Complete Me
Page 26
“Soon. I have something else in mind, first. Your legs,” he says, tapping the inside of my thighs gently. “A bit wider.”
I comply again, my brow furrowed. That wasn’t his hand upon my leg just then, but I’m not sure what—
“It’s interesting how many things one can find in a kitchen that entice,” Damien says, interrupting my thoughts. “This, for example, seems quite intriguing.”
I feel something warm and flat press gently against my rear. The surface is slightly rough, and I cock my head without thinking, trying to figure out what it could be.
“A simple wooden kitchen spoon,” Damien says, as if in answer. “Who knew it could be so tantalizing?”
I feel a rush of cool air when he removes the spoon, but it is gone almost immediately, replaced by the sting of wood against flesh. I cry out, my ass stinging, then immediately soothed by the firm press of Damien’s hand against my rear. All too soon, his hand is gone, and he swats me again—not too hard, but hard enough that it feels as though a million pinpricks of pleasure are rushing to the spot.
I squirm a bit, wanting more. Wanting the pain to center me—and wanting Damien to launch me off into the stars.
“That’s it, baby,” he says. “You’re glowing, but your ass is on fire.”
I can’t speak. I just want more. But I’m not expecting the next blow—not on my ass, but on my sex. One light, upward thrust with the back of the spoon, barely brushing my clit. But it sets off little sparks inside me. Then another spank, this one firmer, and I cry out as I come closer to the edge. I bite my lip, wanting another—just one more. One more to take me over.
But instead of the thwack of wood against my sex, there are Damien’s fingers inside me, Damien tugging the pearls. I arch up and cry out in surprise and release as he draws the pearls out of me, each tiny round bead rubbing against my sensitive clit. Each pearl heightening the sensation. Each millimeter sending me spiraling off until a cry is ripped from my throat and my body bucks and quakes, unable to withstand the force of the ecstasy that is spinning out of control inside me.
“Oh, yes, baby. Yes—”
And then I hear the soft thud as the pearls fall to the floor. I hear the brush of material against flesh as Damien steps of out his jeans. I feel his hands stroke my hips, my ass. Then his fingers are inside me, opening me, readying me—though that’s hardly necessary at this point.
I suck in a breath and moan with pleasure as the head of his cock presses against my folds. He thrusts forward, entering me, going deep, so deep that it feels as though this will never end, that we will tumble off into each other.
His hands release my hips and he leans forward to cup a breast with one hand, the pressure of his fingers on my nipple as he moves my body back to his in time with his thrusts, so that it is as if we are wrapped in a web of current, sizzling and alive.
His other hand reaches around, finding my overly sensitive clit. He strokes me ever so lightly until all I know is a bone deep pleasure, so consuming that I lose all sense of where the sensations come from, but know only that they are there. That I am pleasure. That I am electricity. That I am Damien’s.
The second orgasm hits me just as fast. It’s an explosion, and I cry out, my body contracting around him, the touch of his finger against my clit now so intense it borders on pain. He doesn’t relent, though. Instead he draws it out and out and out, until his own release comes even as my body is still quivering and shaking—and if I weren’t tied to the pillar, I would surely be collapsed on the ground.
“Damien.” It’s all I can say. It’s enough.
“Shhhh.” He unties my hands, but doesn’t remove my blindfold. Gently, he carries me into the bedroom and lays me on the bed.
“I want to see you,” I say, as he begins to trail slow kisses up my body.
“You see me better than anyone,” he says, then gently removes my blindfold. I open my eyes to find Damien smiling down at me, and all of my own emotions are reflected there on his face. He kisses me, deeply and gently, his mouth claiming mine.
“I think I’m destroyed,” I say with a smile. “I don’t know that I can ever move again.”
“No? That’s too bad.” He moves down my body gently stroking my skin with his fingers, his lips. When he reaches the scars on my inner thighs, he traces a fingertip over the worst of them then lifts his head to look at me. I draw in a shuddering breath, done in by everything I see reflected in his eyes. Love, desire, respect.
“Destroyed or not,” he says, “I have to have you again.”
“Take me,” I say, reaching for him and tugging him up my body, spreading my legs and lifting my hips in invitation at the same time. He enters me slowly, filling me, and we move together in a sensual rhythm that makes me want to cry out with pleasure as he fills me.
I arch up and draw his mouth to mine, connecting myself fully to this man. “Turn over,” I beg when I break the kiss. “I want to see you under me.”
He raises a brow but complies, and I shift my hips as I straddle him, taking him even deeper as I rock slowly, then ease myself up and down to tease his steel-hard cock. My eyes are open and I’m watching his face, his beautiful face that I have seen through so many emotions—humor and ecstasy, anger and frustration, and on and on and on. Right now, though, he just looks happy, and something I think might be pride swells within me. Damien Stark is a complicated man. And yet I am what he needs.
Despite my bliss, Carmela’s words come back to me, and I cannot help but be struck by how they mirror my earlier dark thoughts. That once reality pokes its head in, things start spiraling out of control.
“What is it?” Damien asks, his eyes intent upon my face.
I do not want to bring a dark cloud between us, but I also don’t want to hide my fears from Damien. Not when I know that he is the only one capable of soothing them.
“Stupid stuff,” I say. “I was thinking about what Carmela said. About reality.”
“Carmela’s a cold bitch. And the only reality I know is you. Don’t tell me you doubt that.”
“I don’t,” I say emphatically. “But, Damien, all the noise outside of us. I don’t want to feel like we’re living in a fantasy bubble, but sometimes I think that we are, and that reality keeps trying to break through. The trial. Stalker mail and texts. The press. And now your old girlfriends.”
“Fuck them,” he says.
“Damien, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he says, his expression as intense as I have ever seen it. “At the end of the day, it’s just you and me. We make our own reality, Nikki. And no one can take it from us.”
Chapter Nine
As we head down in the elevator the next morning with the bellman and a cart full of luggage, I keep glancing back, unable to shake the feeling that I’ve forgotten something.
“I keep that room on a permanent lease,” Damien says. “If you left something behind, the hotel will ship it to us.”
“You own the room?” I don’t know why I’m surprised; after all, he owns much of the known universe. And I was already aware that he keeps a permanent suite at the Century Plaza hotel for clients who travel to Los Angeles.
I comply again, my brow furrowed. That wasn’t his hand upon my leg just then, but I’m not sure what—
“It’s interesting how many things one can find in a kitchen that entice,” Damien says, interrupting my thoughts. “This, for example, seems quite intriguing.”
I feel something warm and flat press gently against my rear. The surface is slightly rough, and I cock my head without thinking, trying to figure out what it could be.
“A simple wooden kitchen spoon,” Damien says, as if in answer. “Who knew it could be so tantalizing?”
I feel a rush of cool air when he removes the spoon, but it is gone almost immediately, replaced by the sting of wood against flesh. I cry out, my ass stinging, then immediately soothed by the firm press of Damien’s hand against my rear. All too soon, his hand is gone, and he swats me again—not too hard, but hard enough that it feels as though a million pinpricks of pleasure are rushing to the spot.
I squirm a bit, wanting more. Wanting the pain to center me—and wanting Damien to launch me off into the stars.
“That’s it, baby,” he says. “You’re glowing, but your ass is on fire.”
I can’t speak. I just want more. But I’m not expecting the next blow—not on my ass, but on my sex. One light, upward thrust with the back of the spoon, barely brushing my clit. But it sets off little sparks inside me. Then another spank, this one firmer, and I cry out as I come closer to the edge. I bite my lip, wanting another—just one more. One more to take me over.
But instead of the thwack of wood against my sex, there are Damien’s fingers inside me, Damien tugging the pearls. I arch up and cry out in surprise and release as he draws the pearls out of me, each tiny round bead rubbing against my sensitive clit. Each pearl heightening the sensation. Each millimeter sending me spiraling off until a cry is ripped from my throat and my body bucks and quakes, unable to withstand the force of the ecstasy that is spinning out of control inside me.
“Oh, yes, baby. Yes—”
And then I hear the soft thud as the pearls fall to the floor. I hear the brush of material against flesh as Damien steps of out his jeans. I feel his hands stroke my hips, my ass. Then his fingers are inside me, opening me, readying me—though that’s hardly necessary at this point.
I suck in a breath and moan with pleasure as the head of his cock presses against my folds. He thrusts forward, entering me, going deep, so deep that it feels as though this will never end, that we will tumble off into each other.
His hands release my hips and he leans forward to cup a breast with one hand, the pressure of his fingers on my nipple as he moves my body back to his in time with his thrusts, so that it is as if we are wrapped in a web of current, sizzling and alive.
His other hand reaches around, finding my overly sensitive clit. He strokes me ever so lightly until all I know is a bone deep pleasure, so consuming that I lose all sense of where the sensations come from, but know only that they are there. That I am pleasure. That I am electricity. That I am Damien’s.
The second orgasm hits me just as fast. It’s an explosion, and I cry out, my body contracting around him, the touch of his finger against my clit now so intense it borders on pain. He doesn’t relent, though. Instead he draws it out and out and out, until his own release comes even as my body is still quivering and shaking—and if I weren’t tied to the pillar, I would surely be collapsed on the ground.
“Damien.” It’s all I can say. It’s enough.
“Shhhh.” He unties my hands, but doesn’t remove my blindfold. Gently, he carries me into the bedroom and lays me on the bed.
“I want to see you,” I say, as he begins to trail slow kisses up my body.
“You see me better than anyone,” he says, then gently removes my blindfold. I open my eyes to find Damien smiling down at me, and all of my own emotions are reflected there on his face. He kisses me, deeply and gently, his mouth claiming mine.
“I think I’m destroyed,” I say with a smile. “I don’t know that I can ever move again.”
“No? That’s too bad.” He moves down my body gently stroking my skin with his fingers, his lips. When he reaches the scars on my inner thighs, he traces a fingertip over the worst of them then lifts his head to look at me. I draw in a shuddering breath, done in by everything I see reflected in his eyes. Love, desire, respect.
“Destroyed or not,” he says, “I have to have you again.”
“Take me,” I say, reaching for him and tugging him up my body, spreading my legs and lifting my hips in invitation at the same time. He enters me slowly, filling me, and we move together in a sensual rhythm that makes me want to cry out with pleasure as he fills me.
I arch up and draw his mouth to mine, connecting myself fully to this man. “Turn over,” I beg when I break the kiss. “I want to see you under me.”
He raises a brow but complies, and I shift my hips as I straddle him, taking him even deeper as I rock slowly, then ease myself up and down to tease his steel-hard cock. My eyes are open and I’m watching his face, his beautiful face that I have seen through so many emotions—humor and ecstasy, anger and frustration, and on and on and on. Right now, though, he just looks happy, and something I think might be pride swells within me. Damien Stark is a complicated man. And yet I am what he needs.
Despite my bliss, Carmela’s words come back to me, and I cannot help but be struck by how they mirror my earlier dark thoughts. That once reality pokes its head in, things start spiraling out of control.
“What is it?” Damien asks, his eyes intent upon my face.
I do not want to bring a dark cloud between us, but I also don’t want to hide my fears from Damien. Not when I know that he is the only one capable of soothing them.
“Stupid stuff,” I say. “I was thinking about what Carmela said. About reality.”
“Carmela’s a cold bitch. And the only reality I know is you. Don’t tell me you doubt that.”
“I don’t,” I say emphatically. “But, Damien, all the noise outside of us. I don’t want to feel like we’re living in a fantasy bubble, but sometimes I think that we are, and that reality keeps trying to break through. The trial. Stalker mail and texts. The press. And now your old girlfriends.”
“Fuck them,” he says.
“Damien, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he says, his expression as intense as I have ever seen it. “At the end of the day, it’s just you and me. We make our own reality, Nikki. And no one can take it from us.”
Chapter Nine
As we head down in the elevator the next morning with the bellman and a cart full of luggage, I keep glancing back, unable to shake the feeling that I’ve forgotten something.
“I keep that room on a permanent lease,” Damien says. “If you left something behind, the hotel will ship it to us.”
“You own the room?” I don’t know why I’m surprised; after all, he owns much of the known universe. And I was already aware that he keeps a permanent suite at the Century Plaza hotel for clients who travel to Los Angeles.
