Complete Me(105)

I am so hot, so wet, and I do as he says, fingerf*cking myself hard and then lightly teasing my clit. I am dizzy with lust, and I reach out with my other hand, taking it off my breast so that I can clutch the side of my desk to steady myself.

“Oh, God, Nikki. Do you know how much watching you turns me on? How hot you make me? I have only begun to memorize the bits and pieces that make up you. You are my obsession.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Oh, yes.”

The sharp shrill of my phone fills the room, and I jump. “Don’t stop,” he orders. “Just ignore it.”

I do, too lost in this sensual haze to care about something as foolish as a phone. I grind my hips in time with the rings, then keep going even after it stops. I hear the ping that indicates a voice mail, followed by the buzz of a text message.




I manage to stifle the urge to throw my phone out the window.

“Don’t even think about it, baby. Just this. Just us. You’re so close, Nikki. God, I can see it on your face, in the way your lips are parted. Imagine it’s my mouth on your cunt, my tongue stroking you, tasting you. Baby, you taste so good.”

I whimper, so close, but not quite there, and my hips grind against my own hand. Soon, soon, so very soo—

“Ms. Fairchild?”

The receptionist’s voice bursts through the speaker, and I jump, feeling guilty and exposed, even as Damien bites out a curse.

“Ignore it,” he growls, but the voice continues, unable to hear our side of the conversation.

“Mr. Stark’s assistant is on the phone,” she says, as cold fingers of dread trail up my spine. “Apparently a Ms. Archer has been trying to reach you. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”





Chapter Seventeen

I release Damien’s hand and burst through the door to Jamie’s tiny room on the third floor of the San Bernadino hospital, then sag with relief when I see her sitting up in bed watching SpongeBob. There’s a nasty bruise rising on her left cheek, and a white bandage taped across her forehead. Other than that, though, she looks intact, and for the first time since Sylvia called, I breathe easily.

“I’m sorry!” she says the second she sees us. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“But are you okay?” Thanks to Damien’s helicopter, it didn’t take us that long to get here, but I still spent the entire flight imagining the worst. Now I rush to her side and wince at the bruise that covers one arm, then disappears under her hospital gown.

“I’m banged up, but I’ll be fine. Really. But—I mean—oh, shit.” She glances Damien’s way. “Oh, God, Damien. The Ferrari’s toast. I totally f*cked up.”

“You’re not badly hurt,” he says, moving to my side. He twines the fingers of one hand with mine, then takes Jamie’s hand in his other. “That’s all that matters.”

“Is the other driver okay?” I ask.

“It was just me,” she says, her voice as anguished as I’ve ever heard it. “I’m such a f*cking loser.”

I am fighting hard not to cry. “You’re not, and you know it. It was an accident,” I say, but Jamie just shakes her head and doesn’t meet my eyes.

I frown and glance at Damien, who looks at least as concerned as I feel.

“So tell me what happened,” I say gently. I ease up to sit on the edge of the bed and Damien pulls up a chair. I put my foot on the seat cushion beside his leg, and he rests his hand on my ankle, just below the platinum and emerald bracelet. I focus on his touch, grateful for his strength and so desperately relieved that he is here with me.