Claim Me (Stark Trilogy 2)

But I don’t. Because I know this man. And most of all, I know that everything with Damien is worth the wait.

Finally, he bends down and untwines the cord from around my leg, but when he gets to my wrists, he stops, leaving them bound together behind my back, the red silk trailing from them like a tail.

“Damien,” I say, trying to sound stern, but there’s no keeping the amusement—and the excitement—from my voice. “I thought you were going to free me.”

“Bought and paid for, remember?”

“Oh.” My word is little more than breath.

“Come,” he says, and the dual meaning isn’t lost on me, especially not when he slides the cord from back to front between my legs, then tugs on the end as if it’s a leash. A very erotic, very tantalizing leash. The smooth silk teases my yearning sex, the friction from the cord’s braiding making my legs so weak that I’m not sure I’ll make it to wherever he’s leading.

His tug is gentle, but enticing, and by the time we reach the spalike bathroom, I am weak with desire. Fire courses through my body, and I look with longing at the shower’s eight strategically placed jets. The thought of Damien standing behind me, his hands on my breasts, his lips brushing my neck, is almost more than I can bear, and I actually whimper.

Beside me, Damien chuckles. “Later,” he whispers. “Right now, I have something else in mind.”

My mind whirs through the possibilities. We have already passed the bed. He has resolutely dismissed my thirst for the shower. And as far as I can tell, Damien is paying no heed to the deep Jacuzzi-style tub.

I haven’t a single clue what he has in mind—but I don’t care. This night is no longer about the destination, but the journey. And considering the touch of Damien’s hand upon my shoulder and the tantalizing pressure of the cord against my sex, this voyage is turning out to be very pleasant indeed.

The closet into which he leads me is at least the size of the living room of the condo I share with Jamie in Studio City. This is not the first time I’ve been in here, but I still feel as though I need a map.

It would take me years to wear all the clothes that Damien has bought for me. And despite the fact that the left side of the closet is full to overflowing, I’m ninety-nine percent sure that at least a dozen new outfits have been worked into the mix since the last time I changed clothes in here.

“I don’t remember seeing that one before,” I say, nodding toward a silver dress that sparkles in the dim lighting and looks to be small enough and tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination.

“Don’t you?” His smile is slow and easy, and it matches the gaze that skims over me. “I can assure you that won’t be a problem after you put it on. No one will be able to forget it.”

“Least of all you?” I tease.

His eyes darken, and he steps closer, the movement adding slack to the cord and making it drop away from my body. My disappointment at the loss of contact is short lived, however. Damien is right there, only inches from me, and the air between us seems to hum. Every tiny hair on my body stands up, as if I’m standing in a lightning storm with danger crackling all around me. I gasp when his thumb gently strokes the line of my jaw. My lips part. I want to feel his thumb on my lips, in my mouth. I want to taste Damien. I want to consume him as the fire from his proximity is consuming me.

“There is nothing about you that I could ever forget,” he says. “You are burned into my memory. Your hair glittering in candlelight. Your skin, dewy and soft, as you step out of the shower. The way you move beneath me when we make love. And the way you look at me, as if there is nothing you could see inside me that would make you want to turn away.”

“There’s not,” I say softly.

Damien says nothing, but keeps his eyes fixed on me. He eases closer, so that my nipples barely brush the soft cotton of his T-shirt. The shock from the contact is electric, and I swallow a gasp. I am tingling all over, and as he gently strokes his fingertips down my bare arm, all I can think is that I want to press against him. I want Damien inside me. Rough, gentle, I don’t care. I just need him, right then, right there.

“How?” I say, barely able to force the question past the lump in my throat.

“How what?”

“How can you make love to me with only the whisper of a touch?”

“I’m a very resourceful man. I thought you knew.” The corner of his mouth twitches, and I see the hint of a sparkle in his eyes. “Perhaps I should offer you a more imaginative demonstration?”

“Imaginative?” I repeat. My mouth is dry.

“I’m going to make you come, darling Nikki. Without the touch of my hands, without the caress of my body. But I’ll be watching. I’ll see the way your lips part, the way your skin flushes. I’ll watch as you try to control yourself. And I’ll tell you a secret, Nikki. I’m going to be fighting for control, too.”

I realize that I have taken a step back as he has spoken, and I’m now leaning against the bureau that divides the his and hers hemispheres of this massive closet. It’s a good thing, because without that stalwart support, I doubt my trembling legs could keep me upright.

“What are you going to do?” I don’t understand why he says that I’m going to try to control myself. I’ve learned many things during my time with this man, and one thing I know is that with Damien, I am free to go utterly wild. Why then, would I want to rein that in? Why would he expect me to?

He doesn’t answer my question, and I find myself biting my lower lip and examining him through narrowed eyes as I try to discern some clue as to his intentions. He steps away from me, and though I am sure that it is only my imagination, the air seems to chill with the increasing distance. The cord that had dropped to the ground now rises. Damien pauses about a foot away from me, but he continues to tug at the cord, taking up the slack so that it lifts between my legs. He moves slowly, but soon I can feel it again. I am so aroused that I gasp from the contact, my body trembling in what is almost, but not quite, an orgasm.

My eyes find Damien’s, and I see his victorious grin. “Don’t worry, Ms. Fairchild,” he says. “I promise there’s more where that came from.”

He steps toward me, still taking up the slack so that the cord never breaks contact with my body. Each movement makes the smooth braid of silk shift slightly, and I close my eyes, concentrating on not biting my lip and on not grinding my hips. I don’t know what kind of game Damien is playing, but I do know that I want it to last.