Complete Me (11 page)

He needs me to get lost in his arms as much as I need to lose myself to him. To know that he is back—and that he is still mine.

“Yes,” I repeat, because it is the only word I can manage through my jumble of thoughts and emotions. “Oh, God, Damien, please, yes.”

“Good girl,” he says, sliding his hand off my back. I’m vaguely aware that he has thrust it into his pocket, but that is not the hand that interests me. Instead, all of my thoughts are centered on the fingers that are teasing me under my skirt, playing with my clit, making me bite my lip so that I don’t rock back and forth with these building sensations. I’m just a girl sitting in her boyfriend’s lap, after all. Not like a woman about to come like she has never come before from the intimate way that said boyfriend is fingerfucking her.

Just a girl sneaking a brief kiss. Just a girl—

“Oh, God!” I cry, but my shout is swallowed by Damien’s hard mouth over mine. The orgasm rips through me—not just because Damien’s expert fingers have played me so well, but because of the surprising, shocking, totally mind-rocking vibration of the plug with which Damien has filled me. I want to scream with delight, to writhe and make the sparks build again and again. I want this whirlwind of pleasure to keep pulling me up and up, and the fact that I can’t—the fact that I need to stay quiet and still—only increases the fever that is burning through me.

All too soon—or possibly hours later—rationality returns to me. My heart is pounding against my rib cage. I feel as though I have sprinted a mile. And when I lick my lips, I taste blood.

I rub my mouth, but it’s not mine, and it takes me a second to realize that I bit down on Damien’s lower lip. “Are you okay?”

“Baby, you can bite me anytime.”

“Oh my God,” I say. “Oh my God.” And then, “You didn’t tell me it did that.”

He pulls his hand out of my pocket to reveal the remote control for the plug. “A man has to keep a few surprises.”

I sigh contentedly, then slide off him. I curl up next to him on the love seat, discreetly adjusting my clothes. “Wow,” I say. “That was kind of kinky.”

His grin is as playful as my words. “And is kinky good?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Kinky is very good.”

His arm is around me, his hand resting on my hip. After a moment, his lips brush over my ear, and I shiver from the butterfly-soft touch, then immediately laugh when I hear his words—“Your ass is vibrating.”

I lift my brows. “Is that a euphemism for what you just did to me, Mr. Stark?”

“Complaining?”

“Hell, no,” I say.

“Good. But no, it’s not a euphemism. It’s your phone.”

Shit
. I realize that he’s right. I’d charged it in the room, then left everything except it and my passport in the hotel. Damien has my passport tucked into the interior pocket of his jacket, but I have my phone in my back pocket, right under Damien’s hand. He plucks it out and hands it to me, but when I answer it, there’s no one there.

“Must have kicked over to voice mail,” I say with a frown. As I wait for the little icon to show a waiting message, I look back at the call information, but I don’t recognize the number. Since the voice mail still isn’t pinging, I assume it was a wrong number and slide the phone back into my pocket. “That reminds me,” I tell Damien. “You got a call earlier. Right before I went to see Maynard. I thought it might be one of the German attorneys, so I answered it, but there was no one there. Did they call back?”

He shakes his head. “Probably not important,” he adds, even as he pulls out his phone and begins to scroll through his call information. I see the instant his face changes. It is subtle and quick, and if I didn’t know his features in such excruciating detail I might not have even noticed. And when he meets my eyes again, there’s no hint that he was surprised or disturbed.

I wrap my arms around myself, fighting an unexpected chill. Once again, Damien is locking his secrets away.

“Who was it?” I say, keeping my voice light but resolute. “Does it have anything to do with the trial or with those pictures?”

“No.” The word is both too fast and too firm. And there is a distance in his voice that bothers me. I tell myself it is only the distortion from this thrumming club, but I don’t believe myself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, which is really the stupidest question in the world, since if he did want to, he wouldn’t be speaking in monosyllables.

“I don’t.” He must see something in my face, though, because a moment later he sighs, then lightly strokes my cheek. “I promise you. It’s nothing.”

A shudder runs through me, desire, yes, but it’s mixed with something else. Something darker. I had thought that after everything we’d been through there would be no more secrets. But now there are the photos. And this call. And I realize that I was foolish to have even entertained the possibility that Damien’s walls had truly come tumbling down. Damien Stark has many layers, and while I am enjoying the process of slowly revealing the deliciousness at the center of the man, I cannot deny the frustration that goes along with the territory.

Damien squeezes my hand. “Don’t look so worried.”

I manage a teasing smile. “I can’t help it,” I say. “I may not be the jealous type, but if you’re getting calls from old girlfriends looking to pull you back into their web . . . ” I am joking, of course, and I expect him to laugh and pull me close as the tension slides off him. I am not prepared for his answer.

“Getting the calls and taking the calls are two different things.”

“Oh.” I thought the call was about the trial or whoever sent those damn pictures or even some business issue. An old girlfriend was not on my radar at all, and I’m certain I look as shocked as I feel.

“I told you I used to fuck around. And I’m sure some of those women want back in my life.” He stands, then takes my hand and eases me to my feet before softly kissing my palm. “I also told you I wasn’t serious about any of them. There’s only one woman I want.”

I cock a brow as I glance at his phone. “Do they know that?”

“I know it,” he says. “And so do you.”

For a moment, there is only silence between us. No, that isn’t true. Where Damien and I are concerned, there is never just silence. There is heat and electricity and lust and need, all harnessing the power of the universe to pull us together. And how can I be expected to fight physics?

I step toward him, sliding comfortably into the circle of his arms, right where I belong. “Do you want to dance?” I ask.

“No,” he says, his tone sending ripples of heat through me. “I want to take you to bed.”

Chapter Seven

“So you’re really taking me to bed?” I ask Damien as we speed down Prinzregenstrasse
in the back of our limo.

“That’s my current plan,” he says. “Unless you want to file an objection?”

“An objection? No.” I’m leaning against him, and the space between our bodies hums with sensual energy. The orgasm that rocked me at the club didn’t take the edge off at all. Instead it just ramped up my appetite like a fine wine before dinner, leaving me feeling slightly intoxicated and ready for the main course.

I flash a mischievous smile, then shift my position so that I am kneeling on the floorboard of the limo, my hands resting on his thighs. “But perhaps I might file one tiny change order?” My fingers make swift work of the button fly of his jeans.

“Nikki . . . ” His voice is full of heat and amusement and a hint of warning.

“What? I mean, fair is fair. You’ve never fingerfucked me in a club in Munich before tonight. And unless I’m mistaken, I’ve never gone down on you in a moving limo in Munich, either. That’s one of those oversights I want to remedy right now.”

I slide my hand into his jeans, relishing his low groan as I stroke and tease, working my way into the fly of his briefs. He’s deliciously hard, and I only have to shift his cock a little before it springs free, as excited about the possibilities as I am. Slowly, I bend my head, but lift my eyes, so that I am looking at Damien’s face as I gently brush the tip of my tongue over his glans.

I see the shudder that runs through him, and something swells inside me. Lust, power, possessiveness.
Control
. I know it drives him insane not to be firmly in charge. And I also know that of all the people in his life, I’m the only one to whom he willingly abdicates that control. In small doses, yes. But I still get my moments.

This is one of them.

“Dear God, Nikki,” he says, his voice tight. “Sometimes you surprise the hell out of me.”

I only smile. I want to taste him, to touch him, and there is nothing keeping me from taking exactly what I want. Gently, I circle the base of his cock with my hand, the sensation like soft steel against my palm. I press my lips to the head of his cock, then draw him in, my tongue teasing him as I piston my mouth in time with the strokes of my hand against him.

He is already desperately hard, but I feel his body responding, tightening. I hear his low groans. I feel his fingers twining in my hair, then the tension filling his body as he comes closer and closer, and I know that I am doing that to him.

The knowledge empowers me, and I think of my earlier fears about reality sneaking in and breaking through our perfect little plastic bubble of a life. In this moment, though, my fears seem a million miles away.

A ripple of passion cuts through him, and I feel the corresponding pressure in my sex as my body responds to his desire and to the knowledge that I have brought him to the brink.

A sensual hunger courses through me, my own arousal as potent as if his fingers were stroking me. I writhe a bit, wriggling my hips in time with the need growing inside me. I am smug with satisfaction and ripe with the knowledge that Damien is as turned on as I am.

And then I’m shocked as hell when his hands close around my ribs and he lifts me up—then dumps me back on the seat and hooks my legs over his shoulders.

“What are you—” But I don’t bother to finish the question. I know exactly what he’s doing, and I’m proven right when he leans forward, his hands stroking my thighs in time with the movement. His laves his tongue over the delicate skin right next to the edge of my thong.

A tremor runs through my body. “Damien,” I moan. “Holy shit.”

“Hold still.” His breath burns hot upon my sex. “Don’t move,” he demands, and then ensures that there is no way I can obey when he simultaneously flips on the vibrator in my ass, but also nips at the thong with his teeth, teasing my clit in the process.

I cry out and arch up, both in surprise and from the nearly unendurable sensations that are ricocheting through my body.

“Naughty,” Damien says as he turns off the vibration, then cups my ass with his hands. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

I see the devious gleam in his eye and swallow. “I’ll be still.”

“Too late,” he says, then removes the plug, sending another wave of sensations rolling through me as my body rocks in protest. He smiles as he wraps it in a handkerchief and slips it in his pocket. “I think someone likes my toys,” he says. “I’ll have to think of more ways to play.”

“Oh, God, yes,” I say impulsively, eager for whatever he wants to bring on.

He slides down my body, trailing kisses along my left leg as he eases down my stocking until he reaches the strap of my shoe. “This should do nicely.”

I bite my lip, uncertain what he has in mind. “You realize that if you mess up my shoes, you’re in serious trouble.”

“Even if it gets you off?” He strokes my foot along the side of the arch, which is exposed in these shoes.

I close my eyes, trying to think despite this assault upon a deliciously new erogenous zone. “Some things are as sacred as sex,” I say. “Shoes among them.”

He chuckles. “Touché, Ms. Fairchild.” I feel his lips press where his finger once was and have to bite my lip in order to remain still as ordered. “I’ll be gentle.”

My eyes widen as he takes the seat belt and wraps it around my ankle. He clicks the buckle into place, then tightens the strap. After that, he flashes me a smug grin. “One down.”

I am speechless. I’m also unable to move my left leg. “Damien,” I begin, but there’s no point in protesting. He’s not going to stop. And the truth is that I don’t want him to.

“Now let’s see what we can do about this one.” I remember that this limo is part of the Stark International fleet when he moves without hesitation to a camouflaged floor panel. He pulls it open and removes a white box emblazoned with a red cross.

I prop myself up on my elbows. “First aid? What exactly are you doing?” I’m teasing, of course. Well, mostly teasing.

His eyes meet mine and he slides his hand slowly up my thigh, then cups my sex. “Surprising you.”

Oh.
I swallow. Had I really believed that I’d had even an iota of control? Whatever control I’d had when we’d started this adventure is gone. I am Damien’s to do with what he pleases—and that simple fact only makes me even more excited.

“Lay back, baby. Lay back, and trust me.”

I comply, because I do trust him. I watch as he unrolls an ace bandage, then carefully winds it around my ankle, just below the platinum and emerald bracelet. He threads one end of the bandage through some part of the seat frame that I can’t see, then makes a knot. I try to move my legs, but I can’t. I’m completely trussed up. I’m completely open. And I’m completely turned on.

“Damien.” My voice is low and gravelly with desire. “Damien, please.”

“Please what? Please touch you?”

Just the thought of his hands upon me is enough to make me squirm with anticipated pleasure. “Yes,” I say. “God, yes. Touch me. Fuck me. Please, Damien, I want you.” Tonight has been one long tease, and I have crossed the line to desperate.

“Mmm.” He shifts position, rising from the floor to perch on the edge of the seat across which I am spread. I reach for him, craving his touch against my now exposed sex, but just before I can place my hand upon his leg, he shakes his head. “No. Arms above your head. There you go,” he adds, when I stretch out as ordered.

He reaches out, his hand hovering over my breasts. Beneath the beaded tank, my nipples are already tight and erect and deliciously sensitive from the clamps with which he had adorned me earlier. I bite my lower lip, craving his touch. The slightest brush against my breast. A soft caress upon my nipple. Anything to relieve the growing, heavy pressure.