Claim Me (Stark Trilogy, #2)(91)

I hang up, then realize that the only person I care about that I haven’t yet heard from is Ollie. I almost mention that to Damien, but I don’t. As far as he’s concerned, Ollie is at the top of the list of suspects in the leak, and the lack of communication would only fuel that fire.

Then again, considering how brilliant and observant Damien is, I’m quite certain that he’s already noticed that Ollie hasn’t made the effort to check on me.

I don’t think Ollie is the leak, but I can’t deny that my feelings are a little hurt.

“Do you want more popcorn?” Damien asks.

I roll sideways to face him, and just stare, drinking in that gorgeous face and the eyes that see me better than anyone. “Damien,” I say.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I smile. “I just like saying your name.”

“I like hearing it.” He reaches over and strokes my neck above the collar of his shirt.

“Damien,” I say again.

“Yes?”

“Would you mind very much if we skipped the movie? I have something else in mind.”

“Do you?”

I get out of bed and hold out my hand, then put a finger to my lips. “No talking,” I say. “Not until we get back in the bed. Those are my rules. Okay?”

In the spirit of the game, he nods. I grin, take his hand, and pull him to the bathroom.

It’s at least as impressive as the one in Malibu, but I’m not interested in the multi-jet shower or the humongous closet or even the heated towel rack. All I care about is the insanely large tub. I turn it on and let it start to fill. Then I return to Damien and slowly, wordlessly, I begin to undress him.

It’s a delightful process, because I allow myself a kiss with each tiny bit of skin that is exposed. His shoulder. His arm. His pecs. A tongue flicking across his nipple. A long lick above his navel.

And then there are the jeans that come down so slowly, and I brush my lips over his hip. Over those tight, sexy muscles of his lower abs. And his penis, erect and ready for my kiss when I peel down his briefs.

He doesn’t break the rules, but when I close my mouth over the head and taste the salty, musky flavor of him, his fingers clench in my hair, and that is as potent a reaction as him crying my name aloud.

I taste and tease and explore his cock. I stroke and lick his balls. I explore every inch of this man whose body I have come to know so well, and who knows mine with equal intimacy.

And I take immense satisfaction at his hand clutching the glass shower stall, because I know that without that support he would topple over, and that it is me who has brought him there.

I don’t let him come, though, because that’s not part of my game. Not yet. But I continue my exploration of kisses until the tub is full and Damien’s eyes are so heated that I know I will be thoroughly f*cked.

The thought makes me smile.

I have added some bubble bath to the water, and now I step in, then hold out a hand to him in invitation. He follows me, and though this is clearly my game and I have been calling the shots, I realize soon enough that Damien has reached his limit. It’s his turn now, and when he grabs me by the waist and pulls me toward him, the violent movement sloshing water out of the tub, I do not protest.

On the contrary, I spread my legs in anticipation, and I’m rewarded when he settles me on his lap. I shift a little, using my body to stroke him, then cry out in surprise when he grabs my hips and settles me firmly and deeply on his cock. He grins, then lifts a finger over his lip. Gloriously wet and incredibly turned on, I lean forward, relishing the pressure of his cock inside me and the sensation of his pubic hair against my clit.

I begin a slow, steady rocking, the movement designed to drive us both crazy, and if the expression on Damien’s face is any indication, my plan is working to perfection.

Again and again the pleasure builds and the only noise is the sloshing of the water and the slick sound of our bodies meeting. That sound alone is a turn-on, and it makes me that much hotter, that much more excited. And as I ride him, Damien’s hands on my hips and his strong arms helping me to piston my body on his rock-hard cock, I drink in this sexual symphony, and I look deep into his eyes as we both silently, quietly, explode in each other’s arms.


The next morning I wake up alone and immediately slide out of bed, planning to go find Damien. The sound of voices, however, makes me pause, and I double back to the closet in search of something to wear.

As in the Malibu house, Damien has filled a closet for me. I pull on a black T-shirt and a denim skirt, then head toward the living room to see who’s here.

What I see makes me stop short. Damien stands shirtless in the center of the room. He wears gray sweatpants tied loosely around his hips. He’s balanced on one leg, his arms outstretched. I am behind him, and I can see the muscles in his back as he moves his arms in slow, controlled motions. He is power and grace and it is only after my chest starts to feel uncomfortably tight that I realize I am actually holding my breath.

I suck in air, and Damien puts his foot down, then turns and smiles at me. “Tai chi,” he says, without waiting for me to ask. “It keeps me flexible. Come on in. Go ahead, Charles. You were saying?”

The sight of Damien had given me tunnel vision, blocking out everything else around him. But now my vision expands and I see Charles Maynard on the steel and leather couch, an array of papers spread out on the coffee table. The room is flooded with light from the wall of windows and that—along with seeing Damien—makes me smile despite all that has happened.