyes and I brought my face to my hands.
“Just tell me who it is. I need to know.”
“It’s not Bruce!” I yelled, frustrated with his fixation. “I sold the ranch to some creepy guy.”
“Who?” His eyes glittered with rage.
“Why does it matter?”
“Who did you sell it to?” He took a step closer.
“His name is Lymon Culpepper.”
“Lymon Culpepper?”
“Yes, he’s some creepy freak but he’s the one who made me an offer so I sold it to him. But none of that matters, Declan! I need you to leave me alone!” He took another step closer toward me, looking heartbreakingly gorgeous, rumpled, tortured and raging with need.
“Declan!” I cried out desperate. “Nothing has changed. I can’t do this with you. I won’t do it.”
“Why, Kara?” He looked the most vulnerable I’d ever seen him, calling out to me in the moonlight.
“I can’t trust you!” A fierce strength came into my lungs as I spoke now. “I won’t let you treat me like this. I deserve more.”
He stopped and his gaze flattened, lost some of its power.
“We live in completely different worlds,” I insisted.
“What do you mean?” He looked confused and hurt and I almost caved, almost gave in right there. But I had to stay strong. My body had just betrayed me, but I had to keep fighting to do what was right.
“I’ll never fit into your world,” I flatly declared, picturing him in the hallway at that gala, kissing that glittering, rich, empty woman. “And I don’t want to.”
“What world? Where do I fit in that you don’t?
“New York City! That woman!” I knew I wasn’t making a ton of sense, but the emotions battling through me challenged coherent speech. He continued looking at me, baffled. “I saw you,” I insisted.
“What?”
“I saw you kissing Courtney. At the party.”
“Courtney?”
“Don’t make me drag through all the details!” I rubbed my forehead with my hands. “You know what I’m talking about. Courtney, in the hallway.”
“That?”
“Yes, that,” I said, exasperated. “Don’t act like it’s nothing.”
“What do you think you saw?” He looked befuddled and as exasperated as me.
“I don’t think I saw! I know I saw you kiss her!”
“Kara—”
“Do you deny it?”
“No, but it’s not…that drunk socialite? She’s nothing to me.”
“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.” How could he be so cold and callous about his conquests?
“She was drunk and she kissed me. One second longer you would have seen me pushing her off.”
“I don’t believe you.” I shook my head. I didn’t want his sweet-talking. I knew the man could tempt me into anything. I needed to block my ears like a sailor to the sirens or I’d end up crashed on the rocks. I should have stuffed my ears with cotton balls so I wouldn’t succumb to his words. Actions spoke much louder, and I knew what I’d seen. “I can’t believe you, Declan.”
We stood there, not touching in the darkness.
“You’ve broken my heart, Declan. Twice now.” I shook my head, trying not to cry. “I can’t trust you. There’s too much mess between us. Don’t ask me to do this. I can’t.” I couldn’t help it. The sobs welled up and burst through, my shoulders sagging into the weight of my tears. “I can’t let you break my heart again. Please.”
He took a step closer.
“No!” The word came out strong, much stronger and more certain than I felt. But I knew if he touched me, held me in his strong, solid arms I’d never stand a chance.
“Declan, if you care about me at all, please go away. I don’t want what you have to offer. I need you to leave. I can’t do this.”
With that I turned and walked up to the big house on the hill. I shook as I walked, but I hoped he couldn’t see. I made it up the stairs and through the front door. No hand came around my waist, no voice called for me to stop.
I closed the door behind me and sat at the kitchen table in the darkness. I heard the engine of his truck start, the sound of his wheels on the dirt driveway.
Declan drove out of my life. Just like he had the first time. Only this time, I knew it was forever.
CHAPTER 5
Declan
First thing I did back in Billings was get Lymon Culpepper’s phone number. What kind of a name was Lymon fucking Culpepper? Who was this joker? He wasn’t going to be the owner of Kara’s ranch, I knew that much.
Nine a.m., I had my lawyer make the phone call. Fifteen minutes later he phoned me back. The deal was done. All that pain and worry I’d put Kara through and all it took me was a two-minute phone call plus some wait time as my lawyer did his job. I truly was an asshole.
You know who might have been a bigger one, though? That Culpepper asshat. First of all, what he’d offered for Kara’s ranch had been peanuts, an insult. Only a desperate, down-on-her luck woman would accept an offer that low. I hadn’t realized Kara had been backed so far into a corner. Another strike against me.
She’d been trying to be brave, I could see that now, keeping quiet about it all. But if I’d asked and listened she probably would have told me. I’d done neither. I’d taken her like a caveman, dragging her off to spank and fuck her and ignore everything else for my own selfish pleasure. I could truly be a dick.
I should have bailed her out the second I saw her. The minute she told me she needed help, I should have done it. It was all so simple. But no, I’d put her through hell because I was a selfish bastard. I chose to torture her so I could keep her with me instead of helping her and letting her go.
I could say I wished she’d told me how close she was to the edge, but I should have known. It wasn’t like I’d always had money. How quickly rich assholes forgot what it was like to be in real dire straits.
But Lymon Culpepper, him I really hated. He wouldn’t sell for anything less than double his offer. Normally, I’d have worn him down. Used time, pressure, all my bag of tricks. But in this case, I wanted it done. I needed it done. This transaction took his grubby paws off her deed, and that couldn’t happen fast enough.
“The guy’s shady,” my lawyer, Stephen, confirmed on the phone. “He wanted to rob her blind.”
“But it’s done?”
“You made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
“Greedy little fuck.” I flicked a paperclip off my desk. It crashed into the wall, then fell to the floor. I’d like to do that to Lymon Culpepper. I didn’t like giving that slimy rat money, but honestly it wasn’t much to me. And it got the job done. He was out of the picture, effective immediately.
“It’s all taken care of. Money wired into his account. And I’ve arranged to have the deed delivered to her by courier, as you requested,” Stephen continued.
“When will it arrive?”
“End-of-business day today.”
I exhaled with frustration. Stephen knew me well enough to understand without my saying. I wanted it there sooner.
“It’s a long ways away, Declan. Even five o’clock is a stretch.”
“Yup.” I knew it was true. She lived out in the middle of nowhere. But I wanted that piece of paper in her hands. I couldn’t rest until I knew her anguish was eased.
“And my name?” I asked.
“Kept out of it entirely.”
“Good man.”
As per my instructions, my attorney, Stephen, had purchased the property under the auspices of an anonymous buyer. There was no need to put my stamp on it, get involved personally. My name wasn’t on any of this.
I wasn’t a good man. But for once in my life I could try. I could attempt to do
something selfless, not take credit, not grab the apple from the tree but let it hang there to ripen full. I knew she’d suspect I’d done it, but I didn’t want to take credit. That’s how the good guys did it, wasn’t it? They made the rescue happen, but didn’t need to have their photo front and center in tomorrow’s papers.
Lord knew I was no good guy. I was a dark beast of a man. But I was a dark beast who’d at least seen movies about good guys. I could copy them, imitate that kind of selfless altruism. Even though deep inside I wanted to pedal-to-the-metal all the way to Kara’s, grab her and shout “mine!” I wanted to tell her I’d rescued her, given her everything she’d wanted, and drag her off to a cave. But that was the selfish bastard in me.
I wanted to keep at her about Courtney, too, keep insisting she was wrong. The fact was she hadn’t seen what she’d thought she had. She was wrong about Courtney. But she was right about me in general. I didn’t keep it in my pants. I’d licked, sucked and fucked countless women, many whose names I didn’t know, sometimes multiple girls at once. It didn’t matter that now I felt different, that now monogamy appealed in a way I’d never understood before. It sounded like bullshit even to me, even when I knew with certainty at the core of my being that if I had the chance to bury myself in Kara every night, I’d never want anything more.
But there was a time for beating someone down, a battering ram forcing submission. And a time for big, showy displays, for bowling someone over with jewelry and designer dresses and nights on the town. I’d tried both already. Now it was time for a different approach.
This time, I’d show restraint. I’d do a good deed and leave it at that. If you loved someone, you were supposed to set them free. I’d always hated that sappy song by Sting. But that was what she’d asked from me. So now I’d try to stay away from her, let her be free of me. She’d have her ranch. I’d let her go.
She might respond to me with her body—and hell yes I liked the way she did—but I honestly couldn’t do it to her if she truly didn’t want me to. All the protesting and restraints only worked, only got me hard if she felt real desire on the other end.
Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1) Page 46
