“You’re tied down, Kara,” I reminded her of her helplessness. She whimpered, a mixture of fear and arousal. “I know what you need,” I soothed her. “Let your master give it to you.”
master.” With a shudder and a sigh, she surrendered, relaxing as I pushed the lubricated rubber tip in and past her tight ring. I kept going, pushing the giant plug into her. Her eyes flew open and her breathing came fast, her wrists pulling at the restraints.
“Take it,” I commanded, harsh, and she threw her head back and cried out. I pushed the plug all of the way in, deep up inside of her, full and thick and still not as huge as my prick. “That’s it,” I praised her, reveling in the sight of the base of the black plug sticking out the edge of her asshole. She’d taken it all in for me, to train for my cock.
“Good girl.” I stroked and praised her and she whimpered, tossing her head to the side. Her slit wept with juices. I brought my face down between her legs. My feast was about to begin.
Settling in, I brought my hands underneath her ass. I could see the plug in her deep, knew the vibrator kept up its work inside her pussy. She was moaning now, her fists balling up in excitement. She knew what I was about to do and she waited, coiled up, desperately needing my release.
I knew I could take my time, tease her, flick and lick everywhere but where she wanted it most. But I couldn’t. Some other time maybe I’d torture her all night, maybe even leave her days without coming. But tonight? I needed it. I needed to feel her coming on my face as much as, if not more than, she needed to do it.
“Let me make you come, Kara.” Plunging my tongue into her, I sucked hard on her clit, working her nub, sucking and lightly biting and swirling with my tongue. She started screaming, pulling on her restraints, then burst into flames for me, melting on my tongue, spasming and shuddering and screaming and coming, wave after wave of pleasure all for me.
I didn’t move at all, lapped it all in, then started all over once it had subsided. I licked and sucked, slowly building her arousal all over again, making the quaking and quivering and shivering all come back.
“Yes, yes!” she called out, her head tossing back and forth. I wanted to make her forget everything, her name, her past, her future, everything and anything other than my tongue on her sex. I knew the nipple clamps provided one type of pleasure, punishing her sensitive tips, a visual and physical reminder of her submission. But it was the other type of pleasure I wanted for her now, the rush of sensation as they were removed, all the blood flooding back into her erect nipples.
Swiftly I took the clamps off, then growled back into the heat of her pussy, “Come for me.” I plunged my tongue in again and she complied, responding to my order, coming on my face in complete abandon, screaming wild with ecstasy.
I licked and lapped, the taste of her sweetness intoxicating me, her cries and pants, screams and moans still sounding in my ears. Kara. Flushed, panting, mine. I never wanted to let her go.
The next morning, I’d never felt so rested. The clock on the bedside table read 10:00. 10 a.m? Me, the rancher’s daughter always up at dawn or before? I looked out the window into full sunlight, brought my hand to my mouth and laughed. Apparently deep inside I was a total hedonist, worshipping pleasure with the best of them.
Best of all, Declan still slept beside me. He looked so beautiful, if a tough, muscle-bound man could be called that. The dark black sweep of his eyelashes, the definition of his cheekbones, the light dusting of stubble. Perfectly sculpted. With his eyes closed and hair rumpled, he looked younger than his 27 years. I could still see the kid in him, though that child had been long gone. I knew Declan had had to grow up fast.
At my stirring, he began to as well, reaching for me first as if on instinct. We spent a while like that, lounging in bed. I don’t know how I got started on it, but I found myself telling him all sorts of silly stories from the diner, the time a trucker serenaded Dot with his guitar and a song about her pretty brown eyes, the day mean old man Henderson’s wife finally stood up and told him off in front of everyone and Dot cracked a smile.
He stroked my hair and held me close and I could feel the laughter rumbling in his chest as I rested on him. I could have spent all day like that. As much as I enjoyed New York and wanted to explore every inch, nothing felt as good as time with Declan. We didn’t have much of it left. Today was Friday, then all we had was Saturday and the big gala at the Met. Sunday we flew home.
There was a lot left unsaid as we lay there together, happily entwined and talking about nothing. I could have asked him what he wanted to happen after Sunday. Did he ever want to see me again? Did he want to keep this what it was—a week together filled with enjoying the city and hot sex? Or did he want to take this further, seeing each other back in Montana and, who knew, maybe flying off to Vietnam?
And then there was the question of what had happened six years ago. After we’d spent those long, intense nights together, my teenage infatuation taking deep root in my heart, after he’d held me like he’d never let go. I’d walked away from his cabin on cloud nine one night, then woken up the next morning to a barren, grey apocalypse. I’d thought he was it, my one and only true love, and after that night there was no denying we were meant to be together forever. Instead I’d never heard from him again.
Until now. So, rationally, the question was a good one. What happened back then, Declan? Why did you leave me?
But here’s the thing about being in a bubble: it felt real nice. Protected, warm, not even a gentle breeze to ruffle your hair-do. Lying there with Declan in the sumptuous hotel bed, wrapped in his arms and our easy chatter, I didn’t want to burst that bubble. I wanted to drift up and away with it for as long as I could. At least until Sunday. So I let myself enjoy it.
That afternoon he had some work to do. I had a city filled with sidewalk cafes and museums and shops selling anything and everything you could possibly imagine. As I walked around, citified in my black jeans and a black T, my heart felt light.
Maybe this would all work out? Declan and I might have it all. We might make good on every promise in every love song ever written, keep on after this week and then forever in a fairytale happily ever after. It all felt too good to be true, a country girl like me living out a fantasy week in this amazing city. Declan had taken me to a Broadway show and restaurants where we dined next to celebrities. Tonight we were headed to a gallery opening—two words I’d never even had occasion to say before, never mind attend—and then we had VIP access to a new nightclub.
But maybe it wasn’t too good to be true? Maybe it was just the beginning? Maybe we were about to launch an entire future together, travel the world and get married and have a whole bunch of beautiful babies while the fires of our love burned ever-bright?
Funny thing about pie-in-the-sky dreams, it was hard to make them last. I was mostly a happy person. I found myself humming and singing to myself more times than not. But in my experience, it made a lot more sense to feel happy over the little things. The way a morning sky looked bright and clear. A neighbor sharing some ripe apples. A catchy song coming on the radio that you could sing real loud to when no one else could hear. But when you let yourself go and started dreaming big, letting your adrenaline flood you with that pumped-up feeling of invincibility? Seemed to me that always hit a hard stop.
My balloon popped when I got back to the hotel room. Declan was out, which I expected. He had to meet up with some people and he’d texted me about it, explaining he’d be back by six to take me to the gallery.
I’d seen it the moment I’d stepped into the hotel room. On the countertop over by the bar lay a thick cream envelope. It didn’t look like an ordinary envelope. It was smallish and square, plus the paper was about five times as thick as a regular banker’s envelope, practically cardstock.
I picked it up and it weighed down the palm of my hand. In calligraphy, black ink, the word “Declan” swept across the front. No address, just his name. It had the look of something professionally done, yet also looked intimate, as if someone had penned it back in the 18th century.
It was open. I wasn’t sure if it had ever been sealed. I didn’t see any evidence th
at it had been ripped open. Perhaps it had been delivered directly to Declan, or handed to him by the sender herself. Somehow I knew it was from a woman.
I couldn’t help it, I had to see what was inside. It wasn’t even a question of rational thought, no decision led me to slip the card out of the envelope, it simply happened.
Holding the thick cream square in my fingers, first I noticed the embossed name along the top: Courtney Piper Lord. My hand started shaking. Then I read the calligraphied note:
Can’t wait to finish what we’ve started.
I threw the card down as if it had bitten me.
Finish what we’ve started? What exactly had they started together? I know Declan had mentioned they’d been working together on the charity party, how helpful she’d been. But this wasn’t the sort of note you sent to a business associate. I couldn’t see some investment partner guy sending him this sort of a card.
No, this was seduction. A lover’s note, eluding to hot nights in the past, promising more to come.
Damn it. I should not have picked that up. I would have been better off in ignorance, happily getting ready for a night out on the town, showering and dressing, full of anticipation. Blissful in my ignorance.
Now I felt furious and disgusted, with Declan, sure, but most definitely with myself. Why was I always such an idiot? Why did I insist on looking around me and seeing Candyland when reality was anything but? Declan had never promised me romance. He’d been straight and honest from the start. He was a dom and I was his sub, paid for a week’s service.
It was all on me if I’d gone and fallen for him again. If I lay on his chest and pictured flowering meadows and marital vows, that was my own idiocy. If I quivered with delight over the apple charm necklace he’d given me, that was simply due to my own naiveté. I was sure he had his personal assistant buy it for me, like he did for all the women in his life.