Claim Me (Stark Trilogy, #2)(26)

But not yet. This is Damien’s show, Damien’s game. And he is playing by his rules tonight.

Soon, he has withdrawn his cock from my vagina and his hand from my clit. I am bereft, lost without his touch, and I turn in his arms, intending to beg, then grateful to realize that I don’t have to, because he’s pulling me to him once again, demanding that I rise up, that I let the water do the work, that I wrap my legs around him and sink down deeper and deeper on his cock.

His hands on my ass support me, and I gasp in surprise and pleasure as he slides one finger down to our connected bodies, then rims my anus with a finger slick with pool water and my own arousal.

“Everywhere, Nikki.” There is a rawness in his voice. A need that seems to edge close to desperation, and as he speaks, he thrusts forward with his hips, at the same time pulling me down, impaling me hard against him even as his finger slips inside my ass.

I am impossibly full and the erotic sensation of having both his cock and finger inside me is almost more than I can handle. But Damien is relentless, and the force of his pounding has edged us backward so that my back scrapes hard against the pool’s edge and the water is as wild as a stormy sea.

“Forever,” he growls. His voice is rough, his actions more so. His thrusts are deep and violent. He is pounding into me, thrusting me wildly against the edge of the pool, my bare back scraping against the stone coping. Between my already sore sex, the assault on my back, and the tender flesh that his finger is so brutally invading, yes, he is hurting me.

I bite my lip because I don’t want to cry out. I don’t know why he needs this, but I know that he does.

Before he was gentle. Even his spanks were inflicted only for the purpose of pleasing me. This, however, is about Damien. Damien taking. Damien needing. It is me that he needs, and I give myself willingly. I am no stranger to pain. It gives me control, something tangible to hold on to. And I can take Damien’s pain and pull it tight inside me like a precious thing.

I think I understand what Damien needs. Not the pain, but the control. He needs to claim me. Maybe he can’t grab hold of the ghosts from his past that have returned to haunt him, but he has me. Right now, I am his to touch and possess. His to claim and use.

His. Simply Damien’s.

His release comes hard and fast, and I wrap my arms tight around his neck until the last shudder rips through him. He softens and slips out of me, first his cock, then his finger. I ease off him and find my footing, leaning back against the edge of the pool and breathing hard.

After a moment, he opens his eyes and looks at me. One moment passes, then another. And then I see the storm approaching. “Goddammit,” he says. “Nikki. I—”

“No.” I stroke his cheek. “No,” I repeat. “Don’t you get it? I want to be there for you. All of you. Whatever you need.”

For a moment, he is silent. “Did I hurt you?” he finally asks, his voice flat.

“No.” It’s only a little lie. Already the sharp pain has passed. I’m sore, yes, but it’s a pleasant feeling. A reminder of Damien. “No,” I repeat. “You felt wonderful.”

I don’t think he believes me, but he leads me to the steps and out of the pool. We towel off in silence. When I’m dry, he picks me up without asking and carries me back inside. He places me gently onto our bed on the third floor then gets in beside me.

He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. Instead, I move to snuggle against him. I know that he is still disturbed, as much because he thinks he hurt me as because he lost control. I, however, feel the opposite. He’s lost control with me. And that is almost like sharing a secret. The thought makes me smile, and I close my eyes and sigh deeply. Sore, yes, but sweetly content.

I’m on the verge of falling asleep when his soft words wash over me.

“My father intends to go to the dedication.”

“Oh,” I say. It’s all that I can manage, though I am fully awake now, and I rise up onto my elbow to face him.

“I won’t be there. Richter was a balls-out bastard, and I won’t support the decision to honor him, not even in the smallest way.”

“Of course you won’t go.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“I’m glad you have the balls to stand up to your father. I don’t think I could ignore an edict from my mother.”

“I bet you could,” he says. “You’re stronger than you think.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I search his face. “And the tennis center thing is all that’s been bugging you? Truly?”

“Yes,” he says.

Am I imagining the hesitation? Am I so used to Damien’s secrets that I’m seeing them when they’re no longer there?

Yes, he said. And I decide to believe him. At the very least, he has opened a door. But Damien Stark, like this house, has many rooms, and I can’t help but wonder how many doors remain shut and locked.





6


I wake in the morning to the scent of brewing coffee and fresh-baked croissants, and when I peel my eyes open I find Damien beside the bed holding a tray, which I immediately identify as the source of those mouthwatering scents. “What’s all this?” I ask.

“A woman heading off to the first day of a new job deserves breakfast in bed,” he says, setting the tray across my lap as soon as I’ve sat up and scooted back.