Claim Me (Stark Trilogy 2)

His hand cups my rear, moving in slow, sensual circles. I feel a momentary wash of cool air on my skin as he breaks contact, and then I cry out in both pleasure and pain as his palm smacks hard against my ass, then presses against the point of impact, the sweet pressure soothing the sting.

Slowly, he slides his hand down between my legs. “Oh, baby,” he says as his fingers slide over me. I’m desperately wet, and I tremble from his touch, so close that I have to fight the temptation to take one hand off the bed and touch myself where Damien is so carefully avoiding.

Then again …

I keep my weight on my left hand, and dip my right hand between my legs. A shiver runs through me as I brush my fingertip over my clit. I’m swollen and sensitive and so very, very close.

“Oh, you have been naughty,” Damien says, as his fingers brush against mine.

I swallow, anticipating another spank, but it doesn’t come. Instead he bends me over more, so that I have no choice but to move my hand back onto the bed if I don’t want to fall over on my face.

Damien takes his hand away and I whimper at the break in contact. He’s not touching me at all, and that’s the most keen punishment he can deliver. I wonder for a moment if that’s what he has planned. To leave me like this, bent over, naked, my ass in the air, waiting and wanting. He might, I know, and I can’t help but smile at the thought. It would piss me off and drive me crazy, but I know that when the punishment is over and he finally does fuck me, it will be all the sweeter for it.

That, however, isn’t what he has planned. I hear the tug of his zipper, followed by the brush of denim against skin as he quickly strips off his jeans. I bite my lip, then exhale in sweet triumph as his cock presses against my rear, my body opening to him in sweet anticipation. Please, Damien. Take me. Please take me now. I want to cry the words, but I stay silent. I don’t, however, stay still. I can’t help it. My body is demanding and antsy, and my hips gyrate against his cock, and his low moan of pleasure only makes me more frenzied.

His hands close on my hips and hold me still, and I can’t help my whimper of protest. He laughs, and I want to cry out in frustration because he is very thoroughly, very meanly teasing me.

Then I feel the tip of his cock on the slick folds of my vulva and I want to cry with relief. He teases me at first, barely entering, and I bite my lower lip so hard I fear I will taste blood. The anticipation is brutal, but sweet. He is so hard, so ready, and he is tormenting both of us as he controls his thrusts, using my hips to steady himself.

I have none of his control. Every inch of me is desperate and demanding, and my muscles tighten greedily around him with every tantalizing thrust. Deeper. Harder. Oh, dear God, please.

“As you wish,” he says, and I don’t even have time to be surprised that I’ve spoken the words aloud, because he’s inside me now, his cock filling me, his body pressed over me as I keep both hands on the bed to steady myself. One of his hands snakes around my waist, and I am grateful for the support. My rear is arched up, I am on my toes, it is as if my body is doing everything it can to draw him in deeper and deeper. I want to take all of him. To consume and be consumed.

And when he pulls gently out and then thrusts back into me with a single, powerful movement, I am certain that the world will explode around me.

“You’re close,” he whispers, and I can tell from the tightness in his voice that he is close, too.

“Yes,” I say, but my voice is so raw I doubt the word is coherent.

“Touch yourself,” he says.

The excitement that’s been building in me seems to shiver through my body like a jolt of electricity. “What?” I ask, then moan as he continues to slowly torture me, as if he knows exactly how much pressure will take me to the edge—and just how much more is needed to take me over.

“You heard me.”

I lick my lips and swallow. My fingers twitch with the desire to obey. To feel where our bodies are joined, and to stroke the hard length of him even as I tease my oh-so-sensitive clit.

“I—I thought that was naughty,” I say, feeling strangely shy.

His response alone almost sends me rocketing into space: “Maybe I like you naughty.”

I gasp, then swallow. Then I lift my right hand from the bed. It throws off my balance, but he keeps me steady with the arm around my waist. I slip my hand down, barely brushing over my slick clit. My body clenches, my muscles tightening greedily to draw him further inside me. I feel glorious, full, and so desperately close that I know only the slightest touch will be the end of me.

I want it, and yet I also want to feel him. The way our bodies are joined as he slides deep inside me. I ease my hand back along my own slick folds. I feel him there, like velvet steel, and I hear his guttural moan as I gently stroke him.

“Jesus, Nikki, I can’t hold back.”

“Then don’t.” I close my eyes, and my fingers have barely grazed my clit when he trembles, tightening his grip around my waist as he fills me. His release triggers my own, and I clench tight around him, dropping my hand back to the bed so that I don’t fall, too sensitive to continue touching myself, anyway.

“Nikki,” he says when his body stops quivering.

He releases my waist, then immediately catches me when I start to sag, my legs so weak I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to stand again.

“I think you’ve unraveled me,” I say. “If you were going for punishment, though, you missed the mark completely.”

“Did I?” His voice rises provocatively. “Sounds to me like you’re assuming I’m done with you. I assure you, I’m not.”

“Oh.” My pulse kicks back up again. “That’s a very interesting bit of information.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re intrigued.” He slides a hand down my still weak legs. “But this time maybe you ought to lie down. You seem a bit unsteady.”

“You think?”

He scoops me up so that I am once again cradled against his chest. I feel warm and safe and cherished, and when he places me gently on the bed and presses a soft kiss to my forehead, I want to cry from the sweetness of it all. But then his eyes take on a devilish gleam. “Don’t go to sleep on me yet,” he says as he unties the cord from around my neck—then immediately ties it to my right wrist. He attaches the other end very firmly to the bedpost.

His face is right over mine, his smile undeniably wicked. “I’m going to enjoy this. And, Nikki? So will you.”