Have Me (Stark Trilogy, #3.6)(14)

“Frustrated, Mrs. Stark?”

“You know I am.”

He says nothing, but I swear I can hear his smile. This is what he wants, to take me to the edge, to keep me hovering there, and then—when he finally sends me spinning into the abyss—to be there to catch me as I tumble back to earth.

He lifts his hand from my body, and I whimper a bit.

“I could stand here all night, simply looking at you.” His voice is as soft as the caress he has withdrawn, and it sends shivers over me. “Seeing the way the color changes on your skin when you are aroused. The way your nipples peak and the way your stomach muscles tighten in anticipation of my touch. Every inch of you is ripe with need for me.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

Slowly he traces his fingertip from the indention at the base of my throat all the way down to my navel. I arch up, his touch sending shock waves through me, and when he stops—so close to where I crave both his touch and the explosion I know it will bring—I moan in frustration.

“I control an empire,” he says, “and I will not deny the thrill of holding that kind of power. But it is nothing compared to the way I feel when you respond to me. When my words make you smile, when my touch makes you wet. And when you are like this, bound and open, so full of trust and desire, giving yourself so completely to me—god, Nikki,” he says, his voice quivering just slightly. “I swear it’s you who has the power, because only you can break me.”

I open my mouth to speak, but there are no words. And when his mouth closes over mine, I fall hungrily into the kiss, then moan in protest when he withdraws to kiss his way down my body, his mouth following the trail of the Scotch.

The sensation is as delicious as the man, and I writhe against his touch, wanting more, so much more. And Damien, thank god, delivers.

With agonizing slowness, he kisses his way down my leg, paying particular attention to the soft skin behind my knee. My muscles are tight, straining for him, and yet I can do nothing but withstand the storm of his touches.

When he reaches my ankle and undoes the bond, I have to bite back a protest. I want the freedom to move, yes, but there is no denying the pleasure of being at Damien’s mercy.

I hear his soft laugh and realize that he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not even close to done with you.”

He releases my other ankle, then eases onto the bed so that he is between my legs. I am spread wide open for him, and though he is my husband—though he has seen me this intimately countless times—I cannot help the heat of a blush that spreads over me.

“Beautiful,” Damien murmurs as he lifts my legs to his shoulders. He tries to tug me closer, but I am immobile thanks to the bonds on my arms, and so he leans in, driving me crazy when he gently blows on my clit, making me gasp and squirm and then cry out as his mouth closes over my sex and his tongue sets my senses on fire.

I arch up, because it is too much, but he refuses to relent. He sucks and laves, his expert tongue teasing and tasting, pushing me higher and higher until I am so close that I can almost taste the sweetness of the coming explosion, and I long for it, pushing toward it, wanting and craving it.

And then he stops—and that swirling disk of pleasure that has been hurtling toward me fizzles, dissolving in front of me in the dark abyss of lost pleasure.

“Damien.” His name is a curse, a protest, but my words neither wound nor move him.

“Soon,” he says calmly. “Anticipation, remember?”

“Bastard,” I tease, but the word catches in my throat as he starts to lower me so that my rear is on his thighs and his fingertip skims lightly over my sex.

“I haven’t f*cked you like this,” he says. “You on your back, legs up, helpless. Me on my knees, holding you close, slamming deep inside you. Tell me, sweetheart, would you like that?”

I say nothing—his finger is wreaking too much havoc with my senses to let me lasso the power of speech—but my answer is in my body, and Damien well knows it. With a small chuckle, he leans sideways and opens one of the small drawers that line the cabin-side of the bed.

He reaches in and pulls out a familiar bag. It takes me a second to recognize the gift that my best friend, Jamie, and my other girlfriends presented me at my bachelorette party.

“Damien! Oh my god.”

“A goodie bag of sex toys seemed like something we should take on our honeymoon.”

We’ve not had the chance to play with the contents, and now he peers inside and pulls out a bullet-style vibrator and some lube. Considering how wet I am, the lube is hardly necessary. Unless …

“Damien …”

“Shhh. You’re mine, remember. To have. To f*ck. To do with what I will. Isn’t that why you greeted me the way you did, laid out and bound for my enjoyment?”

I lick my lips. The man does have a point.

He is kneeling on the bed, and my legs are spread open on either side of him. Now he turns on the bullet and it softly vibrates in his hand. He palms it, then slides it slowly along my inner thighs. The sensation is incredible, all the more so when he brings it to my sex, teasing near but not actually stroking my clit.

Pleasure swirls around me, lifting me higher and higher as Damien teases me with the bullet until, yes, I’m literally begging to be f*cked.

“Every way,” he says. “All the way.”