Stirring slightly, she slid her hand over my chest and nestled into me, her soft skin and curves making me instantly hard. This morning I decided that she needed to wake with an orgasm.

With a stealthy hand, I found my way to her sex and began a slow caress, drinking in the way she parted slightly for me even as she slept. With a deep, sexy moan, her lips opened but her eyes stayed closed as she started to move against my fingers, taking me in, rubbing her clit against me.

“That’s right, baby,” I whispered and she moaned again in response. Her pussy grew slick with my attentions, my fingers starting to slide in and out, her breathing growing more rapid.

“Ahh,” she cried, her eyes slowly opening, her cheeks rosy pink as I circled her swollen clit. Massaging her breasts, kissing her nipples, stroking her sex, I brought her right to the brink.

“Come for me, gorgeous.” She complied without any hesitation, thrusting her pussy toward my finger as I plunged in deep, feeling the quiver and shudder of her walls as she spasmed in ecstasy.

“Declan!” She looked at me wide-eyed, breathless and slightly shocked.

“Good morning.” I smiled down at her and kissed her full lips. I wanted to wake her like that every day, starting her off rosy and wet.

She giggled and stretched against me languorously. No hurry, no need or desire to be anywhere but right there. I felt like that, too. For the first time in who knew how long—could it be ever?

“Well, that was quite a way to wake up!” She grinned at me, content as a cat with a canary.

“Hungry?” I asked, playing with her golden locks. “I can order room service.”

“Starving.” She nodded against me. Rolling to the side but not breaking contact, I grabbed the phone and ordered us a whole bunch of everything. I didn’t want to leave the hotel room any time soon. We had the gala at the Met tonight, but before then I wanted Kara and then some more Kara after some Kara.

“I think I’m in a fairy tale,” she sighed with happiness.

“Do you like New York?” I liked that smile on her face, so radiant and real.

“I love it! It’s so completely different from home, but it’s so wild and fun.” Turning to me, she suddenly asked, “What’s home to you?”

“What?” I couldn’t help but tense up. What did she mean?

“What feels like home to you? Here in New York? The penthouse in Billings?”

I didn’t know how to answer. Home. What did that mean, exactly? I had the penthouse where I kept my stuff, other places I knew well and felt comfortable. But home?

“I don’t mean to pry.” I could feel Kara grow shy, shrinking back into herself.

“No, it’s fine.” I reached my arms around her again and kissed her, letting her know with my body even if I couldn’t find words to express the complexity of my thoughts.

“I don’t even know where you grew up,” she mused, tracing a finger along my chest.

“Montana.” I gave my pat answer, good enough for almost anyone who’d ever asked me that question. But Kara was that one in a million who wanted to know more, all of it.

“Declan, I know you grew up in Montana.” She smiled, reminding me of how it used to feel with her in the barn, those nights back when she was 18 and I was 21. We’d talk and kiss and I’d hold her and never want to let go. She did know a lot about me. Her fingers traced, her lips kissed my tattoos and scars as if trying to read all of my secrets. And for once in my life, I wanted to tell them.

I cleared my throat. And I told her, about how I was born in Billings but moved all over the state. Sometimes my mom and I crashed with a friend of hers, or sometimes she’d pull together enough cash for an apartment. Meth always stole it from us, though. Before long everything would be gone and we’d be out again, showing up on someone’s doorstep with our bags in our hands. I hated the look on their faces the most, the judgment, the resentment. As if I had anything to do with the whole mess, as if I wanted to be their burden.

Then there was the fire, a small one but if that was small I couldn’t imagine what people considered big. It was everywhere, in the middle of the night. Everyone got out in time because, after all, it was just a small fire. But it was enough. My mother landed in jail and at 12 I got kicked into the foster system. One home after the other, I’d bumped around during my teenage years like a pinball in a giant machine, finally hitting the jackpot when I landed in a juvenile detention center.

Kara listened to it all, lying in the crook of my arm, her leg over mine, her palm on my chest over my heart. She nodded her head from time to time. When she turned her face into my shoulder I felt the wetness of her cheek. She’d cried while listening, but kept quiet, maybe worried about disturbing or embarrassing me.

I kissed her on her head and she let it out, sobbing against my neck and wrapping her arms around me. Soothing her, holding her, it felt like I was getting some of it out, myself. As if her sadness unlocked some of my own.

“Oh, Declan.” Kara wiped her cheeks and kissed my face. “So you never even met your father?”

“No.” It felt strange to talk about my father. I never did.

“And where is your mom now?”

“She’s dead.” The words sounded cold and hard spoken out loud, but there was no getting around the truth of it. “Overdose, a few years ago. Bound to happen sooner or later.”

“I’m so sorry.” Kara wrapped herself around me again, giving me her softness and her warmth.

“She’d just gotten out of prison.” I gave a short laugh. “I’d just started making real money. I was going to buy her a house.” I found I couldn’t talk anymore right then, my throat real tight and hot.

Kara kissed me, more tears on her long eyelashes. She understood. Somehow, she knew what I’d gone through, what I needed. I held her to me, close.

“You’re such a good man, Declan.” I couldn’t help but laugh at that, this time with some honest humor. “I’m not sure why you’d say that, Kara. I should remind you I’m a convicted criminal, back when I was 17. Grand Theft Auto, and I’m not talking about the video game.”

“You couldn’t help it. You had it so rough.”

“No one held a gun to my head and forced me to do it.” I’d been young and stupid, drunk on a heady cocktail of desperation, hunger and recklessness. Just about every teenage boy I’d run with back then had had that same poisonous concoction running through their veins. But that was no excuse.

“You’re too tough on yourself.”

“You’re too easy on me.”

She shook her head, refusing my self-condemnation. “You’re a good man, Declan, even if you don’t believe it yourself. You were going to buy your mother a house. You wanted to take care of her, even though she hadn’t ever taken good care of you.” I hadn’t thought of it that way before. Words stuck in my throat.

Again, she seemed to sense what I needed. “And here, all along I thought you had a black heart,” she teased me, lightening the mood, her bewitching fingers moving up and down my chest.

“I remember.” I caressed her side, my hand fitting perfectly along the curve of her waist. “You gave me a piece of obsidian.”

“I can’t believe you remember that!” She sounded delighted.

“I named my company after it.”

“What?” Her fingers stilled.

“Obsidian Investors. It stuck with me, how you’d given me that chunk of rock and told me ‘It’s cool and black. Like your heart.’”

“Did I say all that? That’s horrible!”

“You added some other things, like that’s what I wanted people to think. As if you knew otherwise.” I pulled her against me tight.

“So you named your company after that?”

I nodded. “It fit me. You were right. I have a black heart.”

She shook her head against me and I could feel her fight it. She’d always thought I was more than that, always seen more to me than even I had, myself. Then I felt her sigh against me, as if her whole bo

dy deflated.

“You did break my heart, you know.” She spoke, quiet and sad though without reproach. “When you left.”

Here it was, the conversation I knew we’d have to have at some point. I didn’t know how much she knew about why I’d left, if Harlan had told her at some point, or if she’d guessed. Right then I realized she had no idea.

“I had to do it.” The words felt hollow coming out and I knew they must sound even worse to her. But at the time, I’d really felt that way. “I did it for you.”

“Bullshit.” She said it low and certain, not angry, just calling my bluff.

“Well, your father certainly saw it that way.”

“My father?” She pulled herself up, sitting now. I liked her naked, her pretty pink breasts out and exposed for me, but I missed her wrapped around me, our mingled body heat.

Tags: Callie Harper Beg For It Erotic
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