Claim Me(109)

“How nice,” I say, then smile at Damien, which seems to irritate my companion.

Damien rises, says something to the men at his table, and strides to the bar. He stands right beside me, and as is always the case when Damien is near, I am suddenly hyperaware—of him, of my own body, of the rotation of the earth beneath us.

I smile at him. “Thank you for the drink. Sir.”

I see the muscle in his cheek tighten when I say the last word, and I have to smile. He wasn’t expecting that. “I hope you like dirty martinis.”

“The dirtier the better,” I say.

“Hey. You want to get lost? I was chatting with the lady.”

Damien turns to him. “No,” he says. “I don’t think so. I want her.”

The guy’s eyes go wide, but he recovers fast. “The lady wants to be alone.” Apparently, he’s now all about chivalry.

“Does she?” He looks at me, then speaks very slowly and very clearly. “Did you come here to be alone? Or to be f*cked?”

“I—” I have no idea how I’m supposed to answer. Beside us, the guy is apparently shocked into silence. “I guess that depends on who’s doing the f*cking,” I finally say.

“I like your answer,” Damien says. “What’s your name?”

“Louise,” I say, my middle name coming unbidden to my lips.

Damien grins. “Nice to meet you, Louise. I want you to come with me now.”

I gasp, embarrassed, but also incredibly, undeniably turned on. “I—”

“Now.” He holds out his hand and I hesitate only a moment before taking it.

Beside us, my companion stares with his mouth gaping open.

Damien helps me off the stool and aims a friendly nod at the insurance dude. “Maybe next time,” he says, as the guy looks at Damien as if he’s pulled off some kind of magic act. At least we’re leaving him impressed and not pissed.

I am giddy as I follow Damien. I want to laugh. I want to take his hand and twirl in the lobby. I want to slam him hard against the lobby wall and claim his mouth with my own. I want his hands on me. I want him inside me.

I want him to f*ck me, just like he said. And I want it now.

Apparently, so does Damien. As soon as the doors close on the elevator, Damien backs me against the wall. His mouth is hard against mine, his hand under my skirt, two fingers inside me. I grind my hips against him, wanting him, craving more of him than I can get in an elevator.

“God, Louise,” he says, and we both laugh.

“I thought someone might recognize us. It’s my middle name.”

“I know,” he says. “And I think they were all too tipsy to care. And too out of town.”

“Could have been some paparazzi around.”

“Fuck the paparazzi,” Damien says, his words as harsh as sandpaper.

I ease my body against his. “I’d rather f*ck you.”

He kisses me again. Hard.

“That man was very disappointed,” I say, when he breaks the kiss.

“Just claiming what’s mine. And adding in the public service of giving that man a fantasy to keep him occupied this evening.” He easily thrusts a third finger inside me, and I bite down on my lower lip to stifle a scream of pleasure. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like it.”

“I liked it,” I say as the elevator doors begin to slide open. “I liked it very much.”

He withdraws his fingers, then directs me out of the elevator, punctuating the movement with a light pat to my ass. Our room is at the end of the hall, and I am in awe when we step inside. The suite has a living area and a dining area and a separate bedroom.