Complete Me
Page 22
“I—yes.”
My words are so low that I doubt he has heard me. It doesn’t matter, though. He continues on. “A sensual dance, like the brush of a feather over your panties. A hooked fingertip to tug them aside. And then what, Nikki? What kind of touch do you want then?”
I don’t answer, because he has moved—not between my legs to where my sex now throbs in response to both his sensual tone and the erotic nature of the words themselves, but higher, so that his hip is near my chest and his hands are cleverly twining my wrists with the nylon webbing of the farthest seat belt.
“Damien, what—”
But I don’t bother to finish the question, because he has finished and I know what he was doing. He was binding my hands as he has done my legs so that I am fully strapped down, bound to this long, leather bench in the back of a limo.
“Do you want it, Nikki? Do you want me to fuck you?”
“You know that I do.” I keep my voice calm even though I want to scream—Yes, yes, goddammit, yes.
He cocks his head. “What was that?” he asks, and I almost cry with frustration.
“Yes,” I say. “Please, sir.”
His smile is slow and a little too self-satisfied. He moves toward me and I see that he has a small pair of bandage scissors in his hand. He slides a blade under the lace of my thong, snips twice, then rips the material free.
I arch and shudder, my body begging as much as my words. “Please, Damien. Please, please fuck me.”
“Believe me, Ms. Fairchild, there’s nothing I’m looking forward to more. But no. I don’t think so. Not yet.”
I actually whimper.
He bends forward to whisper in my ear. “What if I told you to touch yourself? Ah, but you can’t do that, either.”
I tug at the belt that is binding my hands, but I’m not going anywhere. I can shift right and left a little, but for the most part, where he bound me is where I’ll stay.
He reaches down and plucks up the hem of my shirt, managing the maneuver without actually touching my skin, despite the way my back arches up, as if my body is determined to try even though my mind knows it’s futile. After a moment, he has my shirt pulled up, exposing the lacy bra and the serpentine chain that stretches between my very erect nipples. He runs his finger over the chain, then gives it a gentle tug, causing me to arch up as hot threads of electricity sizzle through my body, racing from my breast to my throbbing cunt.
“Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “I love how hot you get, how your body responds. Do you know what it does to me, knowing that you’ve given yourself over so fully to me? No barriers, no inhibitions. Just mine. To touch, to tempt, to tease.”
“Anything you want, Mr. Stark.” My voice is raw with passion. “Anything you need.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” he says, as he moves away from me to sit on the bench that runs the length of the limo, perpendicular to this long backseat across which I am strapped. “Right now, I just want to look at you. The flush on your skin. Your cunt, swollen and wet and begging for me. Your hard nipples and the rise and fall of your chest as you try to control your breathing. It makes me hard, Nikki, so goddamn hard to see you like this, laid out and wanting, and knowing that I am the one who brought you there.”
I can only moan. Words are impossible, the power of speech obliterated by the violence of the emotions raging through me.
He leans over and punches the intercom button, then asks the driver how close we are to the hotel. We’re just a few blocks away, and I don’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated when Damien tells the driver to circle the block until he says otherwise.
Then he clicks off, smiles at me, and pours himself a shot of whiskey over ice. His eyes never leave my face as he tilts the glass back and takes a long, deep swallow before moving back to my side, the glass still in his hand.
“Open,” he says.
I open my mouth, and he takes out a cube of ice, holding it between two fingers and his thumb. He brushes it gently over my lips, and I open wider, reaching out with my tongue to taste the smooth liquor. It’s gone too soon, though. Because he eases down until he is holding the ice cube over my belly, and three fat drops fall from the cube to land upon my overheated flesh. The sensation is electrifying, and I arch up, gasping. Wanting. The droplets swirl on my skin with the motion, leaving a cool trail down to my pubic bone. My skin quivers, my need like a palpable thing.
Damien meets my eyes, then slowly—too damn slowly—trails the cube between my thigh and the sensitive skin of my sex. My body bucks, and I’m not certain if I’m trying to escape because it is too much to bear or if I am desperate for more. All I know is that I cannot escape. I am bound, tied down, and right now, Damien can do with me whatever he wants.
“Oh, God. Damien, what are you doing?”
“Unless I’m doing it wrong, I’m getting you very, very worked up. And, my dear,” he adds, as he tosses the tiny shred of ice that remains back into the glass, “I think I’ve succeeded.”
He eases back over to his seat and presses the intercom button. “Once more around the block,” he says. “Then you can take us to the hotel.”
It is then that I am certain that, at least for now, he is not taking this any further. Well, damn.
“Are you punishing me?” I ask. “Because right now, I’m really not above begging.”
He chuckles. “Punishing you? I was simply following your lead.”
“My lead?” I haven’t got a clue what he’s talking about.
His eyes twinkle with amusement. “You said you’d never gone down on me in a moving limo in Munich. I assumed you’d never been tied down half-naked in a limo. In Munich or elsewhere. Or was I mistaken?”
“Not mistaken,” I say. “And I’ve never been fucked in a limo in Munich, either,” I add, almost petulantly. “But you seem to have overlooked that.”
“Complaining, Ms. Fairchild?”
“Hell yes, Mr. Stark.”
“You know, I’m tempted to keep you like this forever.” His gaze trails slowly over every inch of me. The inspection is slow, lingering upon my breasts, then my bare abdomen, and then my sex. I shudder as the muscles of my vagina clench with need of him. “We could tour Europe by car, you splayed out in the back of a limo, open to my pleasure.”
“Or we could go back to the hotel this very second, and you could have your wicked way with me.” I glance up at him and smile. “Your call, Mr. Stark,” I say, shaking my bound hands. “But at the very least, you have to untie me.”
We move through the lobby of the hotel with blinders on, heading straight for the elevator, which seems to open magically upon our arrival, as if this hotel understands just how desperately we need to get upstairs.
We have the car to ourselves, and I lean against Damien, relishing in the way his arms go automatically around me. Right then, it feels as though nothing can go wrong in our world.
Then we’re on our floor and the doors open and we step out. Immediately, I feel my phone vibrate, and the corresponding ping signals an incoming text. I frown, mentally flipping a coin between Ollie and Jamie. I have no intention of texting with either of them, but my phone is set to repeat buzz incoming texts three times so that I don’t miss any, which means that at the very least I have to open the messaging app.
My words are so low that I doubt he has heard me. It doesn’t matter, though. He continues on. “A sensual dance, like the brush of a feather over your panties. A hooked fingertip to tug them aside. And then what, Nikki? What kind of touch do you want then?”
I don’t answer, because he has moved—not between my legs to where my sex now throbs in response to both his sensual tone and the erotic nature of the words themselves, but higher, so that his hip is near my chest and his hands are cleverly twining my wrists with the nylon webbing of the farthest seat belt.
“Damien, what—”
But I don’t bother to finish the question, because he has finished and I know what he was doing. He was binding my hands as he has done my legs so that I am fully strapped down, bound to this long, leather bench in the back of a limo.
“Do you want it, Nikki? Do you want me to fuck you?”
“You know that I do.” I keep my voice calm even though I want to scream—Yes, yes, goddammit, yes.
He cocks his head. “What was that?” he asks, and I almost cry with frustration.
“Yes,” I say. “Please, sir.”
His smile is slow and a little too self-satisfied. He moves toward me and I see that he has a small pair of bandage scissors in his hand. He slides a blade under the lace of my thong, snips twice, then rips the material free.
I arch and shudder, my body begging as much as my words. “Please, Damien. Please, please fuck me.”
“Believe me, Ms. Fairchild, there’s nothing I’m looking forward to more. But no. I don’t think so. Not yet.”
I actually whimper.
He bends forward to whisper in my ear. “What if I told you to touch yourself? Ah, but you can’t do that, either.”
I tug at the belt that is binding my hands, but I’m not going anywhere. I can shift right and left a little, but for the most part, where he bound me is where I’ll stay.
He reaches down and plucks up the hem of my shirt, managing the maneuver without actually touching my skin, despite the way my back arches up, as if my body is determined to try even though my mind knows it’s futile. After a moment, he has my shirt pulled up, exposing the lacy bra and the serpentine chain that stretches between my very erect nipples. He runs his finger over the chain, then gives it a gentle tug, causing me to arch up as hot threads of electricity sizzle through my body, racing from my breast to my throbbing cunt.
“Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “I love how hot you get, how your body responds. Do you know what it does to me, knowing that you’ve given yourself over so fully to me? No barriers, no inhibitions. Just mine. To touch, to tempt, to tease.”
“Anything you want, Mr. Stark.” My voice is raw with passion. “Anything you need.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” he says, as he moves away from me to sit on the bench that runs the length of the limo, perpendicular to this long backseat across which I am strapped. “Right now, I just want to look at you. The flush on your skin. Your cunt, swollen and wet and begging for me. Your hard nipples and the rise and fall of your chest as you try to control your breathing. It makes me hard, Nikki, so goddamn hard to see you like this, laid out and wanting, and knowing that I am the one who brought you there.”
I can only moan. Words are impossible, the power of speech obliterated by the violence of the emotions raging through me.
He leans over and punches the intercom button, then asks the driver how close we are to the hotel. We’re just a few blocks away, and I don’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated when Damien tells the driver to circle the block until he says otherwise.
Then he clicks off, smiles at me, and pours himself a shot of whiskey over ice. His eyes never leave my face as he tilts the glass back and takes a long, deep swallow before moving back to my side, the glass still in his hand.
“Open,” he says.
I open my mouth, and he takes out a cube of ice, holding it between two fingers and his thumb. He brushes it gently over my lips, and I open wider, reaching out with my tongue to taste the smooth liquor. It’s gone too soon, though. Because he eases down until he is holding the ice cube over my belly, and three fat drops fall from the cube to land upon my overheated flesh. The sensation is electrifying, and I arch up, gasping. Wanting. The droplets swirl on my skin with the motion, leaving a cool trail down to my pubic bone. My skin quivers, my need like a palpable thing.
Damien meets my eyes, then slowly—too damn slowly—trails the cube between my thigh and the sensitive skin of my sex. My body bucks, and I’m not certain if I’m trying to escape because it is too much to bear or if I am desperate for more. All I know is that I cannot escape. I am bound, tied down, and right now, Damien can do with me whatever he wants.
“Oh, God. Damien, what are you doing?”
“Unless I’m doing it wrong, I’m getting you very, very worked up. And, my dear,” he adds, as he tosses the tiny shred of ice that remains back into the glass, “I think I’ve succeeded.”
He eases back over to his seat and presses the intercom button. “Once more around the block,” he says. “Then you can take us to the hotel.”
It is then that I am certain that, at least for now, he is not taking this any further. Well, damn.
“Are you punishing me?” I ask. “Because right now, I’m really not above begging.”
He chuckles. “Punishing you? I was simply following your lead.”
“My lead?” I haven’t got a clue what he’s talking about.
His eyes twinkle with amusement. “You said you’d never gone down on me in a moving limo in Munich. I assumed you’d never been tied down half-naked in a limo. In Munich or elsewhere. Or was I mistaken?”
“Not mistaken,” I say. “And I’ve never been fucked in a limo in Munich, either,” I add, almost petulantly. “But you seem to have overlooked that.”
“Complaining, Ms. Fairchild?”
“Hell yes, Mr. Stark.”
“You know, I’m tempted to keep you like this forever.” His gaze trails slowly over every inch of me. The inspection is slow, lingering upon my breasts, then my bare abdomen, and then my sex. I shudder as the muscles of my vagina clench with need of him. “We could tour Europe by car, you splayed out in the back of a limo, open to my pleasure.”
“Or we could go back to the hotel this very second, and you could have your wicked way with me.” I glance up at him and smile. “Your call, Mr. Stark,” I say, shaking my bound hands. “But at the very least, you have to untie me.”
We move through the lobby of the hotel with blinders on, heading straight for the elevator, which seems to open magically upon our arrival, as if this hotel understands just how desperately we need to get upstairs.
We have the car to ourselves, and I lean against Damien, relishing in the way his arms go automatically around me. Right then, it feels as though nothing can go wrong in our world.
Then we’re on our floor and the doors open and we step out. Immediately, I feel my phone vibrate, and the corresponding ping signals an incoming text. I frown, mentally flipping a coin between Ollie and Jamie. I have no intention of texting with either of them, but my phone is set to repeat buzz incoming texts three times so that I don’t miss any, which means that at the very least I have to open the messaging app.
