Complete Me(104)

I do as he says, trying to breathe steadily as I slowly peel the silk blouse off. It’s not easy, and I feel my stomach twitch with my breath, with the intimate touch of my own fingers.

“Imagine it’s me,” he says. “My hands easing your shirt off. My hands cupping your breasts, pulling the cup of your bra down so that you spill out over the top. That’s it,” he says, as I follow his lead and adjust the cups to expose my breasts and nipples. “Do you feel my touch? The way I’m tugging your nipples? The way I’m stroking my fingertip over your areolae?”

My breasts are full and heavy, my nipples puckered with desire. I pull gently on my nipples and the corresponding tug in my sex makes me gasp.

“Damien—”

“I know, baby. You can feel it, can’t you. The way your sex throbs. How hard your clit is.”

“Yes.”

“We’ve done this before, remember? Our first night. You in the back of my limo, and I was miles away on my phone and so hard I thought I’d explode.”

I nod. It’s one of my most vivid memories. I was drunk and heady with lust, but I was alone and I could fool myself into believing that the extent of my arousal was my own secret.

Now, there is no hiding how turned on I am. And even though this is Damien, who has seen me at my most wanton, my most needy, it has always been for him that I have opened myself. Now, it is my own touch that I am craving. My touch, and his words. I feel naughty. Reckless. And, so help me, I want him to take me all the way. I want to finger myself until I come in front of him—and when I do, I want to open my eyes and see my own passion reflected right there on his face.

“I didn’t have the pleasure of watching then. I intend to enjoy it now.”

“Yes. Yes.” It’s the only word I can manage. It’s the only word that fills my head.

“Slide your right hand down. Take your time, baby. You have such soft skin, I want you to feel it. To touch it.”

Once again, I comply. I keep my left hand on my breast, almost like an anchor, then spread my right so that my palm grazes my belly, my pelvis, and then my fingers dip under the band of my thong. I bite my lower lip as my hand slides over, then moan as my fingertip brushes my clit before easing farther down to soft, slippery flesh.

“Open your eyes,” Damien orders. “Look at me and touch yourself.”

“I—” But my words die on my lips when I open my eyes and see his face—the bold heat in his eyes, the flush of his skin. His hands are on the armrests of the chair, and he is gripping it so tightly I can see the whites of his knuckles. And his cock is so hard beneath his tailored trousers that I am afraid it will split a seam.

“Fuck me,” I whisper. “We both know you want to.”

“More than anything,” he says as our eyes meet and lock. Sparks burst through me merely from the connection of our gazes, and the heat grows in anticipation of his touch. “But no,” he says, making me want to weep. “This is about you. I want you to feel it, too.”

“Feel what?”

“The pleasure I take from your body,” he says simply. “I want to watch. I want to lose myself in the vision of you.” As if in illustration of his words, his eyes drag slowly over me. “Don’t stop, baby. Slide your fingers inside. Tease your clit. Let me see it. Let me watch the way your skin moves when you’re about to come. Each tiny gasp, each shudder. The way you drag your teeth over your lower lip. The flush that colors your skin before orgasm, and the just-f*cked look in your eyes after you come.”