Unleashed: Volume 1 (Unleashed #1) (19 page)

I revved the engine too
hard once again, peeling out of the gas station.

“What’s wrong with
you?” she asked, like I was the one with the problem.

“What’s wrong with
you?” I barked.

“What are you talking
about?”

“Prancing around in
that tiny skirt. Flashing your ass for everyone to see.”

“I’m wearing my
cheerleading uniform!”

“Don’t I know it.”

“I was not flashing
my ass,” she pouted.

“Oh, you were
sweetheart, trust me. Me and every other guy in the state noticed.
Someone needs to teach you how to behave, or one of these days you’re
going to get more than you’ve bargained for.”

“Behave?” Now she
was pissed, I could tell, but I was too. And for her own good.

“Your daddy’s
sheltered you. But men are animals, let me tell you, and if you keep
strutting your stuff around like you do—”

“I do not strut my
stuff.”

“You most definitely
do. And if you want men to treat you like a good girl, you’d better
start acting like one.”

“What the hell are
you talking about? Act like a good girl? What do you think, I’m
five years old?” She was yelling now, real fired up.

“You’re acting like
it right now.”

“I hate you! Where do
you get off treating me like this? I’m not a baby.”

“You’re a spoiled
brat.”

“Am not!”

“That’s just what a
spoiled brat would say. Problem is, no one’s ever taken you across
their knee.”

“Are you insane?”

Swerving over, seething
with pent-up frustration, I took the truck onto a gravel driveway. I
recognized it without thinking it through—a short road to a dirt
parking area, the start of a few hiking trails and a favorite
make-out spot for the locals.

Three-thirty on a
school day, we were the only ones there. I pulled into a spot and
jammed the truck into park.

“What are you—?”

I grabbed her, all
thought gone from my brain. I pulled her across my lap.

“This is what I
mean.” I positioned her square across me, her ass up in the air
exposed as her skirt fell forward, her panties riding up on her
creamy cheeks.

“Declan!” her voice
sounded breathy as I raised up my hand. I brought it down hard right
across her bottom, my palm smacking sharp and rough. She gasped.

“You need this.” I
grit my teeth as I raised my hand up again. She squirmed in my lap. I
brought my palm down again, fast and hard on her ass cheek. She
gasped, loudly. My hand came down again with a smack. Her skin
instantly turned pink, warming to my hand. Her breath came fast,
turning into a pant.

“Declan!” she
called out again. Smack, my hand came down again on her rear, and
this time I let my palm linger a moment, caressing that space just
between her ass and her inner thigh, so close to her pussy, coming so
close but not touching. She wiggled and squirmed under my hand. Her
panties had slipped up, exposing the lower half of her luscious
cheeks, round and soft under my assault. Smack, I did it again,
lingering longer this time, a slight caress to that tender flesh.

She moaned. Her cheeks
pink and hot under my large, calloused palm, she gave the breathy,
needy moan of a woman who wanted much, much more. A woman getting
spanked and loving it.

Everything changed in
an instant. I stilled, my hand on her skin. She stopped squirming and
froze under my palm, as if she’d been caught. My cock pressed hard
against the zipper of my jeans, into her thigh. Nothing but the sound
of our mingled breathing, heavy, in the closed cab of the truck. But
I could still hear it, that moan.

My thumb was so close,
only an inch away from her panties. If I slid them over, what would I
find? If I pressed gently against her, my thick thumb along her sex,
would she be wet? Was she getting off on this? If I slid her panties
down, would her pussy glisten for me, aroused, slick and begging for
my touch?

I almost did it. I
almost inched my fingers over, almost slipped my thumb underneath
that cotton to stroke her wet, needy pussy. My shaft throbbed,
pounded, pressing urgent for more.

Instead, I drew back my
hand. I grabbed her hips and practically threw her back into her
seat. Without a word, I started the truck back up. A cloud of dust
rose behind us as I drove back onto the road.

I ran a hand through my
hair. Though I was going nearly 50, I rolled the window down all the
way. As if that could cool me off.

Kara sat stock still.
She’d buckled herself and then sat, frozen.

I couldn’t believe
I’d pulled over the side of the road and given Kara Brooks a
spanking. She needed one, sure, but that hadn’t been a good idea.
My palm itched for more, gripped around the steering wheel so tight I
was surprised it didn’t crack under the pressure. Her skin had felt
so warm, so right, so ready for me.

Neither of us said a
word.

But I kept hearing a
sound. My mind kept replaying that moan, the moment she’d revealed
what lay within. She wanted me, maybe in ways even she didn’t
understand. She wanted me to touch her. She liked that spanking. We’d
gotten so close, seconds away from some seriously nasty shit. And she
would have loved it. I could have had Kara Brooks coming hard on my
fingers in a matter of minutes.

I needed this girl away
from me, far away. That had gone too far. All it had taken was one
ride in a truck together and we’d nearly exploded. This had to end,
and it had to end now.

I promised myself right
then and there that I’d make it through the summer, three more
months working on her daddy’s ranch, zipped up, locked down, far
away from her. Even if I had to work my way through every slut within
a 50-mile radius to do it. This girl was a fire too hot to touch,
blue flame that would peel the skin right off. Harlan would literally
kill me. And I’d lose my job. And worst of all, with my luck she’d
fall in love and start writing our names in her notebooks circled in
big hearts.

It would be a strict
no-look, no-touch policy for the remaining three months before I
left. First thing I’d have to do was forget all about that moan.
That soft, breathy, sound of need that let me know, undeniably, how
much she wanted it.

Now

Four o’clock Saturday
and I was still out in Bozeman, helping my property manager Brett
deal with all hell breaking loose. The water main had snapped in two
and flooded the 18-hole championship golf course. We’d been slapped
with a lawsuit from a neighboring property. And now the head chef, a
guy we’d flown in from L.A., famous for his Asian-fusion cuisine,
was threatening to kill the grill cook.

Why, you ask? Do you
really have to ask? What turned otherwise perfectly sane men into
stark raving lunatics, brandishing knives and swearing in at least
two languages? A woman. The same thing that made me antsy as hell to
get the hell out of there, back to Billings, back where I could bury
myself in Kara Brooks.

Usually, I kept a cool
head, delegated and dealt, eliminating problems before they even rose
to the surface. Today, though, in my impatience to wrap everything
up, I’d blown a fuse. I’d found myself yelling red in the face at
Brett, who sure as hell didn’t need any shit from me.

His wife was due any
day now. After I’d calmed down, I’d brought them both lunch back
at their cabin. It wasn’t as massive as the clients’ properties,
of course, but those were pretty over-the-top. Members had
custom-built (from within a set of five pre-approved
aesthetically-integrated designs) 5,000 square foot ‘smart homes’
wired with the latest in home entertainment, automation, comfort and,
of course, home security. Your basic log cabin all pimped-out.

As property manager,
Brett’s place topped out around 2,000 square feet and lacked some
of the rocket ship-ready technology, but I’d had the damndest
feeling when I walked in that afternoon. The smell of bread baking in
the oven, the sounds of rockabilly playing low on the radio and
laughter coming from the kitchen. It felt like a home.

After the
tongue-lashing I’d given Brett, I’d expected to find him fuming,
probably ranting to his wife all about the asshole of an owner.
Instead, I’d walked in to see Brett with his arm around what used
to be his wife’s waist before she was nine months pregnant, their
hands up in classic dance formation, cracking each other up over her
gigantic belly as they shuffled around to the beat. Huh. Home dancing
with his pregnant wife. He didn’t care about the rest of it. They
had their own private world together, the two of them soon to be
three, and nothing else mattered.

I’d cleared my throat
and set the lunch down, apologizing for having lost my temper.

“No worries,” Brett
assured me. “Good to know you’re human.”

That’s what I thought
about as I drove back to Billings, sometimes hitting 90 miles an hour
before I’d force myself to slow down a touch. Human. What did that
mean? Had I not seemed human before?

Maybe that was a good
thing. Human was messy. The whole “you’re only human” thing
meant you’d screwed up. I felt dangerously on the brink of doing
exactly that. Kara belonged in that kitchen scene I’d walked into,
pregnant by some loyal, devoted husband, building a life and family
together. I belonged back at the club I’d gone to last night, kinky
and perverted, extracting pleasure from flesh and then walking away.

Like oil and water, I
shouldn’t try to mix our worlds. It didn’t work. It hadn’t
worked six years ago. It wouldn’t work now.

I still had time.
Nothing had started, not yet. Kara had given me consent, but we
hadn’t yet begun our bargain. I could set her free.

But how could I, when I
had what I’d most coveted finally laying before me, eager with
need? The sight of her in that stockroom, ass up on a shelf, hands
grasping the metal, thighs spread wide apart for me with her head
thrown back in ecstasy. How could I not drive 90 miles an hour back
to that? After all, I was only human.

Showered, changed and
down at the bar I saw her instantly. Across the crowded room, she
stood out like a swan in a flock of pigeons. In a skimpy,
sexy-as-hell waitressing uniform.

What the fuck?

Sure enough, Kara held
a small pad of paper, pencil tucked up behind her ear as she spoke to
a group of guys. An interested group of guys. I fought a sudden urge
to have them all thrown out of the bar. As the owner, it was within
my rights. Probably not the best idea for business, though, since
their only offence was flirting with my girl.

Not my girl, I reminded
myself, deciding to let this play out for a few minutes. So she’d
somehow started waiting tables at my bar. Why did that seem to make
sense? She was making it hard for me, as she always had. Had I really
thought she’d be sitting there at the bar, demure and docile,
awaiting her orders? Kara always bucked against me, pushing my
buttons, never making things easy. Why should anything have changed?
Just because she’d sent that text last night, it didn’t mean
she’d changed who she was. Spirited. Feisty. It drove me wild.

Back up against the
wall, I assumed my usual position. Watching, waiting, taking it all
in. I liked to keep an eye on everything and everyone. I watched Kara
flit about like a butterfly. If butterflies looked sexy as sin.

She had mile-long legs
and I could see so much of them, stretching up from her cowboy boots
to the edge of her tiny skirt. That strip of black cotton didn’t
cover her up so much as reveal, calling attention to those long, tone
legs leading up and up. Every luscious curve outlined in intimate
detail, her small waist flaring out into such generous hips and a
high, tight ass. Curves like that bordered on illegal. My thoughts
definitely crossed right on over.

“Your usual, sir.”
A waitress appeared beside me, my preferred drink offered up on a
tray.

“Thank you, Trish.”

She glowed, maybe
reading too much into my knowing her name. I tried to know the names
of everyone who worked for me, especially the good ones. She’d been
working there for over a year, reliable, moved things along nicely.

“You need anything
you let me know.” She added a little wiggle to her walk, but I had
eyes for one woman and one woman alone. Right now she was laughing at
something the bartender said. I wanted to wipe the smirk right off
that tattooed hipster’s face.

I gripped my drink
tight in my hand, watching Kara through narrowed eyes. She wasn’t
mine, I reminded myself. Not really, not yet. But I’d get my week.
For seven days I’d have her all to myself. Now I’d let her have
her fun, let her bop around waiting tables or whatever game she was
playing here. I could wait this out. I’d already waited a cruel
number of hours since her text message agreeing to our arrangement.
In the end, though, I always got what I wanted.

Across the bar, Kara
made her way to a table with two couples. I watched her from my dark
corner. She had such an easy way about her, so gracious. A natural
beauty.

I wanted her all to
myself. Screw sharing her with this room full of people, I wanted to
drag her down to a dark cave and keep her there with me for days on
end. Seven to be exact.

Kara was talking to
that group of guys again. A bachelor party, I bet, up for some
back-slapping Montana good times. They might be heading out to stay
in one of my resorts. They looked like high-rollers.

That skirt she was
wearing. What did she have on under it? Lacy scraps like last night?
Little boy shorts? I couldn’t see even a hint of panty lines. What
if she had nothing on underneath? I knew she probably wore something,
but still I wondered. Fantasized.

And that t-shirt.
Technically it was the bar uniform, one I’d found somewhat subtle
and even restrained until now. How did she make it look like a tiny
top at Hooters? She was busting out of it. Could I even see a peek of
midriff? That wasn’t fair.