Complete Me
Page 18
“Damien—” I stop myself because I don’t know what I want to say other than to beg.
“Stay put,” he says. “Don’t touch yourself. Don’t put your legs together. You’ll come when I let you, Nikki, but not before. Break my rules, and I promise you won’t like the punishment.”
I swallow and nod. “But where are you going?” I call as he disappears into the bedroom. I get no answer, and I close my eyes in frustration, hyperaware of every inch of my body. Of the dampness at the back of my neck along my hairline. Of the tiny hairs upon my skin, standing up as if electrified, caught up in this storm that is Damien. Mostly, I am aware of the aching in my cunt.
I do not touch, though I desperately want to, and I am aware of every movement of my body, every brush of air. I can feel my pulse beating in my sex, and my muscles clenching with longing. I am need personified—and what I need is Damien.
He is only gone for minutes, but it seems like I am waiting for hours, lost with my own reflection. A nude woman against a shiny surface, a dream world of city lights blazing behind her. I am like a woman from one of Blaine’s paintings, forever captured by his brush in a state of arousal, never quite able to reach satisfaction.
No, I think. Please don’t let Damien be teasing me like that.
When he returns, he has something in his hand. He sets it on the table behind me. I can’t see what it is, but I think I hear the clink of metal upon metal.
“Damien?” I ask, my voice wary. “What are you doing?”
He comes around in front of me, then gently takes my hands off the glass, easing me back up straight. A slow grin lights his face, and I see both amusement and heat in those beautiful eyes. I expect his answer before he says it—“What I want, Nikki. Always, what I want.”
I lick my lips. “And what is that?”
“To give you pleasure.” He moves behind me, to the table, then returns with something in his hand. “Do you remember this?”
He opens his hand to reveal a silver serpentine chain connected by two rings, each with two small metal balls on them. The balls pull apart, creating an opening, then snap back together when the pressure is released. They are nipple clamps, and I shiver from the memory of that exquisite bite of pain mixed with pleasure.
He brushes his thumb over my now painfully erect nipple. “Oh, yes,” he says. “I think you remember just fine.”
I moan as he slowly caresses my breast. “How did those get here?”
His chuckle seems to roll over me. “It’s been almost a month, Nikki. I had Gregory pack and ship a few things. Including the small leather case I keep in my closet.”
“Oh.” I wet my lips. “That was very efficient of you.”
“I’m a man who likes to plan ahead.” He catches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezes tight. I gasp, relishing the sharp sensation, the pleasure edging toward pain. With his fingers tight, he rolls the hard nub and I bite down on my lip as electricity sparks through me, racing from my breasts to my wet, throbbing cunt.
“Damien.” I’m not sure what I’m demanding. I can barely form thoughts, much less words. All I know is desire. All I want is more.
Hell, all I want is everything.
As if in answer to my demand, Damien spreads the rounded ends of the ring, then gently releases it, causing the cold silver to clamp against my nipple. There’s more pressure now than Damien had applied, and I suck in air, surprised at first by the fiery pain. It fades soon, though, and I moan in pleasure at the warmth that ripples through me as my body adjusts to the tantalizing torture.
“We’ve gone so far together, Nikki,” he murmurs as he attaches the other one. “I’m going to take you even farther. I want to balance on the edge with you, and see you open and wide and wild.”
My breathing is ragged. I’m hyperaware of my breasts, of his touch. And when he slides his hand down between my ass cheeks, his fingers finally—finally—finding me hot and wet and wanting, I cannot help but moan aloud.
“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 fuck 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?”
“Stay put,” he says. “Don’t touch yourself. Don’t put your legs together. You’ll come when I let you, Nikki, but not before. Break my rules, and I promise you won’t like the punishment.”
I swallow and nod. “But where are you going?” I call as he disappears into the bedroom. I get no answer, and I close my eyes in frustration, hyperaware of every inch of my body. Of the dampness at the back of my neck along my hairline. Of the tiny hairs upon my skin, standing up as if electrified, caught up in this storm that is Damien. Mostly, I am aware of the aching in my cunt.
I do not touch, though I desperately want to, and I am aware of every movement of my body, every brush of air. I can feel my pulse beating in my sex, and my muscles clenching with longing. I am need personified—and what I need is Damien.
He is only gone for minutes, but it seems like I am waiting for hours, lost with my own reflection. A nude woman against a shiny surface, a dream world of city lights blazing behind her. I am like a woman from one of Blaine’s paintings, forever captured by his brush in a state of arousal, never quite able to reach satisfaction.
No, I think. Please don’t let Damien be teasing me like that.
When he returns, he has something in his hand. He sets it on the table behind me. I can’t see what it is, but I think I hear the clink of metal upon metal.
“Damien?” I ask, my voice wary. “What are you doing?”
He comes around in front of me, then gently takes my hands off the glass, easing me back up straight. A slow grin lights his face, and I see both amusement and heat in those beautiful eyes. I expect his answer before he says it—“What I want, Nikki. Always, what I want.”
I lick my lips. “And what is that?”
“To give you pleasure.” He moves behind me, to the table, then returns with something in his hand. “Do you remember this?”
He opens his hand to reveal a silver serpentine chain connected by two rings, each with two small metal balls on them. The balls pull apart, creating an opening, then snap back together when the pressure is released. They are nipple clamps, and I shiver from the memory of that exquisite bite of pain mixed with pleasure.
He brushes his thumb over my now painfully erect nipple. “Oh, yes,” he says. “I think you remember just fine.”
I moan as he slowly caresses my breast. “How did those get here?”
His chuckle seems to roll over me. “It’s been almost a month, Nikki. I had Gregory pack and ship a few things. Including the small leather case I keep in my closet.”
“Oh.” I wet my lips. “That was very efficient of you.”
“I’m a man who likes to plan ahead.” He catches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezes tight. I gasp, relishing the sharp sensation, the pleasure edging toward pain. With his fingers tight, he rolls the hard nub and I bite down on my lip as electricity sparks through me, racing from my breasts to my wet, throbbing cunt.
“Damien.” I’m not sure what I’m demanding. I can barely form thoughts, much less words. All I know is desire. All I want is more.
Hell, all I want is everything.
As if in answer to my demand, Damien spreads the rounded ends of the ring, then gently releases it, causing the cold silver to clamp against my nipple. There’s more pressure now than Damien had applied, and I suck in air, surprised at first by the fiery pain. It fades soon, though, and I moan in pleasure at the warmth that ripples through me as my body adjusts to the tantalizing torture.
“We’ve gone so far together, Nikki,” he murmurs as he attaches the other one. “I’m going to take you even farther. I want to balance on the edge with you, and see you open and wide and wild.”
My breathing is ragged. I’m hyperaware of my breasts, of his touch. And when he slides his hand down between my ass cheeks, his fingers finally—finally—finding me hot and wet and wanting, I cannot help but moan aloud.
“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 fuck 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?”
