Complete Me(72)

The heat in his voice matches the fire in his eyes, and I start to melt a bit. But this opportunity is too delicious to squander and I match his gaze inch for inch, my lips curving into a smile when I see the bulge of his erection beneath his jeans. I lift my eyes slowly to meet his and find them smoldering. He cocks his head as if to say, oh, yes.




I swallow. “All right, Mr. Stark,” I say, then turn and head toward our bedroom. I pause in the doorway and smile. “Prepare to get naked.”

My threat, however, turns out to be hollow, and twenty minutes later I have lost my flip-flops, the light sweater I was wearing to ward off the chill from the lake, and my T-shirt. I’m left wearing a short pink skirt, a pale purple thong, and a matching demi-cup bra that is cut so low that my very erect nipples are straining against the decorative lace that lines the top of each minuscule cup.

Damien is still fully dressed.

“Are you sure you don’t cheat?” I ask.

“As a rule, no. In order to see you naked, I would be sorely tempted.”

“Aha!” I aim a stern finger at him.

He laughs. “Fortunately, your massive consumption of Scotch saved me the trouble. You’re not playing your best, Ms. Fairchild.”

I raise my brows. “Have you considered that I’m just setting you up?”

“Are you? Well, that’s interesting information.” He nods at the cards I hold in my hands. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I lay my cards down, feeling smug. “A pair of kings, ace high.”

“Not bad,” he says. “Too bad I have the other three aces.”

“You do not,” I say, but he lays the cards down and, sure enough, two red and one back ace wink up at me.

“Off with it,” he says.

I reach for the clasp at the front of my bra.

“Oh, no,” he says, then makes a twirling motion with his finger. “The skirt. I’ll get the zipper for you.”

I scowl, but comply, turning around to give him access. He presses his palm against my skin, his hand curved to cup my waist. With the other hand, he slowly tugs down the zipper. “Up,” he says, and I rise to my knees, then close my eyes and try not to tremble as his slowly eases the skirt down, his fingers grazing oh so softly on each bit of bare skin that he reveals during the process. “There you go,” he says, as I twist around to sit back down, pulling my legs free from the skirt as I do.

I’m dressed now only in the tiny bra and even tinier panties. It’s cool in the room—we’ve opened the door to the private patio—but my skin is burning. “Deal,” I say, trying to control my breathing, because with each breath my breasts rise and fall, and with each motion my nipples brush the lace. The sensation is driving me crazy. It’s rough and teasing and I can’t help but imagine the light nip of Damien’s teeth, the soft pressure of his mouth as he suckles me, the warmth of his hands as he cups my breasts. And the insistent press of his cock as he presses his body full against mine.

“Nikki.”

“What?” I jerk my head up, reality returning. Considering the way Damien is looking at me, I think he knows exactly what I was thinking.

“Your cards.”

I glance down and realize he’s already dealt. “Oh. Right.” I see the corner of his mouth twitch. “What?” I demand.

“I didn’t say a thing,” he says. “But if I had, I probably would have told you to move.”

I tilt my head. “To move?” I’m sitting on my heels, my knees and thighs together.