“Do you want me to train you?”
“Oh God! Yes!” I didn’t know why the word “train” almost sent me over the edge, but it did, my eyes closing again at their own will, the intensity of my reaction nearly engulfing me.
“Kneel down before me,” he thundered. I complied, scrambling to kneel down between his thighs, right next to his cock. “Keep touching yourself. And show me your tits.”
I worked myself, thrusting, circling, and arched my back. I thrust my breasts out to him, my nipples standing out like two dark pink buds, throbbing with need.
“Yes!” Declan jerked his cock over my tits. Hot come spurted onto them, splashing up over my aching nipples.
“Oh! Declan!” Shock and lust ripped through me and I threw my head back, my breasts toward him and came. Throbbing waves of pleasure broke up and through my body under his assault. He kept coming on me, each new hot load of come on my breasts driving me into another crest, another cry out as I shuddered in orgasm.
With a deep, satisfied groan, Declan shot his last drop out of his cock onto my waiting breasts. I sighed in release, deep, primal pleasure flooding my entire body. He sank back onto the couch, watching me. I dropped down onto my calves, feeling my wet, slick pussy against my ankles. It felt like I might slide off. I could still feel his thick, warm cream sliding down my breasts. My nipples covered in his come was the nastiest thing I’d ever seen in my life, but it stroked me deep in my core. The visceral evidence of his pleasure surrounded me, rewarded me.
“We’re getting on a plane in one hour,” he said, looking at me with wicked, heavy eyes. “I’d like to keep you exactly like that, kneeling before me, covered in my come.” I met his eyes and gave him a low smile in response. I wanted that, too.
“But I have other plans for you, Kara. We’re heading to New York for the week. And you’ve been a bad girl.”
My eyes widened, my smile fell. What was he talking about? He looked at me, intense, controlling. “You’re going to need to take your punishment. I didn’t tell you you could come.”
In the limo to the airport, Kara chattered away with excitement about heading to New York City. I liked the way she called it by its full name, not New York or the city. There was nothing jaded about Kara.
Fresh-faced in a simple ponytail, she looked luminous with barely any makeup. She’d gotten ready in ten minutes, about a half-hour shy of what it took most women I knew. She’d insisted on leaving a note for the hotel cleaning staff, telling them to bring the flowers home with them. I would have let them die without another thought. But that was Kara.
A thin, white cotton top clung suggestively to her generous breasts. With it she wore fitted white jeans and high-heeled sandals. On any other woman it would be a run-of-the-mill summer outfit. On her, I wanted to rip it off her save those heels, find out what panties she had on, until I ripped them off, too.
Last night I’d finally fallen asleep with the conviction that I was ending this. I’d take my hand out of the fire, let sleeping dogs lie and all that. I was going to send her back to her ranch with a big, fat check because terminating our arrangement would be the best for the both of us.
Then, she’d woken me up, hot, wet and begging for me and I’d changed my mind. Simple as that. It wasn’t a matter of weakening my resolve. Strong men changed their minds. Frankly, I’d have to be a complete idiot to turn this down. Kara in New York at my beck and call for the week. I could do anything with her that I wanted. And I was thinking of passing up on that opportunity? Who’d be the sucker then?
“I’ve only ever been on a plane twice,” she said sitting next to me, looking out the window of the limo. “My dad had an aunt who lived down in Texas. We visited her when I was a kid. She lived a couple hours outside of Dallas. I remember seeing all the buildings from the plane. So gigantic and sprawling, I couldn’t believe it.”
“I mean—” she paused, glancing at me, growing self-conscious. “I’m sure you can believe it. I guess you travel all the time now.”
I nodded. “More time on the road than off.”
“What’s your favorite place to visit?”
I didn’t need to think about it. “Rome.”
She gasped. “Really? You’ve been to Rome? What’s it like?”
“It’s loud and gritty and busy. You’ll be walking around and suddenly you’re next to a ruin that’s been there since Julius Caesar. And the food is…” I shook my head. How could you describe perfection?
“I’ve always dreamed about seeing Rome. And Paris.”
“Paris is more polished and refined. Every street you turn down looks like a painting. It’s gorgeous. In Rome, motorcycles do 80 through the city roundabouts. There’s more people shouting.”
“You like that.” She laughed.
“It suits me more.”
“Have you ridden a motorcycle around Italy?”
“Not yet.” I could picture her on the back of a motorcycle, arms and legs wrapped around me tight. We could explore the Amalfi coast. I’d like her in a bikini next to me on the beach, watching her curves as she played in the water, massaging her skin with lotion, sliding a naughty finger down into her sex when no one was looking but we might get caught.
I looked away and cleared my throat. “So what do you want to do in New York?”
“The Big Apple!” She clapped her hands and went on to chatter happily about the classic tourist attractions, the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty and Rockefeller Center. Funny, I had to have been to New York 30 or 40 times by now, but I’d never done any of that stuff. All business all the time, in New York I put in my hours in Midtown or Wall Street offices by day. At night I ran the circuit of fundraising galas and gallery openings where big wigs liked to see and be seen. Partnerships formed over dry martinis and fancy ice sculptures as much if not more so than boardrooms. I played plenty, too, but the types of women I spent time with in New York didn’t exactly want to sightsee.
You wouldn’t think a fortune made off of wilderness tourism would draw me to cities so often, but the larger my ventu
res grew the more I delegated. I found myself spending less and less time at my properties, more and more time forming partnerships and attracting new investors. All that happened where the money lived, and money lived in cities.
The limo pulled right up onto the tarmac next to my private plane. A luxury, sure, but one I could afford, especially since it took money to make more money. A private plane served my lifestyle, got me to three far-flung places in the same day, while also giving me the space to close deals. Especially with the tech guys, I’d found. You flew them up into the wilds, gave them a taste of it all and on the way back to reality they almost always went in big to partner up on the latest luxury site.
Kara’s eyes grew wide as a driver opened the door and escorted her out onto the tarmac. “Is that for us?”
“It’s my plane.” I couldn’t deny a certain satisfaction at the statement. I didn’t think much of show-offs, the kind of guys who flashed their Rolexes any chance they got. But Kara made me want to show off, puff out my chest, show her the man I’d become.
She brought her hand to my arm and looked up at me with gleaming sincerity in her crystal blue eyes. “I’m so amazed by you. You’ve accomplished so much. And you’ve done it all on your own.”
Thankfully, my driver continued to escort Kara, helping her up the stairs into the plane. I swallowed, still able to feel her hand on me, the weight of her words. Goddamn. Apparently I could close major million-dollar deals with financial sharks and pound it out at the gym relentlessly for hours. But Kara? She about knocked me out with a few words.
She was right, I had done it all on my own. She might be naive, but she got that. What killed me was how many rich guys thought they’d clawed their way solo to the top, too. They tended to have a huge blind spot—exactly where they were standing on their daddy’s shoulders, or getting a huge handout from grandma.