Complete Me(122)

His words mesmerize me. They slide over me like warm water, seductive yet dangerous. So deep I could drown in them.

“You want to draw in the pain—to turn it around inside you.” His hands slide roughly over my thighs, pushing the skirt up around my hips to expose the white lace triangle over my sex.

My breath comes faster now and I am hyperaware of my body. Of the way the nubby upholstery presses into my thighs. Of the heat coursing through me, running in vibrant currents from Damien’s hand to my cunt, to my breasts, to my nipples. I arch my back and slide forward a bit with my hips. I want to feel his hands upon me. Hell, I just want to feel. I want the explosion, and yet at the same time, I want this. His touch. His words. His slow build to passion and that sharp sting of pain mingled with pleasure that I know is coming.

He grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head in one swift, violent motion. I hear myself moan and feel my breasts tighten with need as the muscles of my sex clench with longing. Damien tosses the shirt aside and grabs my hip with one hand, shoving the skirt up around my waist. With the other hand, he fingers me over the lace panties, rubbing and teasing me through the delicate material as I spread my legs wider in shameless, wanton greed.

I want it hard and fast. I want to latch on to the pain—to use it as a rope to find my way back. I want it—and I am certain that Damien understands it.

His fingers glide over bare skin on either side of the thong, so close to my sex and my clit—but without actually touching—that my frustration is almost as keen as the pain he knows I am craving. He slides the hand on my hip up to my breast, then pinches my nipple through my bra as he yanks the thong to one side and slides three fingers deep inside me.

My breath comes in shudders and I squirm against him. I’m no longer sure what I need anymore except him. And now. Oh, please, now.

“You want the pain because it’s what gives you the power to beat it—to haul yourself back and say f*ck you to the world. It’s a gift, Nikki—that red-hot sting. And I will be the one to give it to you.”

He tugs his fingers out of me, then flips me over as if I weigh nothing and carries me toward my desk. He puts me on my feet in front of it and orders me to bend over. I do, the bulk of my skirt between my hips and the edge of the desktop providing some padding.

He stands off to one side, and as I watch, he tugs his belt free. I bite my lower lip, imagining the feel of leather against my rear. I wanted his hand, but this—oh, yes, I can imagine it. The shock, the sting. The building sensation as I close my eyes and grab hold letting the pain focus at my core.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, and from his tone I realize he had not intended that. But Damien is nothing if not adaptable, and I see the tip of his head and the rise of his brow. Then the slow smile when he nods. He moves behind me, one hand stroking circles on my bare back. “You’ll have my hand, too, because I can’t bear not to touch you. But if this is what you need—”

He punctuates the word with a lash to my ass and I cry out from surprise and pleasure. The sting is exquisite, and I bite my lower lip, then moan in delight as he rubs his palm over the tender flesh. There is another sting, then another, and with each I feel myself getting wetter. I imagine my rear turning red, and Damien’s large hand cupping me tenderly, stroking away any lingering pain that I have not claimed and drawn inside.

“Is that what you needed?” he says after four strokes. He is behind me, his trousers and briefs gone. His palms are on my rear, and his cock is hard between my legs, the length of it stroking me and teasing my clit. “Do you need more? Tell me, Nikki. I want to hear what you need.” His voice is raw with excitement, and I know that he needs this as much as I do. And that knowledge turns me on even more.