Sweet: A Dark Love Story (7 page)

And what else could it have been besides an infatuation? Checking on him occasionally would have been a sign of concern and an acknowledgment of what her father had done to destroy his life.

They hadn’t openly communicated in any fashion, it wouldn’t have been strange for her to occasionally look him up on Facebook or Google to see if there had been any mention of him. Several times per week had crossed a fuzzy line for which she had no name, but she had a feeling if she probed too deeply, she would find an uncomfortable answer of her own.

Had they been drawn to each other even then? It seemed unlikely. He had been consumed with grief from his wife’s death and the loss of his daughter, and she had never doubted that. He’d grieved too deeply and sharply in his rare public appearances, and she was convinced he’d been a thousand times worse in solitude. Whatever had prompted his obsession with her, she didn’t think it had to do with anything so fanciful as a shared infatuation. More likely, she had just been a convenient target.

For her part, it must have simply been natural to have a crush on him. She had little else in her life, though Clay and Claire had already been part of her world at that point, and she had been living with them. Declan had always left her feeling confused and a little breathless, and when she had spent so much time learning about him and fixating on him, thinking about his suffering and crying sometimes at night alone in her bed as she imagined he was doing the same, it was only natural for an impressionable teenage girl to develop a star-crossed crush.

But she had outgrown it, and so it meant nothing. Why was she even thinking about this?

That question had an obvious answer. She was thinking about it because her butt was still sore from where he had spanked her with the flogger, and she ached deep inside her core from his possession earlier in the day and this evening. The man she had once crushed on could now crush her at a whim. Of course she was thinking about him and ruminating about everything she knew, searching for weakness or a way out.

Feeling better about the situation after that epiphany, she crawled under the covers, not bothering with nightwear. Her body was achy and out of sorts, and the idea of slipping on clothes was intolerable.

Even the soft Egyptian cotton sheets against her skin felt unbearably rough as she laid in bed and curled into a ball, doing her best to shut down her brain and focus strictly on sleeping. Perhaps it was a cowardly escape, but it was the only out available to her, and if she dwelled on her circumstances any longer, she would turn into a blubbering mess, which would serve no useful purpose and would certainly do nothing to liberate her from Declan’s captivity.

Declan flinched when the bookcase squeaked slightly, but heard no sounds of her stirring. After a moment, he pushed it open the rest of the way and slipped from the narrow passageway. There was a passage to every room, all accessible from the master suite. It had been a feature included in the house, which he had purchased from an eccentric old man who had claimed he’d kept his mistresses in each room, all living harmoniously with each other on his private island.

Considering he had been withered by cancer and on the verge of dying when Declan had made his acquaintance to purchase the property, he would have to take the old man’s word for it. Something in Reginald’s eyes had convinced him the stories weren’t just silly boastfulness. At the time, he’d had no plans to turn the island into anything remotely approaching his own personal harem.

He’d simply needed a place to escape from the world and grieve his losses in peace. There was no peace for someone who lived in the public eye, and though his moderate fame had been due more to his business acumen, Hilary’s active involvement in charities had ensured both he and she were well-known faces among the elite.

Her sensational murder at the hands of Joseph Evans had catapulted him into a realm of infamy of which he wished he had remained blissfully unaware. How he had hated the unceasing scrutiny, the false sympathy, and the hint of avarice in prying eyes as the people surrounding him poked greedily for information or picked through his exposed emotions, as though they were prizes to be gathered and stolen away, rather than real, raw, human suffering.

The island had become his sanctuary, and had also become the place where he had formed his plan to get revenge and fill the gaping hole left in his life after the loss of Hilary and Cordelia. Had he ever questioned the rightness of his plans before? Had he ever considered that perhaps he was directing his anger toward the wrong person? They were unsettling questions, and he regarded them as he stood over her, watching Kat sleep. The wrinkles in the bed linens indicated she had tossed and turned, but she appeared to be in a deep sleep now.

He stood over her as a silent sentinel, wondering why he felt so protective, and just who he thought he was protecting her from? The only other person on the island was himself, and while he’d like to think he didn’t want to hurt her, that wasn’t true. He wanted to devour her, to suck up all of her goodness and her innocence, to reduce her to something he used for pain relief and sexual satisfaction. He wanted to ravage and destroy her.

But that wasn’t all he wanted. He also wanted to protect her and coddle her, to cuddle with her and support her. It was the strangest confliction of desires, and he was no closer to having sorted them out now that she was in his possession than he had been for the last four years he’d stewed over his plan, orchestrating each move carefully, and manipulating events so she would come to him.

Had he really thought the dark desire filling him would be lessened by her proximity? Shouldn’t he have foreseen it would only worsen his obsession, feeding his addiction to visualizing and fantasizing about the dark scenarios racing through his head? Had he really thought having her throat between his hands would remove the temptation to steal her breath, or regulate it only on his control and to his satisfaction?

If so, he’d been a deluded fucker.

His lip curled with self-deprecation as he acknowledged that fit him to a tee. He
had
been a deluded motherfucker, but even knowing he had been wrong, and that having her wouldn’t quench his dark needs, but would only feed them, he couldn’t regret initiating the plan and having her in his house.

She was at his mercy, and he had to ensure that he kept some for her. He could lose himself in her cries of pain and pleasure, but he could also lose her in the process. What good would it be to cling to the empty shell of her if he destroyed whatever it was that made him respond so forcefully to Kat?

With a tired sigh, he slipped into the bed next to her. His lips twitched as he imagined her outrage when she woke to find him beside her. As expected, she had wedged the door shut against him, so it was going to be an unpleasant surprise for his Kat when she discovered there was no means of escape from him. Wherever she went, he would find her.

More importantly, he wouldn’t allow her to escape to start with. Right or wrong, she was his now, and though it only fed demons roaring inside him, rather than soothed them, he still surrendered to the bliss of holding her, tightening his arms around her as she curled against him in her sleep, displaying a trust that she would never show when she was awake.

The thought cut through him, but he didn’t know how to change that. He had lost any chance to woo her gently, but that had never been what he’d wanted from her anyway. From the time he had really become aware of her and focused on her, he’d always wanted to own and control her completely.

Now, he matched his breath to hers, holding in an exhale until she released hers. As soon as their breathing was in sync, a sense of peace filled him, and he was able to battle through the insomnia that usually troubled him, sinking into a restful slumber within a few moments, his arms still holding her tightly, determined to keep her even in his state of unconsciousness.

***

Declan woke up before her, and the sunlight streaming through the window made her dark hair shine like polished onyx. He wrapped several strands around his fist, rubbing the locks between his thumb and forefinger. It was oddly soothing, but even more arousing
.

He wanted to see all that dark hair falling over him and onto his pillow as she rode him, but he knew they weren’t there yet. Soon, he hoped she would be completely compliant and give in to the attraction she felt without resisting or trying to do what she considered the right thing, but Kat needed more breaking first.

He was in a tender frame of mind though, and in no mood to break her at the moment. Last night had been dark and thrilling, but today he wanted to show her another side. With that in mind, he slid down the bed as he watched her face, doing his best not to disturb her or wake her yet. His lips curved as he imagined the first few moments after she woke. He hoped to see a sleepy smile of welcome, but was far more likely to see the angry side of her.

She stirred slightly when he moved to position himself between her thighs, the creamy alabaster inviting his hands to run down the supple lines, though he resisted the urge. He wanted her in the perfect position, and he wanted her to wake with his face buried in her cunt.

He finessed her legs apart without waking her, sliding his hands under her buttocks. She stirred again as he lifted and tilted her pelvis slightly, opening her fully to him. Declan used his thumbs to part her folds as she let out a sleepy sound that indicated she was close to waking completely.

He abandoned finesse in favor of speed, deciding his best chance of a warm reception was to have her already slick and on the verge of coming as she woke. With that goal in mind, he buried his face into her pussy, taking a moment to savor her sweet scent, which made his mouth water.

“Wha…?” she said in a voice still thick with sleep.

He didn’t bother to answer, at least not verbally. Instead, Declan showed her what. His tongue darted into her opening, pressing as deeply as he could before sweeping upward, savoring the rich taste of her exploding on his tongue.

Her hips bucked against him, and there was no resistance in her movements when he homed in on her clit. He sucked and flicked his tongue across the little bud before shaking his head, roughly abrading the underside of her hood, and not the sensitive tip directly.

She gasped suddenly, and he knew she was awake. Determined not to give her time to stop him or push him away, he increased his pace, lapping her sweet cream as he lavished attention on her clitoris. When he drew the nubbin into his mouth and sucked firmly, she leapt off the bed for a moment and came with a hoarse shout.

He eagerly lapped up every bit of her release, savoring it like it was a fine wine. No, like it was an addictive drug, one that made him feel blissful, and of which he could never get enough to satisfy him.

He waited until she was completely relaxed underneath him, though her cunt was still twitching, before licking her again. He was surprised when she remained silent, other than breathless moans and eager whimpers, depending on what he was doing to her.

She didn’t speak as he ravished her for two more orgasms, and her first words as the pleasure from the third one faded were, “Please, no more,” uttered in an exhausted whisper. “I can’t have another.”

He grinned. “You should know that’s a challenge to a man like me, baby.” Those were the only words he managed to form before the tempting pink slit in front of him demanded his mouth’s full attention again. Fuck, she was sweet, with a hint of salt and unique tang that was all her own.

He liked pussies. He liked everything about them, whether they were bald or hairy, tightly closed or naturally parted to reveal the delicious clit inside. He was a bit of a pussy aficionado, just like all heterosexual men. He’d seen quite a few over the years, having been a man-whore before marrying Hilary. He hadn’t been with a woman since his wife’s death, but he had watched plenty of porn over the last couple of years as his libido increased when his grief abated somewhat.

He’d seen all kinds of pussies, but he didn’t think he was being biased when he concluded she had one of the prettiest pussies he’d ever seen, no matter how she presented. Whether he was holding her lips spread open to reveal every detail, or her labia were touching, forming a straight line with just the tiniest hint of her clit peeking out, he liked both views.

When she was aroused, as she was at the moment, her clitoris a swelling, pouty little bud commanding attention as she wept cream, which glistened on her sweet pink flesh, she was fucking gorgeous. His mouth was too busy consuming her stunning pussy for his gaze to take in the sight, but he knew from their last few encounters just what she looked like when she was aroused in every stage—whether she was just starting to warm up, only partially aroused, or close to coming. He craved all stages and couldn’t get enough of her delicious slit.

When he had elicited a fourth orgasm from her, despite her protests and insistence that she couldn’t do it again, he lifted his head, wiping his unshaved cheek and mouth on one of her thighs. He looked down with satisfaction at her shining pink hole, and the way her pussy remained opened to him even when he released his hold on her labia and was no longer stretching her. He was doubly pleased to see a bit of pinkness on her thighs, left there by the scrape of his stubble.

He didn’t quite understand why it was such a turn-on, but he got hot enough to come just at the thought of leaving marks all over her perfect flesh. He’d seen every inch of her body now, and he hadn’t found any imperfections.

She had a birthmark on the back of her left shoulder, but to him, it was simply a cute eccentricity, not a flaw. It was so exciting to see her pale flesh spread out before him and to contemplate how he would leave a mark on her each particular time he had the opportunity that his cock jolted as if trying to jump from his body and act independently.

He slid up her body, which remained surprisingly pliant. Or perhaps not surprising, he thought with a twitch of his lips, considering he had basically reduced her to a pile of goo from multiple orgasms. Once he was settled over her, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

She hesitated for a moment, but when he pressed his tongue to the seam of her lips, she yielded with a sigh that made her whole body shudder. He didn’t know if it was one of surrender or satisfaction, and he didn’t want to probe deeply enough to find out. Surrender would trouble him.

That made no sense, considering he wanted to break her resistance and control her, but he didn’t actually want to break her. Did he? He dismissed the uncertainty and questions with a shrug of his shoulder, deliberately forcing those thoughts from his mind.

His tongue swept inside her mouth, and he reveled in sharing her taste with her. At first, she was slow to respond, but soon, the kiss changed, and she became more enthusiastic. He threaded his hand through her hair, pulling on the silky strands until he tugged her head back to expose her vulnerable throat.

As he broke the kiss to move down the column of skin, the darkness flared in him again. He had begun as the tender lover, but for a moment, he wanted to bite hard enough to leave impressions in her delicate skin, the kind that would last for days and remind her every time she looked in the mirror that she belonged to him.

He settled for biting gently on the arch of her throat, his dick twitching almost painfully when she shuddered underneath him and let out a low moan. He liked that his fingerprints stained her neck, and perhaps he should have been appalled by the bruising he’d left there, but it just served to turn him on even more.

He kissed his way down to her breasts, spending a few moments alternating attention between each needy little bud. His teeth and tongue alternately abraded and soothed her tender nipples, and she was soon a sobbing mess bucking underneath him. He was certain she wasn’t far from another orgasm, though she would probably insist she couldn’t accomplish that again—if she had the strength to speak.

He ensured she didn’t, keeping up the passionate onslaught as he shifted their positions so that his cock could seek out the heat of her slick folds. It required some finagling and bending his neck at an awkward angle, but he was able to drive into the hilt while still gently biting her nipples. He didn’t want to hurt the precious buds, and she seemed extremely sensitive there.