Claim Me (Stark Trilogy, #2)(107)

He says nothing, just leans in and presses his forehead against mine. My shirt is off now, his breath on my bare skin is magic. “I’m going to make love to you tonight,” he says. “Slow and sweet and as long as we can stand it.”

“That will be a very long time,” I say, as he begins to trail kisses down my neck and over the swell of my breast. Already my body is tight with desire for him. Already I can feel his erection straining against his slacks. “Take them off,” I say. “I want to feel you. I want you against me. I want you so close that I can’t tell where I end and you begin.”

He raises off me long enough to look at me. Slowly, his mouth curves into a smile. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, drawing a laugh from me.

He rolls off the bed and slowly unbuttons his shirt. I watch, enjoying the show. Enjoying even more the knowledge that this perfect specimen of a man is mine. He folds the shirt and puts it on my desk. He toes off his shoes and eases his pants off. His briefs are gray, but even in the dim light, I can see his erection straining behind the cotton. He takes them off, and I realize that I am licking my lips. Damien notices at the same time, and his soft chuckle makes me blush.

“What exactly does the lady want?” he asks.

“I want to touch you,” I say. “I want to taste you. I want to take you to heaven.”

“What a coincidence,” he says, as he climbs in beside me. “I want exactly the same thing.”

He is on his knees, and he pulls me up so that I am kneeling in front of him. Slowly, he strokes my face, his eyes hard upon me. “I want to memorize you,” he says. “Every line, every curve. The way you smell, the way you taste. I want to lock you in my memory so that I will never be without you.”

“You never will,” I say.

“Nikki—”

I expect him to say more or to kiss me, but my name hangs in the air. For a brief, odd moment, I feel a twinge of fear, but I shove it away. He will not be convicted; he will not be taken from me. I believe it. I do. But as I lie back, I reach for him and pull him down onto me, because I cannot stand him being away from me for even a second longer than necessary. “No toys,” I say, then brush my lips over his. “No kink. No games. Just you inside me. That’s all I want tonight, Damien. That’s all I need.”

His hands stroke me, his lips dance over me. “That’s all I need, too,” he says. “You, Nikki. You in my arms. You burned into my memory. You, drawing me in deep. Keeping me, claiming me.”

My hands are on his back, on the curve of his ass. My legs are parted, my knees up. I bring my legs closer so that his body brushes my skin as we move together, body against body, skin against skin.

I do not want the sweetness of this moment to end, but I am wet and ready and I have to have him. I have to feel him inside me. I have to know that he is mine and that I am his and that we are really together—and that we always will be.

“Damien,” I beg. “Now. Please, please, I need you now.”

He shifts on the bed, easing my legs apart, opening me up for him. Then the tip of his cock is at my sex, and he’s moving slowly, thrusting slowly, so maddeningly slowly, until I am certain that I shall lose my mind.

“Now,” I beg. “Damien, now. I need you now.”

“I need you too, Nikki,” he says and thrusts hard inside me, filling me, making me arch up with the pleasure that rockets through me as if we are a circuit and our joining is sending electricity spinning round and round between us.

He works a magical rhythm, and I rise to meet each thrust, my body drawing him in, my muscles tightening, my orgasm building until I feel as though I am not lying on the bed, but floating above it. Until I am no longer a woman but an explosion of stars.

Until all I am is Damien’s, and that is all I ever want to be.





25


Damien leaves early the next morning to go meet with Charles at the Tower apartment so that he can pack for Germany. I peek in on Jamie, but she’s dead to the world. I’m bummed, because I’m worried about Damien and I want someone to talk to, but I also know she needs to sleep it off.

My worries can wait.

I putter around the kitchen for a few minutes, debating between eggs or a bagel, and end up having black coffee. I can’t shake this sense of foreboding that has settled over me, and I finally decide that I have to see Damien. I don’t care if he is getting ready to leave for Munich, I need to see him one more time. I need to hold him and tell him in the light of day that everything he told me last night changes nothing. That I believe in him.

I need to tell him that I love him.

I change quickly into a peasant skirt, a pink tank top layered over a white one, and flip-flops, then limit my hair and makeup routine to lip gloss and mascara. I don’t know what time their plane is scheduled to leave, and I cannot risk being late.

Since I don’t know if the paparazzi are clinging like leeches to the front sidewalk, I use the back route to the parking area. Yes, they might swarm my car as I exit the gate, but with any luck I’ll be down the street before they realize it’s me.

As it turns out, I’m lucky. There is a lone photographer camped out on the sidewalk in a lawn chair. I manage a tight grin. As far as I’m concerned, he’s in league with the devil, and I can think of little that is more hellish than sitting outside during a sweltering summer in the San Fernando Valley when the beach and cool ocean breezes are only a few miles away.