Play My Game (Stark Trilogy, #3.7)(17)

Sometimes, the emerald and diamond ankle bracelet he gave me even before we were officially together is in this drawer, but usually it is exactly where it is now—on my leg, a permanent reminder that I am his.

At first glance, everything appears as it should. Then I realize that there is an additional piece of black velvet in the drawer. I run my finger over it and feel the bumps of something hidden beneath.

I grin, because I know damn well that I have found the prize.

I peel the velvet back to reveal a strand of pearls and a pair of silver nipple rings, connected by a serpentine chain. My body flushes with desire and memory. He’d given me the pearls in Germany and put them to deliciously erotic use. As for the nipple rings, he’d introduced me to those in the condo I used to share with Jamie, and I’d been astounded by how much my body responded to the intense sensation of not only the constant pressure on my erect nipples, but also to the demanding tug when Damien pulled on the chain.

Just remembering makes me wet, and I drag my teeth over my lower lip, thinking that both of these things fit in perfectly with my plans for the night. And, more, thinking that I want Damien now—like right this very instant—and I am grateful when my phone buzzes with Edward’s text letting me know that they are on their way.

Thank god.

The last thing in the drawer is an envelope that was underneath the jewelry. I take it out and open it to find an airline itinerary. Not a ticket, as that’s not necessary for a man who owns his own fleet of aircraft. But according to this, we’re leaving for Nassau tomorrow evening, then taking a puddle jumper to an island resort called Serafina Spa Retreat. We’re staying there three nights, then returning home on Valentine’s Day.

I sigh with pleasure. Damien took me to an island for part of our honeymoon, and while it was heavenly, the location was remote—just the two of us in a small cabin on an otherwise uninhabited island. Perfect for a honeymoon, and perfect for escaping the world.

But I can’t deny that a spa sounds absolutely delicious, as does three nights on an island with Damien.

Right now, though, I have something else delicious in mind.

I want to change, and so I do that quickly, ultimately wrapping myself in my favorite white, fluffy robe. Then I move into the bedroom and put my phone on the mattress beside me. I put it on speaker, and dial Damien’s number.

He answers on the first ring.

“Where are you?”

“At home. In bed.”

“Are you?” I hear the tinge of interest in his voice.

“But I’m imagining I’m with you,” I say. “Tell me, Mr. Stark, is the privacy screen up?”

There is a pause before he answers, and when he does, the heat in his voice is unmistakable. “It is now.”

“Close your eyes,” I tell him. I close mine as well, remembering the first time that I was alone in his limo with Damien’s voice stroking me, caressing me, getting me off. “Can you imagine me there? Sitting beside you? My hand on your thigh?”

He says nothing, and I take that as acquiescence—a sign that that he is willing to surrender to my game.

“I’m sliding it up,” I say. “Moving slowly over your slacks. Closing my fingers over your cock. Tell me something, Mr. Stark.” My voice is breathy, and it is all that I can do not to slip my hand down between my legs. “Are you hard?”

“Very.”

“I know. I can feel it. Can you feel me? I’m stroking you. Making you even harder until you’re begging me to tug down your zipper and slip my hand inside. Do it,” I whisper.

“Jesus, Nikki.”

I allow myself a satisfied smile but otherwise don’t pause in my seduction. “I’m unfastening your belt and unbuttoning your pants. I lower the zipper so carefully and slide my hand in to free your cock. Do that, Damien. Do that and imagine it’s me.”

He doesn’t answer, but I can hear him breathing.

“You’re hard and soft, like velvet on steel, and I’m gliding my hand over you, teasing you, bringing you so close that you want to explode. But not yet,” I say. “I want to taste you.”

“Holy Christ.” His voice is raw, and I’m squirming on the bed, worked up not only by my words and the power they are having on him, but by what I’m wearing under this robe.

“Can you feel my tongue on you? Licking your balls, then tasting every bit of you as I lick you just like candy? I suck your crown, then draw you in, so deep, and you taste so amazing and I can’t get enough, and you’re getting harder and harder and—”

“Not just yet.” His voice is tight, and I am certain that he is fighting not to come. “You want this? You want to take me there?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Then you’re going there with me. Tell me what you’re wearing.”

I hesitate, because this wasn’t the game I had planned, but I cannot deny that it has its own appeal.

“Tell me,” he repeats.

“A robe,” I say. “The thick white one.”

“Take it off.”

“Will you watch while I do?”

“You know I will.”

“It’s off,” I say, as soon as I have dropped it off the side of the bed.

“Are you naked?”

I lick my lips. “No.”