Entice Me (Stark Trilogy #3.11)(6)
I know I should move further back to ensure he doesn’t see me, but I can’t resist watching, and so I hold the curtain tightly shut and peer through the only gap that remains, barely larger than a pinhole.
I watch as Damien frowns, then slides across the bench seat to the compartment designed as a holding place for small personal items that might otherwise roll across the floor or get misplaced in the usually dark interior.
I know of course what he’ll find in the compartment: My phone. And a pair of lace thong panties.
He pulls out both, and even in the dim lighting I can see amusement in his eyes—along with a rising heat.
His gaze moves slowly around the limousine’s interior, and I can almost see him running through the possibilities. Is Edward taking him to meet me? Or am I right there, just a few feet away?
He eases forward, crouching as he moves toward my end of the limo. I back away, careful not to move the curtain, and sit down, my arms casually thrown over the back of the bench, my legs crossed, and a sparkly high-heeled sandal dangling from one foot.
I see his fingers first as he reaches into the gap between the halves of the curtain. Then he pushes them apart in one quick, efficient movement that has the drapery rings clacking—and which reveals him on his knees in front of me.
“Ms. Fairchild,” he says, as he looks me up and down. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“I’m very glad to hear it.” I run my fingertips down my cleavage to the silk bodice of the gown I’m wearing. Except it’s not a gown—it’s actually a robe that’s designed to look like an elegant garment. And it’s held together by one simple tie around my waist.
“You said we’d have dinner under the stars,” I say, shifting my legs so that part of the robe falls open to reveal my bare calf and part of my thigh. “I thought I’d facilitate that.”
As I speak, I press the button on the nearby console that operates the sunroof. Above us, two large panels slide open, allowing in the cool night air, and revealing a blanket of stars. We’re in the flats of Beverly Hills now, just starting to climb up toward Mulholland Drive. The ambient light of the city is softer here, and the absence of a moon allows the sky to twinkle above us, as if it’s winking approval at my plan.
He inches forward, then places a hand on each of my knees and gently forces me to uncross my legs. As he does, he grazes my skin with his thumbs. I bite back a moan as the contact sends a wild electric current straight up my thigh to my already sensitive, swollen sex.
Even in the dim light, I can see the corner of Damien’s mouth twitch, and am absolutely certain that he understands the effect he’s had on me. More, I understand that no matter what I’d planned for this evening, I’m no longer the one in charge. I am completely at his mercy, having surrendered everything when I melted at his touch.
“So,” he says as he casually brushes a kiss on my inner thigh, just above my knee. “Dinner?”
“Y—yes.” I have to struggle to get the word out because now he’s sliding his hands along my legs, easing higher and higher with such leisurely progress that I fear I’m going to scream with frustration any moment now. “I, um, had Edward stock a selection of take-out in the buffet.”
“Interesting,” Damien says, glancing over his shoulder to the sidewall of the limo where there is a hidden buffet behind the bench that runs along that side of the vehicle. It’s a match to the full bar that runs the opposite length.
He reaches for the sash at my waist and gives the bow one quick tug. Immediately, the robe falls open. Damien draws in a breath as his gaze skims over my naked body, from my sex, to my breasts, to my eyes.
And then—yes, oh god, yes—he slides his finger over my very wet, very sensitive labia, making me tremble with an unrelenting, demanding need that I feel through my entire body. The tightening of my breasts. The heaviness between my legs. The tingling of my lips. The warmth of my skin.
“Damien.” His name is a plea, but he ignores it. Instead, he lifts his now slick finger to his lips, and so slowly it’s almost painful, he sucks off the taste of me.
Then he looks at me with such desire it’s a wonder I don’t come right then.
“It’s not food I’m hungry for, Nikki,” he says as he gently spreads my legs. “It’s ambrosia.”
I whimper, as he slowly draws his tongue along my inner thigh, teasing and licking as he comes closer and closer to my center. So that when he’s finally there—when he finally closes his mouth on my sex to suck and tease and lick—the sensation is so far beyond incredible that I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to survive.
But it’s not just his mouth teasing me. With one hand, he presses against my inner thigh, his thumb grazing the soft skin between my leg and my sex. With the other, he reaches up to tease my breast, heavy and sensitive in his palm. Every part of me is on fire, and I grind against him, utterly lost, wanting more. Wanting absolutely everything.
I slide my hand up to my other breast, then mimic his touch as he pinches and squeezes my nipple so that threads of heat course through me like strings connecting every erogenous zone on my body.
His hand on my thigh shifts, and his finger teases my entrance even as his tongue flicks over my clit. I cry out, bucking up as he thrusts two fingers inside me, then sucks hard on my clit as I bite my lower lip and try to focus on breathing because I’m close—I’m so damn close—and every sensation is mixing together, building and building to what I am certain will be an explosion that rips me apart, satisfying me by completely destroying me.