Complete Me (Stark Trilogy, #3)(33)

And I do.

Everything has spun out of control. Not just Carmela’s appearance in our room, but the whole day. Ollie’s appearance in Germany. The horrible photos. Damien’s reaction to the dismissal of the murder charge against him.

Too much noise, and it all bubbled up inside of me, so much so that when it knocked Damien flat, I’d craved the feel of a blade in my hand. I’d fought it, though. I’d fought and I’d won. I didn’t need to cut, but I still needed Damien. Do need Damien. I need to feel his hands upon me and the rise of pleasure accompanied by the sharp sting of pain. I need the release to keep me anchored. A safety valve preventing me from exploding.

I need it—and so does Damien.

“Take off your skirt.” His voice is tight.

“I—”

He cuts me off with a quick shake of his head. I get it; we’re through talking. We’re moving on. We’re leaving the trial and Carmela and the photographs behind. We’re saying f*ck you to the real world and sliding back into our bubble, which is just where I want to be.

“Your skirt,” he repeats, his tone broaching no argument.

“Yes, sir,” I say, and his slow, approving smile slides over me as intimately as his hand upon my sex.

Slowly, I reach behind my back and unzip my skirt. I wriggle my hips and use my hands to ease it down until it falls in a circle at my feet.

“Step out of it,” Damien says.

I do.

“Now the top. Pull it off. Toss it over there.”

Once again, I comply. I feel the rush of air against my newly exposed skin, the sensation even more enticing considering how sensitive my nipples are from the clamps and how heavy my breasts feel simply from the minimal weight of the silver chain. I shiver, not from the chill of the air, but from the anticipation of what is to come. I do not know exactly what Damien has in mind. I only know that I want it, and that it will be spectacular.

I move my hands to the front clasp of my bra, but he shakes his head. “No. I’ll do that.” He steps closer, and I find it suddenly hard to breathe, as if the air has become as thick as liquid. I should be used to this by now—to the way he makes my body hum, the way molecules seem to shimmer when he is near me. I should be able to draw a breath without trembling, and stand beside him without feeling as though I will swoon. But I cannot, and so help me I hope that day never comes. I am in thrall to this man, and I do not want anything about that to change.

His hands brush the swell of my breasts as he detaches the rings. I gasp, surprised by the rush of sensation back to my nipples that is at least as enticing as the initial shock of contact when he put them on. He sets the chain and rings on the bar, then removes my bra, sending shocks of anticipation shooting through me. I close my eyes, expecting to feel his mouth close over me, his teeth grazing my nipple. But that sweet sensation doesn’t come. Instead, his palms stroke down my arms and his fingers close around my wrists. Gently, he raises my hands above my head. “Keep your eyes closed,” he whispers.

Satin twines gently around my wrist before tightening, the pressure pulling my hand flush with the pillar. “What are you—”

“Hush,” he says. A moment later, I feel that same constriction around my other wrist. I try to move my arms, but they are bound in place, and I realize that Damien has used my bra to tie me to this pillar.

“Clever,” I say.

“Enticing,” he retorts. “Can I trust you not to peek?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Mmm.” From his tone, I’d have to say he doesn’t believe me, and I open my eyes to find him frowning at me. I grin sheepishly, but he says nothing. Just turns and goes into the bedroom leaving me tied to a pillar in the living room, wearing nothing but my thigh-high stockings, high heels, and a conservative strand of pearls.

I twist my head, trying to see what’s he’s doing, but it’s impossible. I listen, but I hear nothing.

I close my eyes and say a silent prayer that he’s not leaving me here. Unfortunately for me, I know damn well that I can’t discount the possibility. “Damien?”

There is no answer.

“Mr. Stark? Sir?”

Again, the room remains silent. And I, alone and essentially naked, can’t help but wonder just how long he’ll be gone. For that matter, I can’t help but wonder what he’ll do when he returns. This may be my punishment, but I know that the reward, when it finally comes, will be astounding.

“And here I thought you had more patience.” I hear his voice, but there is no Damien.

“And here I thought you were going to f*ck me. At the very least, you were going to spank me.”

Then he steps in from the bedroom, his stride long and easy, his back straight, his expression that of a man who knows damn well that the earth will rotate whichever way he tells it to. All that power, and right now it is focused entirely on me. “Frustrated, Ms. Fairchild?”

“Maybe I’m feeling a little cheated,” I say.

“I promise you won’t by the time I’m through with you,” he says with such heat in his voice that it’s a wonder I don’t melt right there, and slip out of my bond like butter. “I didn’t get to take you as far as I would have liked during our limo ride. I intend to remedy that now. Slowly, and very, very thoroughly.”

He has something in his hand, and it takes me a minute to realize it’s one of his ties. “Your eyes are open,” he says.