“Fuck, Kara. What are you doing to me?”
“Declan,” I sighed, completely full and satisfied. He pulled out and untied my wrists with one swift tug. Then he locked me in his embrace as we rolled to the floor.
“I’ll never get enough of you,” he murmured, kissing my cheek, holding me against him tight. Panting, sweaty, naked, entwined, we belonged completely to each other.
CHAPTER 8
Declan
Kara lay against me, the gentle rise and fall of her chest in sync with mine. All sweet cream and honey, this woman. She should never wear clothing. It was a crime to cover up such a masterpiece.
Last night had been so intense, the feel of her giving herself completely to me, submitting. How turned on she got as I spanked and then took her ass, how tight and hot. I’d nearly blacked out when I’d come. She had as well. We’d both lain there panting and I bet neither one of us could have remembered our names, the date, anything other than how good we felt together.
Afterwards I’d taken her into the bath and massaged her, caressed her, made her feel so good. That’s all I wanted to do, take care of her. The way she looked at me with those wide, adoring eyes. And I could trust it, I knew I could, because it was the same way she’d looked at me back in the day when I had nothing. An old pickup truck the only possession in my name and she’d still looked at me as if I were a king. She made me feel like I was one, and I wanted to use everything I now had in my power to make her feel like a queen. My queen.
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.