Chapter 28: Carnal Urges: Chapter 28

I’m putting dishes into the dishwasher when a low voice from behind me says, “Making yourself at home, I see.”

I turn to find Declan standing at the corner of the kitchen. He’s been gone all day without leaving a note or texting me where he was going or when he’d be back, and I’m annoyed with myself for wishing that he would have.

Or is that normal? I don’t know. I’ve never visited Emotionville before. So far, it’s quite confusing.

I wish I had a map.

“You left the bedroom door unlocked, so I figured I was allowed to venture out. Was I wrong?”

Working at the knot in his tie, he lets his gaze drift over my body. I’m wearing yoga pants and a sleeveless stretchy crop top, and my feet are bare. By the hungry look in his eyes, you’d think I was stark naked.

“It wasn’t wrong,” he says, voice husky. “But don’t get too comfortable here. We’re moving.”

That surprises me. “Moving? Why? Where?”

He steps closer, pulling the tie off. When he drops it on the counter and opens the top two buttons on the collar of his white dress shirt, I get distracted from the moving bomb he just dropped.

Alarmed, I say, “Is that blood on your collar?”

“Aye.”

“Is it yours?”

“No.”

His expression is closed off. Or it could be simply calm, I can’t tell.

“Are you okay?”

“Better now. Come here.”

Holding out a hand, he waits for me to cross to him. I do, wondering whose blood is all over his shirt and relieved it’s not his.

When I’m close enough, he reaches out and grabs me, pulling me into a hard hug. He buries his face in my neck and inhales deeply.

Standing on my toes with my arms wrapped around his shoulders, I whisper, “Thank you for the roses.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And the diamond bracelet. It’s crazy beautiful.”

“Not as crazy beautiful as you. Why aren’t you wearing it?”

“I thought you might like to be the one to put it on.”

That pleases him. He murmurs, “Good girl. Maybe next I’ll buy you a diamond collar.”

He reaches down and squeezes my ass. Then he kisses my neck, sucking and biting my skin. When I shiver, he backs me up against the counter and takes my mouth, kissing me so savagely, it leaves me breathless.

His erection leaves no doubt as to where this is headed.

When he shoves up my shirt and leans down to suck on my nipple, I say, “I started my period.”

“How nice for you.”

He pulls the shirt off over my head, tosses it aside, takes my breasts in his big rough hands, and goes back to sucking on a nipple.

I groan in pleasure, arching into his greedy mouth. “I mean, I have a tampon in.”

“Noted. Now be quiet.”

Apparently, he doesn’t care about the tampon, but sex on my period just isn’t my thing. The few times I’ve tried it, it’s been so messy, I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than how I was going to get all the blood out of the sheets.

“I’ll be quiet after I say this one thing. Sex when I’m on my period doesn’t make me feel sexy.”

He stops and looks at me.

“Sorry. Just being honest.”

“Don’t apologize. Thank you for telling me. Hold out your hands.” He steps back, waiting.

My pulse starts to fly. I don’t know what he’s planning, but I can tell he’s not in the mood for any sass.

I hold my hands out in front of me, unsurprised to see them shaking. The amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins right now might electrocute me.

He takes his tie from where he left it on the counter and winds it around my wrists, knotting it at the ends. Then he pushes me down until I’m kneeling on the floor in front of him.

He unzips his trousers, takes his hard cock in his hand, and fists the other into my hair at the scruff of my neck.

Gazing down at me with burning eyes, he growls, “I’ve been obsessing about that mouth of yours all day, baby. Suck me off. If you’re good and don’t spill a drop, I’ll make you come. If not, you’ll be punished.”

A thrill runs through my body at his dominant, dirty words.

This is heaven. I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Encircling his shaft with my bound hands, I swirl my tongue around the engorged head, loving the faintly salty taste of his skin. I close my eyes and take him into my mouth, shivering in pleasure when I hear his low moan.

He cradles my head in both hands and flexes his pelvis, slowly sliding his hard cock down my throat. I take and take until my mouth is stretched open wide, and he’s all the way in.

“Bloody hell,” he whispers raggedly. “My sweet girl. You’re gorgeous.”

I swallow around the length of him, and he moans again.

Setting a slow, steady pace, I take him in and out of my mouth, sucking and licking the crown and stroking his rigid shaft, sliding my tongue along the throbbing vein that runs under the length of it. I suck and swirl and stroke, my head bobbing and my nipples aching, so turned on, I think I might be able to come from the friction of my panties against my clit alone.

He rasps, “Stop rubbing your thighs together. You’ll come when I let you.”

I whimper in need. It makes his fingers tighten against my head.

He fucks my mouth until he’s panting. Low, helpless groans work from deep within his chest. He wraps a trembling hand around my throat.

“Ah, fuck. I’m close, baby. Are you ready?”

When I make a small sound of agreement, he starts to thrust harder and faster until he’s moaning lustily, his head thrown back and his eyes closed.

He climaxes with a shout, spilling himself onto my tongue in short bursts, every one of which I swallow as I stare up at him in a lust-filled haze.

I know I’m the one kneeling, but damn do I feel powerful right now. He needed this so much, he didn’t even take the time to remove his jacket or undo his belt.

He’s still for a few moments, breathing hard, until he opens his eyes and looks down at me, cleaning him off with my tongue.

“Was I good…sir?”

He smiles.

Then he lifts me up by my armpits, turns me around to the big marble island, bends me over it, and yanks down my yoga pants and panties to the middle of my thighs.

Standing to one side of me, he slides his left hand under my hips and between my legs. He strokes my throbbing clit between his thumb and forefinger.

I gasp in pleasure.

Keeping his left hand between my legs, he runs his right hand all over my exposed bottom, his jaw gritted as he stares at it.

The slap on my ass is hard and unexpected. Feeling my flesh jiggle, I suck in a breath. Heat blooms over my bare skin. He continues to lazily stroke my clit, gazing down at me with hooded eyes, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

I say breathlessly, “Are you angry with me?”

“No.”

He spanks me again, harder. I jerk and moan. He tugs on my clit, and my legs start to shake.

“Am I being punished?”

“No.”

He spanks my bare ass again, a single, stinging blow that makes me yelp. By now, I’m panting. And confused.

“Are you going to let me come?”

“Aye. As soon as you stop talking.”

I bite my lip and close my eyes, resting my cheek on the cool marble. I’m going out of my mind with anticipation, shivering all over, my hips rocking against his fingers as he continues to fondle my clit.

“Good girl,” he says roughly, then lets loose a volley of fast slaps on my tender backside, raining them down on one cheek, then the other as he works his left hand between my legs.

I try very hard not to make a sound, but I can’t help how hard I’m breathing. I keep my eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure builds. Heat ripples through my lower body in waves, intensifying with each stinging blow and stroke of his fingers. Soon, I’m biting my lower lip with the effort to keep from moaning.

When I can’t bear it anymore and I sob his name, he commands, “Come.”

He spanks me straight through my orgasm.

I buck and cry out, convulsing helplessly. He’s growling something in Gaelic that sounds filthy, but I can’t concentrate on anything else but the pleasure exploding through my body. The carnal pleasure he’s orchestrating using only his hands.

When I finally return to myself, I’m weak, shaking all over, and feeling emotionally raw.

Declan slides his hand out from between my legs and licks his fingers. He smooths his other hand over my heated bottom. He leans down and kisses my cheek, brushing my hair from my face, and says gruffly, “Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Who’s your master?”

“You.”

His voice softens. “And who thinks you’re the most precious angel in the world?”

I swallow, suddenly fighting tears. His voice is so warm and full of feeling, and all at once, I’m overwhelmed. With a hitch in my voice, I whisper, “Y-you.”

His lips brush my ear. “Aye, baby. And all I am is yours now, so take care of this monster you’ve enslaved.”

He pulls me up and into his arms, throwing my bound wrists over his head and crushing me against his body.

We cling to each other silently, both of us breathing hard. I don’t know why I feel such an ache inside my chest, but it’s made a little easier because I know he feels it, too.

He kisses me.

It’s deep and lingering, hot and slow. I sag against him, delirious with afterglow and emotion, and let him take everything he so desperately needs from my lips.

I’m aware on some semiconscious level that we both know despite me calling him master, he isn’t in charge here, and never has been.

Instead of making me feel smug, like it would with any other man, it gives me a profound sense of humility and gratitude.

I make a silent vow that I’ll never hurt him, even if it comes down to a choice between that and hurting myself.

When he breaks the kiss, I say, “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be.”

“You seem upset.”

“Tough day at the office.”

His voice has a trace of sarcasm. Instinctively, I know he’s talking about that blood on his collar and whatever happened to get it there.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

He gazes down at me, stroking his hand over my hair. His expression is faintly amused. “Do you really want to hear?”

“If it will make you feel better, yes.”

He slowly shakes his head, then kisses me gently. “Just hearing you say that makes me feel better. Now let’s get you dressed. We’re out of here in thirty minutes.”

He bends to pull my panties and yoga pants back up my legs. I let him, resting my hands on his shoulders. When he’s got everything back in place, he tenderly kisses each of my breasts, then takes my face in his hands and kisses my mouth.

Gazing deep into my eyes, he says, “If you answer the door half naked again, I won’t be pleased.”

“Oh. You talked to Kieran?”

“Aye. And I could hear his hard-on through the phone. You’re not a child, so I’ll never tell you how to dress, but I am a jealous man. I don’t share. And I’m not Stavros. If it were me that night at La Cantina and another man slapped your arse as we walked by, he’d be dead before he drew another breath. Not because of my ego, but because anyone who disrespects you will pay a price. And if they disrespect you in front of me, the price will be especially severe.”

He’s intense and deadly serious.

It’s a testament to how fucked up our situation is that I think his words are deeply romantic.

“I hear you,” I say softly, smiling. “And I promise to put on a robe before I answer the door again if I’m in workout clothes. But you also should consider that I have a tendency to cause trouble wherever I go, and maybe dial back the Tarzan overprotective tendencies. It’ll be better for your blood pressure.”

He quirks his lips. “Aye, you are a bloody troublemaker, that’s for sure.”

I tease, “But you knew that going in.”

“It was the Tinker Bell tutu that gave it away.”

His grin is sudden and blindingly beautiful. The man is so handsome, it hurts.

“Can I ask why we’re moving?’

“Every gangster and his brother knows where I live now. It’s not safe here anymore. If it were only me, I’d take my time relocating, but I’ve recently acquired some precious cargo I won’t take any chances with.”

“Aw. How sweet. Call me cargo again and see how long it takes before your nose gets broken. You can ask Kieran, he’ll tell you.”

Amused by my tart tone, he exhales a short breath though his nose. Then he slaps my ass, grinning.

“Get a coat and shoes on.”

I bat my lashes at him and hold up my hands. “I’ll put a shirt on, too, if you’d just untie me. Sir.”

He murmurs, “Bloody little smartass,” and undoes the knot in the tie.

Then he gives me a quick, hard kiss and turns away. His tie dangling from his fingers, he walks into the living room, picks up a remote control from the big glass coffee table, clicks the television on, and switches to a news station.

As I turn to leave the kitchen, headed to the bedroom to get dressed, a male reporter speaks in somber tones about the gruesome discovery of another headless body at the city dump, this one believed to be the man known to authorities as the leader of the local clique of the transnational gang MS-13.

I freeze. Goose bumps form all over my arms.

MS-13 was the gang who chased us from the airport. The gang Declan said would’ve killed us if they’d caught us.

Were they also the gang responsible for murdering his boss, Diego, and leaving his beheaded body at the landfill?

I think of the tattoo Declan has inked over his heart, and the goose bumps on my arms spread over my entire body. “Vengeance is Mine,” it reads.

Maybe that’s not only part of a passage from Biblical scripture.

Maybe it’s more like a mission statement.

When I turn back to look at him, he’s standing motionless in the middle of the living room, watching the news report with a grim, satisfied smile.