Unleashed: Volume 2 (Unleashed #2) (20 page)

Now I have the week to
torment her the way she tormented me. She’s new to all of this,
innocent, but she’s so responsive, so eager. This week, she’s
going to submit to me in every way. And she’s going to love it. I
won’t rest until I make her beg, again and again. When a good girl
should say stop, Kara’s going to beg me for more.

Kara

It feels like a
fairytale, swept off to New York City in a private jet, a gown
tailored to me for a black tie gala. Celebrities and Broadway shows
and opulence beyond my wildest dreams.

But if this is a
fairytale, Declan is the beast. Dark, powerful, commanding every
fiber of my being. He torments me. Blindfolded, bound, quivering and
panting, I don’t recognize myself. I should fight it.

But I love every second
of it. I crave it. I never know what he’ll do next. Each level he
takes me to, I find myself begging for more.

The rational part of my
brain knows this all has to crash and burn. Our two worlds can’t
mix. This is nothing more than an arrangement, bound to end after the
ball at the end of the week. Like Cinderella, only Declan is no
prince. There isn’t going to be a sweet happy ever after here.

But I can’t turn away. When the
flames lick and burn so good, I can’t resist. All I can do is strip
down and offer myself into the heat.

NOTE:
Unleashed:
Hot Alpha Romance
is a four-volume story launching the
Beg
for It
series about the hot, alpha males in Declan's
family and the battles they wage with the strong, sexy women who make
them finally meet their match.

Chapter
1
Kara

I woke up early Monday
morning, buzzing and humming. Not with my usual type of activity, the
urgency of getting to work, the daily need to Get Stuff Done. This
was different. This buzz came from within, my mind and my body.

Part of it was because
I was about to go to New York City. Declan and I were going to fly
there today. I’d been on a plane exactly twice in my life. The
biggest city I’d ever spent time in was Boise, and now I was off to
The Big Apple!

But the other part of
it, the real reason for my buzz if I were completely honest, was what
we’d be doing while we were there. Sure, we’d do some sightseeing
and that would be super fun. He’d mentioned a black tie gala at The
Met. He might as well be taking me on a space shuttle trip to Mars
for all I knew about it. I had no idea what to expect, but I bet it
would be amazing.

But really, we would be
in New York to fulfill our bargain. We’d spend the week drowning in
debauched sex. I’d serve him, doing whatever he wanted, submitting
to his discipline, bound to Declan. I had a feeling he’d been going
easy on me last night, having me dress up as a French maid, making me
work for him. It made my knees buckle, but I knew he had much more in
store for me, much darker fantasies.

I should be freaking
out. I should be packing up my things and planning my escape. I
shouldn’t be slick between my thighs, thinking about how much I
loved his punishments. Stretching, I looked down and remembered I was
wearing Declan’s t-shirt and boxers. They smelled like him. I
inhaled, deep, and like an animated film I could almost see myself
surrounded and intoxicated by the aroma, as if a sorcerer were
working a magic spell on me. I thrummed and tingled and that ache
began again deep inside of me.

Last night he’d had
me begging for him, out of my mind, squirming and panting as I wore
next to nothing pressed up against his huge mahogany desk. The cool,
hard wood had bit into the exposed flesh of my soft ass as I offered
myself to him. I’d kept my palms on either side of me on the desk
as I let him stroke and caress my skin. His fingers had slid in and
out of my pussy so slick, so easy, I’d never been so ready.

He’d made me say
dirty things for him, tell him how I was wet for him and beg him to
let me come. No man had ever done anything like that to me before. I
never could have imagined doing it, never mind loving it, craving it.
I’d felt so out of control, hurtling downward on a roller coaster,
the rush and thrill of it overwhelming every thought until all I
could do was put my hands up and scream.

And then he’d sent me
into the bath, telling me I could play with myself. But in his
gravelly, commanding voice, he’d said, “You may not come. You
only come for me.” Oh my. I fanned myself. I was clearly out of my
league.

Up into the bathroom, I
washed my face and brushed my teeth with the toiletries he’d sent
to me Friday night. So much had transpired since then.

The clock on the wall
said it was six thirty. Back in real life, the day would already be
in full swing. Our foreman, Bill, and the other ranch hands would be
up and about, starting in on the day’s chores. I’d already be at
work, serving up the smiles along with breakfast at the diner.

I got back into bed.
This was a week of debauchery, after all. And what would a wanton,
fallen woman do? She’d climb right back into the king-size bed and
luxuriate in the softness of the sheets, the fluffiness of the down
comforter.

Where was Declan? I
didn’t think he’d climbed into bed with me last night. Was he
already at work? There was so much that I didn’t know about him.
And now we were traveling to New York, into a whole next level of
wealth, glitter, power and privilege. What kind of circles did he
travel in when he was there?

What sort of women did
he spend time with there? Because I wasn’t stupid, I knew Declan
had to always be surrounded by women. Who did he play with when he
was in New York? All I really had to go on were TV and movies, and
based on those there seemed to be two kinds of women in that city:
rich, cultivated and educated at the finest private schools,
sophisticated and worldly beyond measure. Or models. I hoped very
much we didn’t run in to any of them while we were visiting.

Agreeing to this
arrangement with him was such a huge risk with such crazy high
stakes. If it ended badly, the crash and burn would be so
devastating. When it ended, I reminded myself, not if. When it was
over at the end of the week. When that happened, I was going to need
to walk away with my head held high and never look back. The only way
that would happen was if I kept some emotional distance in the days
ahead. I had to stay aloof, remember this was a transaction. I could
play with my body but I needed to keep my heart firmly under wraps.

Back six years ago I’d
been such a buoyant balloon, so high off of him and the feel of his
kisses, his hands. Those nights together, just a handful, had felt
like the world. Back as a teenager, in his arms I’d soared with
unfettered rapture. I’d seen moonbeams and stardust shooting
overhead, a huge, shimmering promise of joy. He’d tilted my whole
world on its axis and I’d welcomed it with open arms.

Then he’d left
without saying a word. No note, no goodbye, he’d just up and gone.
I’d walked around his empty cabin, opening up the cabinets and
drawers looking for something to prove it wasn’t really happening.
Like in one of those drawers I’d find a secret love letter tucked
away, giving me directions where to meet him and telling me how he
couldn’t stand to be apart from me, not even for a minute.

The joke was on me. I’d
fallen for him hard, but he hadn’t felt the same way. To him, it
had been a few nights of fooling around, not enough to make him stick
around. I knew I didn’t have the experience he was used to. I’d
probably bored him to tears. While I’d been exploding in fireworks,
he’d probably been checking his watch, counting the minutes until
he could dash.

The crash after that
high had been as bad as any junkie’s, maybe worse. I’d been so
lighthearted before he left. I’d been a naïve kid. That phase had
lasted a good, long time, I had to admit. My father had done a good
job of sheltering me, maybe too good a job. The thing about a good
shelter was the shock once you emerged out of it. You didn’t always
have the skills and background to know how to deal with the storm.
I’d had to learn it all the hard way.

I’d been a complete
idiot. I’d sat in Declan’s empty cabin, crying. I’d cried a lot
more after that, too, moping and dragging myself around like I’d
been hit by a bus. My father hadn’t seemed to notice. That had felt
good, for the most part. I felt pathetic enough without my father
getting annoyed and frustrated with me on top of it. I felt enough of
that about myself already. But sometimes I did wish I had a mother
around, someone who might notice that my skin had faded into a gray
pallor and I’d lost about 15 pounds because everything tasted like
sawdust. Maybe I could have cried with a mother, instead of alone in
my room or while folding laundry or watching some sappy movie showing
me exactly what I didn’t have.

Six years ago I’d
fallen completely off the deep end and it had taken me a long while
to swim back to shore. I’d been so crazed with lust and what my
teenage brain had interpreted as love that I’d blinded myself to
reality. That hadn’t worked so well for me. I hadn’t worked the
poison out of my system for years. I think I still had some left in
me now.

You’d think all those
memories would get my guard up. The intensity of the pain. The way he
could flip the switch in him, making me feel the heat of the sun,
then suddenly turning off to leave me on the dark side of the moon,
alone. You’d think I’d be panicking over the huge gamble I was
taking, once again placing myself within his power so completely. I
wasn’t any more experienced. I was just as vulnerable, if not more
so. I had much more to lose now.

And I did have alarm
bells ringing in my head. Make that emergency evacuation sirens
blaring. But the problem was, the rest of the noise strumming through
me, electric and wild, was even louder. It was like trying to think
rationally while inside a raging inferno. You couldn’t do it.

Normally, I was a good
girl. I worried and worked. But not right now.

Right now, in Declan’s
huge bed in his lavish penthouse, I brought a finger down and slipped
it under the elastic waistband of the boxers I was wearing. True, I
didn’t have any more experience now than I had back in the day. But
Declan sure made me want to get it. I wanted the experience, with
him. Here in Declan’s bed he worked his dark magic on me like
always, just his scent and the memories of what he’d done to me
depriving me of all reason.

Exhaling with a sigh, I
found my sex and began to stroke myself. I moved into my own rhythm,
taking my other hand up to my breasts. Pushing the t-shirt up to give
myself access, I ran my hand along my curves, brought my fingers up
to play with my nipples. I remembered how he’d caught me doing
this, back in the day. I’d let myself into his cabin, my need for
him overwhelming any sense of decency. I’d been writhing on his
bed, hands like they were now, up at my breast and down between my
legs. His scent held the same power over me, then as now. In his bed,
between his sheets, surrounded by his musky, masculine smell, I’d
come so hard I’d shuddered and quaked and screamed out his name.

I brought my finger to
my clit, coaxing tremors from deep within. My breathing started
coming faster. We’d both caught each other that summer, seen things
we shouldn’t have. I remembered how I’d seen him, back in that
same cabin, getting his cock sucked by that slut in town. I’d been
so shocked. But I’d felt lust, too, watching the carnal, primal
servicing of Declan’s needs. And jealousy. I wanted to be the one
to do it.

I wanted to be kneeling
between his legs, his thick thighs open for me to worship his cock. I
wanted to take him in, one hand around his base feeding him into my
hot, hungry mouth. I wanted to lick and suck, looking up at him from
time to time to show him my devotion and see how turned on he was. I
wanted to blow his mind. I wanted to make him breathe fast and hard,
to feel his pleasure build under my licking and sucking. See him
throw his head back and call out my name as he shot all his hot come
down my throat.

Shuddering, about to
climax myself, I took my drenched fingers away from my pussy. “You
may not come,” he’d told me last night.

I pushed the t-shirt
down over my breasts. Panting, I obeyed his orders. And in this
Alice-in-Wonderland
world, my obedience turned me on even more. The sweet torture of my
voluntary submission. I had no idea why it made me pant even more
with lust, but it did.

Where was he? He might
be out already at work, or at the gym. But he might be in the
penthouse, just a room away. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet.
Maybe I could find him and we could start the morning off right.

Opening the bedroom
door, I saw him at once, asleep on the couch. Against the huge
expanse of shiny, black leather, he lay there fast asleep. His head
rested on one of the throw pillows. I had to smile. So they’d
served a purpose after all, more than simply annoying him. That had
been fun, getting to him like that. I’d see if I could get to him
another way now.

I moved toward him,
admiring him like a sculpture on display in a museum. A blanket lay
pooled on the floor. He wore nothing but form-fitting briefs. The
hard planes and ridges of his muscles looked carved out of granite.
Every inch of him rippled, defined. And those tattoos. Of course he
still had them, but to see them again. I felt like those designs had
been tattooed into the very fiber of my being. I could draw them in
my sleep.

What did he do to keep
himself in such killer shape? He worked as a businessman now, no
manual labor that I knew of, yet he looked even bigger than I’d
ever seen him. He looked huge, all raw power, a sleeping lion. I
drank him in, scanning the ink, following the patterns they formed
around his bulging biceps, along his massive shoulders, down teasing
by his chest. I needed to run my fingers and tongue along every line,
angle, edge, ridge, taste all of him. One leg down off the couch, his
thick thighs splayed open in invitation.