Complete Me(36)

“I want to give you everything, Nikki,” he says, as his thumb brushes my anus, and I feel the slick lube of my own arousal. “I want the universe spread wide before you. And I want to be the one who sends you tumbling over, shooting off into space, without control, without inhibitions.” I feel the firm increase of pressure, then gasp as something small and well-lubed slips inside my rear.

“And, Nikki,” he says, his voice rough with passion, “I want to be the one who tethers you and brings you back.”

“You are,” I whisper. I am as unraveled by his words as I am by the riot of sensations storming through me. “Oh, God, Damien, you know you are. I’m lost without you.”

He moves to face me, then strokes my cheek. With a fervency I don’t expect, he pulls me close. I gasp as my raw, chained nipples rub against his shirt, but he silences me with a long, almost violent kiss.

“Please,” I beg when he releases me. I am helpless, I am melting. The pressure on my nipples sends shocks arcing through my body. That wicked plug fills me, opening me, making me hyperaware of every movement and sensation.

“Please what?” he whispers. “Tell me what you want, Nikki.”

“You, Damien. Always you—only you. I want you to touch me.” I reach for him, fisting my hands in his T-shirt. “I want you to f*ck me because I’m not entirely sure I can survive without feeling you inside me right now.”

“I want that, too,” he says, and I sag with relief. “But we’re going to have to risk your imminent demise,” he adds with a very wicked grin. “Because I have something else in mind first.”




According to the concierge at our hotel, Club P1 is one of the hottest nightclubs in Munich. The venue is huge and crowded, and the patrons are as polished and bright as the modern interior. It’s funky and fun—and at the moment, I couldn’t care less. My body is too on fire, too teased by Damien’s sweet torture.

The limo ride was bad enough, with Damien demanding that I sit with my knees apart and my hands on either side of me, palms on the soft leather of the seat. He’d dressed me in a shelf bra before we left, leaving my still-chained nipples exposed. In the limo, they brushed against the black silk of my beaded tank top, the sensation making me squirm. And that caused all sorts of other shocks and quivers and pulses to ricochet through my body.

Damien sat across from me, sipping Scotch and watching me with such raw passion that I spent the entire ride in a constant state of unsatisfied arousal.

The ride, thank God, was short, but now that we are here I want nothing more than to go back to the hotel. Dancing, drinking—none of that holds any appeal. All I want is Damien’s mouth on mine, his hands on my bare skin, and his cock deep inside me.

Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be getting what I want anytime soon, and so I draw in a breath and try to focus despite this sensual haze in which I am currently living. “You’re glowing,” Damien says, his mouth curving into a self-satisfied smile.

“Glowing?” I repeat. “Jesus, Damien, I’m practically radioactive.”

“Mmm,” he says, looking me up and down. “So I see.” He pulls me to one side so that my back is up against a smooth wooden wall. He presses his hands to either side of me and leans in close. “A bit on edge, Ms. Fairchild?”

“Just a tad.” I catch the scent of him—the whiskey on his breath, the deep, spicy musk of his arousal—and it works upon me like the most potent of aphrodisiacs. In addition to my sparkly black top, I am decked out in a black leather miniskirt, thigh-high stockings, a tiny red thong, and very high, very f*ckable heels. I take one step away from the wall and lift myself on those heels, gripping Damien’s shoulders for balance. “I’m still trying to decide if I should thank you for this,” I whisper. “Or if I should figure out a way to get revenge.”