Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1) (38 page)

“You’ll never be
good enough for her,” he continued, certain and sure. “This was
her walk on the wild side. But I’m going to see to it that she ends
up with someone who can provide for her. Someone who’s going to be
a good husband. Raise a family with her.”

I opened my mouth to
respond but nothing came out. All it took with a house of cards was
one gust of wind. With me, all it took were Harlan’s words.

“You telling me
you’re ready to settle down and be a husband and provider to this
girl? A father to her children? Because that’s what she deserves.
That’s the kind of girl she is. That’s who I’ve raised.”

I hated him, but more
than that I hated myself. He was right. I knew he was. She deserved
more. It was what I’d been telling myself all along. But then I’d
gone and let myself go soft, start dreaming. When people saw you a
certain way long enough it started to rub off. Kara saw me as her
romantic hero. Those luminous eyes, that lustrous hair, so soft and
precious, she’d make anyone want to be her knight in shining armor.

But I couldn’t blame
her, she didn’t know any better. I did. I never should have let
myself get caught up in all this. I should have kept my head screwed
on right. If not for myself, than for her.

“What do you have, a
hundred bucks under your mattress?” Harlan asked. “You going to
give her a nice home, Declan? Treat her real good?” He laughed,
cold and harsh. “You’re a drifter. You’ve never put down roots.
You drift around from town to town, take up odd jobs here and there.
Spend every last dime on booze and women.”

What stung the most was
that he described me to a T. I dreamed big, but what did I have to
show for it? Nothing.

“You’re not
dragging my baby into that,” Harlan continued, disgust dripping
from his every word. “I’ll tell you what you’re gonna to do.
You’re gonna pack up and leave. Now.”

I looked at the floor.
I had no one to blame but myself for getting sucker-punched like
this. This was my own damn fault. This was how dreams died, not with
a bang but with downcast eyes and a quick nod of acceptance.

“One hour. You’re
gone.”

Harlan left the
building, door open for my swift exit.

I packed my things into
a big, old duffel bag. It took me all of 15 minutes. Flipping down
the light switch, I left.

I didn’t think about
Kara. I couldn’t. I hated this, hated Harlan, hated who I was. But
I knew leaving was the best thing for her. It was the right thing to
do. I was doing her a favor in the long run. Even if it hurt like
hell.

What was I going to do,
drag her along for a dark, nasty ride? I’d snuff the light right
out of her eyes. I knew myself. I wasn’t good at this boyfriend
shit. I didn’t have the beginning of a clue how to do it. I
wouldn’t fuck up Kara by trying and failing with her. I’d break
her heart in the end anyway, better to do it now before she got in
too deep. It wasn’t like she was in love with me. She was getting
her kicks, her walk on the wild side like Harlan said. Better to end
things now before they had a chance to get real messy.

No note, no good-bye, I
started up my truck. Like the dog I knew I was deep down, I snuck out
in the middle of the night.

Now

Smashing fist after
fist into the bag, my body dripped with sweat. I’d run on the
treadmill, lifted weights, but nothing satisfied like a good punching
bag. I pounded again and again, relentless.

I’d lost control
earlier that night. For the third time over the past 24 hours I found
myself rutting into Kara like a desperate, worked-up kid. Like if I
didn’t plunge into her, claiming her deep and hard, I’d die.

Where was the dom? The
Master of Discipline? Kara made me lose my cool. She brought me to my
knees. I wasn’t myself and I didn’t like it

I pummeled the bag,
losing myself in the exertion. The discipline of working out suited
me well. Life required constant vigilance in all aspects. Mentally, I
was always prepared for a fight. Physically, I honed my body, keeping
it hard and ready to attack. I loved that surge of going at it
full-throttle, all the howling, clawing demons inside of me finally
given their shot to grind myself into sweat and exhaustion. I needed
that tonight. Back at my apartment, I’d been going out of my skull.
Two workouts in one day, same as Friday. What the fuck was Kara doing
to me?

Playing a game with a
sub had never been so difficult, so challenging. I always knew how to
get close without going over the brink. I never had difficulty with
losing control of myself. But with Kara I’d been overcome. I’d
grabbed onto her hips, dug my hands into her flesh and plunged my
huge, hard cock deep into her dripping wet pussy over and over. Even
as I’d stuffed her, she’d screamed for more. It made me hard
again just thinking about it.

I hadn’t even been
doing any hardcore BDSM with Kara. I’d gone with the oldest cliché
in the book, dressing her up as a French maid. I’d had her use a
feather duster while I’d spanked her a little. No nipple clamps
making her pant and squirm. No vibrating eggs shoved up her pussy
while I played and forced her to stay quiet. No big butt plugs worked
into her tight, virginal ass. The type of scene we’d acted out, it
was plain vanilla. It should have been boring, a little starter play
to get her used to the idea of serving me, show her how turned on she
could get by giving over control.

Instead, I’d been so
fucking turned on that I’d lost it. I’d rutted into her like an
animal. Me, who never had a hard time keeping myself restrained. And
afterwards, while she took a nice, long bath in my master suite, I’d
needed to leave my own apartment. While she relaxed in the Jacuzzi
tub, I beat my tortured body into a pulp.

“Fuck,” I exhaled.
A pleasure game of power had never been so challenging. I’d never
had to exercise so much restraint. Being in control always turned me
on. I liked having the upper hand. But a woman’s submission had
never had so much power over me, never made me lose my own control.

This was dangerous.
More dangerous than I’d thought. I’d spent a long time torturing
her, stroking her, bringing her close enough to drive her crazy. In
the process, I’d driven myself completely crazy.

I’d forgotten
completely about how earlier that day I’d told her I wanted her to
model the clothes she bought. I’d planned to sit and watch her
strut around, show me everything, then strip. Now I knew I’d never
have the patience to sit through that kind of torture. Even though
not long ago I’d come in her so hard I’d seen stars, it wasn’t
enough. I needed more.

And now she was in my
bathtub. Naked and wet, her breasts rising out of the suds, her skin
rosy and pink. I’d had no choice but to leave. I couldn’t start
following her around like a lost puppy, getting into the bath with
her because I couldn’t stand not to.

This was supposed to be
torturing her, not me. I was supposed to be the master, the
experienced one, the one pulling all the strings. Not the one pawing
at the door ready to beg.

“Time to pack it in,
champ,” a guy called out, pointing to the clock. Usually they
turned out the lights around nine o’clock on a Sunday. It was going
on 11. They’d kept the place open for me, but quitting time had to
come at some point.

I grabbed my bag and
nodded my thanks. Then I headed out sweaty into the night air. Back
in the penthouse, I showered in the guest bathroom, avoiding Kara.
Then I fixed myself a drink.

I didn’t like this
feeling, like I needed a drink to settle me down. I watched it around
alcohol. I enjoyed it, drank it, but I didn’t like relying on it. I
didn’t think much of people who needed substances to help them
function. It came too close for comfort, brought up too many memories
from when I was a kid. I’d made a promise to myself early on, I’d
never be like my mother. To this day, I kept it clean, never did
drugs, only drank coffee on the odd day I woke up groggy. I enjoyed a
drink as much as the next guy, but I always capped it at two or
three. I mastered what went into my body, not the other way around.

I took a sip and paced
over to the windows. Every surface in my penthouse screamed of Kara.
Flowers burst out from cold granite countertops. Homey pillows
corrupted the hard lines and planes of my expensive leather
furniture. Give her another day or two here and she’d probably add
posters of kittens and a bunch figurines. I could picture an angel
holding a sign “Home is Where the Heart Is.” Maybe she’d
needlepoint a square she could frame and hang in the entryway
announcing “Home Sweet Home.”

I’d seen a
needlepoint yesterday, in my property manager Brett’s house in
Bozeman. With a baby on the way, his wife had clearly started
nesting, filling their home with cozy touches. She even had a few
frames lying on the table, set up and ready to go to display baby
photos after the big arrival.

Kara was just like her.
That was the kind of life she belonged in. Six years later, she
hadn’t changed at all. Sweet, kind, thoughtful, she’d been a
virgin for God’s sake. She should be with someone like her, eager
to build exactly the kind of happy home she wanted.

I pictured the cabin I
owned in Bozeman. It was nothing like Brett and his wife’s. It was
an investment, a place I typically lent out to various business
partners. I found that staying at my houses gave people a sense that
they knew me. As if my properties reflected who I really was. But my
cabin had the same ‘homey yet rugged’ effect of all of the
property’s main buildings, with a Native American print blanket
here, a couple of antique snow shoes there. I had an army of interior
designers and decorators on my payroll and they did their jobs well.

But my houses didn’t
feel like homes to me. A frown tugged at my mouth. I didn’t like
the feeling that my impeccably-designed properties were somehow
lacking. Leave it to Kara to make me aware of what was missing. She
woke me up to the ache, the emptiness, the part of me left
unfulfilled.

I swore and sipped my
drink. Thoughts like that were bullshit. There was nothing in life
money couldn’t buy. Look, it had bought me Kara Brooks.

But then why did I feel
like the closer I got to her, the less I had her? The tighter I
grasped my fingers, the more it felt like she slipped through. And
the more I craved clutching her to me.

Running my hand through
my hair, I exhaled in frustration. It was only one o’clock in the
morning and sleep sure didn’t seem like an option. It was going to
be a long night. How could I fall asleep with Kara lying next door in
my bed? Maybe she’d have a leg kicked out of the covers, exposing a
hint of her impossibly soft, smooth skin. I could head in there,
begin at her toes and slowly travel up, caressing, massaging, making
her body respond to me before she fully awoke, her eyes fluttering,
her lips parted. She’d look at me glazed with lust, awakening
aroused and needy, just how I wanted her.

Striding over to my
bedroom, I threw open the door. She lay there on my bed like some
sort of storybook princess, sleeping so pink and perfect. She gave a
slight sigh with her next exhale, the gentle play of a smile
flickering across her full, generous mouth. Her eyelids stayed closed
in slumber, her long, dark lashes forming perfect arches against her
pale skin.

I looked down on her,
hard as a goddamned pistol, the demon hovering over the angel. I
could feel her lush curves draped all over my body, her pussy
squeezed tight around my shaft. I brought a hand down to my steel
length and cursed.

This woman was like an
infection coursing through me, cooking my brain and body in a raging
fever. My prick throbbed. Solid and at the ready, I knew I could take
care of myself, jerk myself off and come hard in sixty seconds. Hell,
this horny I probably could do it a few times over. My balls ached
and I needed the release.

But I knew it wouldn’t
help, not really. It would feel all right for a second, a blinding
flash when my mind went blank. But then everything would return to
me, the hunger, the unquenched thirst, maybe even stronger than
before. My cock needed one thing and one thing only and she was
asleep in my bed. My hand would only end up making me more frustrated
in the end.

Still she slept,
unaware of the inferno racing through my blood. Too comfortable in my
bed. Trusting the monster.

I swore under my
breath. I walked out of the room again, closed the door and paced.
What the hell had I gotten myself into? Why was I playing with this
kind of fire?

I hadn’t felt this
messed up, not in a long time. Not since six years ago. Nothing had
changed. Kara might be 24 now, but she was still the same girl. Hot
as shit but with hearts and rainbows dancing around her head.
Unicorns and fairies and all that Hollywood movie bullshit.

I’d fallen for her
hard back then, with all the idiocy of youth. I could still remember
how Kara used to make me feel, like I was a king, like the world was
my oyster. I’d been 21 and street smart and tough-talking. But
inside, that was a different story. She’d fulfilled my fantasies in
more ways than one. And I’d let myself start blending the two,
allowed myself to enter into the dream of what it would be like with
Kara, really be like if she were my woman. I’d felt such blinding
happiness that night she’d come down in my cabin, when I’d
thought I was so close to calling her my own.

Nothing turned you into
a sucker quicker than that. I’d let my guard down and Harlan had
sucker punched me good. It had all crumbled like dust, blown away
quick and fast and left no trace.

I should have learned
my lesson, but Kara did something to me, messed up my brain. Made me
start thinking about things I shouldn’t. Yearning for the types of
things I never thought about in day-to-day. Home, family. What would
it be like to have it all? That was a myth, especially for a man like
me. When you tried to reach for that apple, that’s when all hell
broke loose. Better to be satisfied with what you had than torturing
yourself over what you never would.