“Do you remember the last time I spanked you, Kara?” I asked, low and secret. “Six years ago. When I took you over my lap in my truck?”
She writhed and gasped, her pussy soaked. The question drove her crazy. Had she thought back to that as many times as I had? Had she touched herself anywhere near as often as I had remembering that moment?
“Back then, I had to stop.” I ran a light palm over her pink, aching ass cheeks. “I had to take my hands off you. But now, I’m not going to stop. Now you’re mine.”
When his thick fingers left my slick folds I moaned in protest. So empty after feeling so full. And I was so close, the shuddering, quaking need in me building, rising, threatening so close to the surface under his wicked touch.
But he stepped away and pressed the elevator button. “You may stand up,” he told me.
Slow and shaky, I brought my feet together, still in their boots. Then I took my trembling hands off of the wall, where I’d kept my palms pressed exactly as he’d ordered. My breasts stood out, nearly bare in a lacy bra. My thong lay discarded on the floor and my tiny black skirt was shoved up around my waist. What was happening? On instinct, I started to shimmy my skirt down with one hand, the other up to cover my nearly naked chest.
Grasping my wrists, Declan forced them to my sides. “Never cover yourself,” he commanded. “I get full access, anywhere, anytime. Understood?”
A flicker of defiance passed through me. I shouldn’t do this. This was my last out, before the elevator hit that top floor. He was a crazed caveman, a beast, but I knew if I looked in his eyes and told him no he wouldn’t force me. If I let him, he’d boss me around and make me do all sorts of unspeakably nasty things, but he’d never violate me against my will.
I watched him, panting. My nipples stood out, pressing against the thin silk and lace of my bra. My sex throbbed, soaking wet, unsatisfied.
My brain protested his control, but my body craved it.
He took a hard nipple between his thumb and finger and gave it a light twist. My eyes half-closed and I tipped my head back slightly in a wave of lust.
“Yes, Kara. Give in to this,” he whispered, low and seductive. “Let me see you give in.”
The doors opened with a bing. My eyes flew open, panicked over what unsuspecting hotel patrons might be standing there waiting for a ride, but he reassured me. “It opens directly to my penthouse suite.”
Holding out his hand, he looked into my eyes. “Come in.”
This was it. My chance to leave. My chance to say no and take back control. If I took his hand and followed him in, it was all over. I’d give him the reins entirely. I didn’t know what he’d do with them. Or what he’d make me want to do.
No one made me feel like he did. I wanted this. I needed this. Dripping with need, I shook away my doubts. I was done with fear, done with pain and longing and unrequited yearning. At least for a week. For a week, I wanted to forget it all. I wanted to submit, surrender, leave everything behind and plunge into unbridled, unleashed lust.
Quivering, breath coming hot and shallow, I met his gaze. I took a step forward into the penthouse.
“Yes, Declan,” I whispered. To all of it. I laid down my hand in his large, rough palm and entered into our bargain.
UNLEASHED, VOLUME 2
I wobbled into Declan’s penthouse apartment dazed, shaking and horny as hell. I guess a sound spanking in an elevator could do that to a girl.
“Sit.” Declan pointed at a stool next to a granite countertop.
All mixed up, I decided it wasn’t such a bad idea. Tugging the ridiculously tiny skirt I wore down as much as I could, I perched up on the stool. I crossed my legs and pretended to look out the window. Act casual. It was a challenge when my nipples stood out hard and aroused, pressing against the black silk of my demi-cup bra. My shirt still lay on the floor of his private elevator where he’d ripped it right off of me.
What had just happened? Had he spanked me for disobeying him? And had I loved it? A bit different than what I’d planned for that night. I’d intended to have a stern conversation with him, terminating our arrangement before it even began. A wild, reckless, no-holds-barred one-week bargain? That was out of the question. That kind of thing didn’t happen in real life, only in books. The naughty kinds. My favorite.
I squirmed on the stool. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath my skirt. My panties were also back in the elevator, right where he’d ripped them off, too. I squeezed my thighs. I was still so wet. My sex throbbed. He hadn’t let me come. I needed to come.
“Do you like the view?” Declan asked. He stood over by an impressively well-stocked bar, placing ice into two glasses.
“Oh, yes.” Right, the breathtakingly impressive view before me. The entire wall was comprised of windows overlooking Billings at night. We had to be in the tallest building in the city. Headlights, streetlights, lit squares in city buildings all jostled together, framed by the dark wilderness beyond. The days were so long this time of year I could still see the faintest distinction between the black jagged ridge of the mountains and the subtly lighter sky.
Inside was just as impressive, with an open flow from the chef’s kitchen into the high-ceilinged expanse of living room. The few pieces—and yes, they were pieces, not furniture—stood out sleek and modern. I couldn’t see any clutter anywhere, nothing on the tables or counter tops, no knick-knacks, houseplants or recipes torn from magazines. The whole penthouse screamed of wealth and privilege. And looked like no one actually lived there.
“Your hair’s much longer now.” Declan poured some amber liquid from a tall glass decanter, then replaced the stopper.
“My hair?” I ran a couple of fingers through my ponytail. They instantly got caught in a tangle. It had been quite an elevator ride.
“It used to be past your chin, not touching your shoulders.” He poured some tonic into the glasses.
I remembered, back during those summer months with him when I was 18. I had worn my hair s
horter, sometimes with a headband or in two ponytails. Now my hair was much longer, largely due to neglect. I hadn’t had time for haircuts during the past couple of years, hadn’t done much more than pull it back. But at the salon yesterday they’d loved it and refused to cut more than an inch or two.
Declan strode leisurely over to me with our drinks, the ice clinking against the glass. He looked frustratingly composed and put-together. Of course he still wore all his clothes, tall and gorgeous in an impeccably tailored dress shirt and dark jeans. Self-conscious, I tried to finger-comb my locks.
“Don’t.” He looked at my nervous hands. I stopped. “I like it like that. It reminds me how I fisted my hand in your hair and spanked you.”
I flushed, suddenly embarrassed as a schoolgirl. His dirty words brought another rush of sensation between my legs.
He handed me a drink, then crooked a finger under my chin, tilting my head up until I met his eyes. “You look amazing.”
I couldn’t help but blossom under his praise, a soft flush blooming in my cheeks. I suppressed a smile and looked out at the view again, taking a sip of my drink. He’d made it strong. I set it down on the granite countertop. Being near him was intoxication enough.
He stood next to me and I could feel his heat. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted, exactly the way I’d dreamed of for so many years. And now it wasn’t just a fantasy. He was standing right there, close enough to reach out and weave my fingers through his hair, kiss him on his full, sensual mouth.
I kept my hands by my sides, cleared my throat and fidgeted on the stool.
“What were you doing down there in the bar?” Declan asked in a low, level voice.
“Waiting tables?” My voice came out breathy and nervous. He waited for more explanation, a dark look in his eyes. I shrugged. “I’m not good with a lot of time on my hands. I had a hard time waiting today.”
“You were impatient?” A dangerous smile played on his full lips.