Entice Me (Stark Trilogy #3.11)(7)
“Yes,” I hear myself saying. “God, Damien, yes. Just a little more. Just a little—”
But then his mouth is gone, and I feel the shock of cool air on my sex instead of his warm mouth. I open my eyes to see that he has moved away, his head now tilted up to my face, his eyes burning with sensual intensity as he looks at my fingers, so tight now on my breast.
“Did I say you could touch yourself?”
I swallow, my hips shifting shamelessly as I search for contact that isn’t coming. “Damien, please.”
“Did I say you could touch yourself?”
Slowly, I shake my head as a new kind of excitement builds inside me. “No, sir,” I admit as I lower my hand. My whole body is suddenly hyperaware, on fire simply from the tone of his voice and the anticipation of what is to come.
“That’s twice you’ve been naughty.”
I frown, confused. “Twice?”
“I told you we’d dine under the stars. But since you took the liberty of making arrangements, now I’m going to have to cancel a reservation.”
“Oh.” I lick my lips as he reaches out a hand for me to take.
I do, and he gently kisses my fingertips before pointing to the area beneath the skylight and saying very firmly, “You want to be under the stars? There. On your knees. Elbows to the ground. Head down. Knees apart.”
I comply, then tremble violently when he presses the palm of one hand to my ass, and slides his other hand up between my legs, stroking my exposed sex. “Beautiful,” he murmurs as he thrusts his fingers deep inside me, then traces the rim of my anus with his thumb. “I like you this way, baby. Wide open for me. Ready. Do you know how wet you are?”
“Yes,” I murmur, then squeal as his palm smacks my ass.
“Naughty, too,” he says, then rubs the sting away with a gentle hand. “Can’t have that, can we?”
“No, sir,” I say, craving that sweet sting again, then sucking in a breath when it comes, the impact followed by a lingering heat that settles inside me, making me even wetter. That delicious pain getting all twisted up with the arousal coursing through me, so that with each smack of his hand, I get more and more turned on, my cunt so sensitive and needy that I think I just might die if he doesn’t hurry up and f*ck me.
“But you were a bad girl,” he says, then bends forward to whisper in my ear. “How do you think I should punish you?”
Thankfully, he doesn’t make me wait. He strokes me, fingers dipping into my cunt and then stroking my perineum in a wild and crazy rhythm that has me whimpering and begging. And then, when I think I can’t take it any more, I feel the press of his cock at my center as he grabs my hips with both hands. He starts out easy, but I can’t wait, and I press back hard against him, impaling myself on him.
“Nikki! Oh, Christ, baby, yes.”
“Please, Damien,” I beg. “Please.” I can’t manage any more words, and he thrusts inside me, again and again, spinning us both further and further into space. Harder and faster until he’s so close, and he reaches around to tease my clit and take me over with him, until we explode together, and then collapse on the floor of the limo, curled up together in a tangle of limbs.
For a moment, we lie there in total silence, just staring up at the stars that twinkle above us. Then Damien takes my hand and very sweetly lifts it to his lips and kisses my palm.
“I liked my surprise,” he says. “And I think that was one of the best dinners I’ve ever had.”
Chapter Three
It’s easy to keep the secret from him on Saturday, too. We’re home all day, just lazing around. During the day, we both tackle some of the work we’ve brought home, although I spend a lot of time not working on my proposal. Instead, whenever Damien isn’t around, I open a new browser window and search out amazing gifts for his party. Not for Damien, but for gift bags.
Since the guests are all taking time out to travel to Santa Barbara, I want to make sure everyone has something nice to go home with. And, honestly, it’s fun. Before life with Damien, the most I could offer party guests was a really kickass margarita, courtesy of my Texas roots.
Now, I can have a special thank you ready for each of them.
In the end, I come up with body lotion and custom bracelets for the women, shaving soap and designer cufflinks for the men, and tiny bottles of wine and scotch for everyone. The trick, of course, is that all the items have to be delivered by Friday so that I can put them together in the customized gift bags I also ordered. Then I’m going to pass it all off to Rachel, who’s arranged to get everything delivered to the hotel by early Friday morning.
I even have special bags for Ronnie and Jeffery, despite the fact that Syl says that she’s only going to let them stay long enough to yell “surprise” to Uncle Damien before Stella, their nanny, takes them back to their room.
What I still don’t have is an actual gift for Damien. Yes, I told Rachel that the party is the gift, but I didn’t really mean it. I may not adhere to most of my mother’s rules of etiquette, but the Elizabeth Fairchild Birthday Party Guidelines definitely apply in this case: Thou shalt always give the guest of honor a thoughtful present to unwrap.
But what?
It’s a question I’m still pondering on Sunday when we head over to the Pacific Palisades for an afternoon at Jackson and Sylvia’s house.