Unleashed #4 (2 page)

She’d said it,
earlier that evening. She’d said she loved me. I took another swig
out of the bottle of whiskey. Easy lies, tripping out of her pretty
mouth. She’d probably said that to a dozen men, maybe more. I’d
been about to say it to her and I’d never once said it to another
living soul.

My gaze darkening, I
looked out over the hotel room but didn’t see it. Deep down, I’d
always known this would happen. I didn’t believe in happy endings.
This shit, this base betrayal, I believed in that. This fit with my
worldview. The basics of supply and demand. Once what I had to offer
was no longer needed, once she found a better supplier, everything
else burned.

I bet it was Bruce.
That fucking twit. Tilting the bottle up, I made quick work of it.
Bruce with his football jersey and college degree. The fucking
hometown hero. He’d texted her the other day. He’d probably
sweetened the deal, paid her bills, given her a sure thing. Bird in
hand, as the saying went.

I’d been about to
help her. I was going to do everything for her, buy her anything she
wanted, do everything I could to make her happy. I’d do it now for
her if I still could. In fact, maybe if I rushed, if I called her and
told her I’d wire her some money, maybe she’d come back?

Oh, hell no. I closed
my eyes. This wasn’t going to happen. I wouldn’t get pathetic,
wouldn’t become the sucker who cried his eyes out when he got left
behind, begged to not be left alone. I was Declan Fucking Hunt. When
someone betrayed me, I got even. And the best way to get even in this
situation would be to not care at all.

And what would Declan
Hunt, entrepreneur playboy bachelor do if he didn’t care at all?
He’d head out to a club, the kind that served his basest needs.

If I was the beast in
this story, the bad guy the girl didn’t ride off with into the
sunset, I might as well play the part. Drink. Fuck. Send myself into
mindless oblivion. When you couldn’t be happy, at least you could
forget.

§

“How may I serve you
tonight, sir?” A girl kneeled at my feet, her luscious breasts out
and exposed with nothing but pasties on her nipples. She wore a
collar with an empty latch, seeking a master to clip his leash to her
and force her to do his bidding. In this New York BDSM club, anything
could happen.

I sat with my drink in
hand, considering my options. I could trace those plump, moist lips
with my thumb, maybe make her take my cock out and suck it there in
the main room where anyone could come see. A small crowd would
gather, watching her go down on me, hungry and needy, while I forced
her head onto my engorged prick. That might get me off, her wet, hot
mouth on me while others watched. I bet she’d like it, too. She’d
like me using her that way. Many subs craved public humiliation.

She liked awaiting my
commands. I could see it in her breathing, could tell in the way her
nipples peaked with pleasure simply from being at service. Just
offering herself up to me turned her on. I brought my hand to her
hair, smooth and shiny. I could picture cupping her head, forcing her
down, the people around us watching. Another dom might take advantage
of the scene I created, forcing his sub to touch herself as she
watched my cock get sucked. Another might make his sub kneel and take
his dick, too. Or a separate side-show might start, two girls playing
with each other, sucking each other’s tits, rubbing each other’s
clits for everyone to watch.

I could see all of that
play out in this woman kneeling before me. She stayed there awaiting
my orders, her eyes downcast in true sub fashion, not even looking
her master in the eye. She knew how to play the game with the utmost
of expertise.

“Not tonight,” I
growled. I withdrew my hand. Disappointment flickered through her
pretty face. She’d wanted to get used by me. But she kept her eyes
downcast as she stood up and left me alone.

I had every reason to
throw myself into this scene, grind myself into the physical, whip
and torture and force submission. The coiled tension inside me was so
palpable I practically had steam rising off of my back. That sub
could probably sense it and desperately wished I’d take it all out
on her.

But I didn’t want to
do it. You couldn’t do what you couldn’t do. As much as I wanted
to prove to myself that there was more to life than Kara, that she
wasn’t my one and only, this wasn’t how I was going to do it.
Sitting there, unable to assume my typical role, was only making it
worse.

So I left, alone,
cloaked in restless, unsatisfied anger.

There was only one
thing to do. I needed to get on a plane. I had to know, had to see
her with him. Maybe if I saw her in his arms I could sear the image
into my brain, use it like a brand to burn through all my memories.
Maybe then I could walk away.

But this wasn’t over
yet. I needed it to end, but not like this, not with a note and a
whimper. I would head to Montana. This needed to end big.

Kara

Private planes rocked.
Last-minute coach travel via multiple flight legs including a red-eye
and long layovers sucked. It took me the better part of 24 hours to
drag my sorry ass back to Billings. Airplanes and airports, waiting
in endless lines and trying to doze on hard chairs, I had a lot of
time to reflect on how far I’d fallen and how fast. Not to mention
the flights cost me about a thousand bucks I didn’t have. To sit in
the middle seat the whole way.

On the final leg,
reality returned full-force in the form of a screaming baby. I didn’t
know which I found more upsetting, the way that she never stopped,
just ratcheted up her distress to ever-higher-pitched octaves. Or the
way that she reminded me of how stupid I’d let myself get over
Declan. It had only taken me one week, just one week of nasty,
no-holds-barred sex, and I’d gone stark raving mad over him. I’d
foreseen our whole future together, practically named our grandkids.
I was surprised I hadn’t started picking out our wedding china,
maybe even taken the liberty of sending out “save the date” cards
for our nuptials.

When I took the shuttle
bus from the airport to The Stanyon, Declan’s hotel in Billings, I
barely breathed the whole ride. My hellish trip home had taken so
long, he might already have arrived via private jet. No luggage lines
for him, no delays, just Declan in hot pursuit. I practically tiptoed
to the valet kiosk out front to request my truck.

I couldn’t have felt
stranger standing in the lobby, liked I’d just dropped down from
Mars. So much had happened since I’d met Declan at the restaurant
there a little over a week ago. The mundane nature of the scene
around me only made it feel more surreal. A lazy Sunday afternoon
with a man checking in at the front desk and a couple of people
reading or tapping into their phones on richly upholstered chairs in
the lobby, no one paid me any mind. Nothing unusual here. It was as
if I’d totally made up the past nine crazy days.

I saw Declan around
every corner, felt his breath at my neck from behind. But he didn’t
appear. A valet brought Bessie around and I tipped him with the last
few dollar bills I had in my wallet. I climbed in and drove off with
fat, stupid tears welling up over how smoothly it had all gone.
Instead of rational relief, I felt torn up and dumb all over again.
Of course Declan hadn’t been standing there waiting for me, rending
his hair and gnashing his teeth asking why, oh why had I left him? He
was probably glad I’d gone. It saved him money and a bit of
trouble, too, having to get it through my big, thick scull that he’d
really meant it when he’d offered me a one-week bargain. One week
meant one week.

I guessed I should feel
glad that at least I’d been spared that humiliation. Had I not seen
him kissing another woman, I’d have spent the night with him, then
turned to him the next morning full of expectation and hope. He would
have sneered and rejected me and, who knew, that might have felt even
worse than this? Hard to imagine that, though.

The drive back to the
ranch only made me feel more and more ridiculous. Passing acre after
acre of land, wild grasses and cattle, dilapidated sheds and
make-shift fences with barbed wire and weathered stakes, I saw a
wasteland. How had I fooled myself into thinking Declan and I could
live happily together in the same world? Once upon a time he’d been
a lowly ranch hand, but since then he’d shot out into the
stratosphere of wealth and power. I’d stayed behind in Montana
where we ran neck and neck with Wyoming for least populated state in
the continental US. Compared to a place like New York City, it looked
like a bad joke.

My hometown didn’t
even have a population of 3,000. No, we tapped out at 2,700. The
diner I worked at was a 35-minute drive away from my ranch. And that
was our local diner. With new eyes, I laughed at myself, but not
kindly. After the hustle and bustle of New York, the culture,
sophistication, anything and everything you could ever dream of
available 24/7, no wonder no one wanted to live out where I did. I’d
been exiled in Siberia my whole life, grinning like an idiot about it
because I didn’t know any better. I knew better now.

That night, you’d
still think I could have slept. All that emotional upheaval plus long
hours of insane travel should have knocked me right out. Instead, I
lay in my bed listening to the crickets chirping so loud it sounded
like they were lying there in bed with me instead of outside in the
middle of a hot June night. Even with the window open, no breeze
fluttered my curtain. Just the clatter of the crickets. It felt like
prison.

I lay there wide awake,
crushed, empty, quiet tears sliding down my cheeks. I hated feeling
sorry for myself, hated feeling this pathetic, but boy did I wish I
had someone’s shoulder to cry on. Here I was, back at my family’s
ranch, only I didn’t have any family left. My grandparents had
passed years ago, and now both my parents. The couple of more distant
relatives I could dredge up for Christmas cards hadn’t exactly
welcomed me with open arms once I’d explained the little problem of
my bankruptcy.

I was surrounded by
neighbors, friendly though far-flung. Through the diner I knew a ton
of regulars, locals, other waitresses. I’d lived in the same small
town my whole life. But I didn’t know anyone I could call with this
burden.

Sometimes I missed my
father so much. A lump formed in my throat. He’d always been my
best friend. He’d been so reliable, such a rock, the classic
no-nonsense, waste-no-words rancher. He’d looked after me and given
me a sweet, sheltered life. And now I knew he’d chased Declan away
six years ago. Funny, if I’d found that out last month I would have
felt upset, as if he’d robbed me of something precious. Now I saw
the wisdom in his actions. He’d known what he was doing all along.

Now everything had bust
open like a cracked egg. And I’d never even realized all that
protected me was a thin, fragile shell. Joke was on me.

Tomorrow, Monday, I’d
meet Lymon Culpepper at three o’clock to sell him my ranch. We’d
texted and I’d agreed to meet him after my shift at the diner. I
had breakfast and lunch, our busiest meals, from six to two. Then I’d
meet the Toad Man and sign everything away.

Declan’s old cabin
stood out my window in the darkness, silhouetted in the moonlight. On
another evening I might have romanticized it, seen it as a beautiful
reminder of my lost love. But that was then and this was now. In this
new reality, my heart just ached.

I needed to figure out
how to stop this crushing heartbreak and move on. I needed a new me,
hardened and jaded, brash and bold. I needed to emerge from the fire
stronger than before, forged steel, never able to break again.

But right then, at that
moment, I felt melted. How could he have done that to me? How could I
have let him?

The worst of it, the
real kicker, was the deep, slow burn I still felt lit within me. Like
the pilot light on a gas stove, from the outside it might be cold to
the touch, but deep inside it still burned. As I lay there in the hot
darkness, I had to admit the cruelest joke was that I still wanted
him.

I should be angry, sad,
resentful, anything other than what I was. Yearning. I’d never feel
Declan’s hand on my skin again, never be wrapped up tight in his
powerful arms. I’d never feel the touch of his mouth or his wicked,
entrancing tongue.

I hated myself for it,
but I couldn’t stop the ache. I wanted him so badly I bit my lip
and tasted my own blood. That was good. It reminded me that this was
going to hurt. Getting over Declan, picking myself up and moving on
was going to hurt like a bitch. But I was going to have to be strong.
Just when I’d thought I was done with all that, ready to fall back
into the down comforter of love, I realized I only had a bed of
nails.

There was no easy way
out, no prince charming. Real life didn’t always give you options
and rescues. Someday life might get easier for me. But not right now.

I thought I’d felt
heartbreak before when Declan had left. I realized I’d known
nothing about it. I’d been a girl, a sweet, sheltered young thing.
When he’d left the first time around, a lone, puffy cloud had
appeared in my sunny, blue sky. I’d felt some drizzle. This time
around, I’d entered monsoon season.

That deep, smoky
intimacy he’d introduced me to, the intense pleasures he’d coaxed
out of me with the velvet of his voice and the stroke of his hand.
I’d felt like I was truly getting to know him, the real Declan, the
tough, tortured soul who’d fought his demons and won, defying the
odds to end up on top of the world. I thought I’d seen his
vulnerability, and his growing attachment. Unlike my teenage crush
before, now I’d known a woman’s love, the promise of deep
fulfillment from real connection and intimacy. After the limitless
high of that joy, it felt like I might suffocate in pain.