Claim Me (Stark Trilogy 2)

I bite my lip because I don’t want to cry out. I don’t know why he needs this, but I know that he does.

Before he was gentle. Even his spanks were inflicted only for the purpose of pleasing me. This, however, is about Damien. Damien taking. Damien needing. It is me that he needs, and I give myself willingly. I am no stranger to pain. It gives me control, something tangible to hold on to. And I can take Damien’s pain and pull it tight inside me like a precious thing.

I think I understand what Damien needs. Not the pain, but the control. He needs to claim me. Maybe he can’t grab hold of the ghosts from his past that have returned to haunt him, but he has me. Right now, I am his to touch and possess. His to claim and use.

His. Simply Damien’s.

His release comes hard and fast, and I wrap my arms tight around his neck until the last shudder rips through him. He softens and slips out of me, first his cock, then his finger. I ease off him and find my footing, leaning back against the edge of the pool and breathing hard.

After a moment, he opens his eyes and looks at me. One moment passes, then another. And then I see the storm approaching. “Goddammit,” he says. “Nikki. I—”

“No.” I stroke his cheek. “No,” I repeat. “Don’t you get it? I want to be there for you. All of you. Whatever you need.”

For a moment, he is silent. “Did I hurt you?” he finally asks, his voice flat.

“No.” It’s only a little lie. Already the sharp pain has passed. I’m sore, yes, but it’s a pleasant feeling. A reminder of Damien. “No,” I repeat. “You felt wonderful.”

I don’t think he believes me, but he leads me to the steps and out of the pool. We towel off in silence. When I’m dry, he picks me up without asking and carries me back inside. He places me gently onto our bed on the third floor then gets in beside me.

He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. Instead, I move to snuggle against him. I know that he is still disturbed, as much because he thinks he hurt me as because he lost control. I, however, feel the opposite. He’s lost control with me. And that is almost like sharing a secret. The thought makes me smile, and I close my eyes and sigh deeply. Sore, yes, but sweetly content.

I’m on the verge of falling asleep when his soft words wash over me.

“My father intends to go to the dedication.”

“Oh,” I say. It’s all that I can manage, though I am fully awake now, and I rise up onto my elbow to face him.

“I won’t be there. Richter was a balls-out bastard, and I won’t support the decision to honor him, not even in the smallest way.”

“Of course you won’t go.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“I’m glad you have the balls to stand up to your father. I don’t think I could ignore an edict from my mother.”

“I bet you could,” he says. “You’re stronger than you think.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I search his face. “And the tennis center thing is all that’s been bugging you? Truly?”

“Yes,” he says.

Am I imagining the hesitation? Am I so used to Damien’s secrets that I’m seeing them when they’re no longer there?

Yes, he said. And I decide to believe him. At the very least, he has opened a door. But Damien Stark, like this house, has many rooms, and I can’t help but wonder how many doors remain shut and locked.

6

I wake in the morning to the scent of brewing coffee and fresh-baked croissants, and when I peel my eyes open I find Damien beside the bed holding a tray, which I immediately identify as the source of those mouthwatering scents. “What’s all this?” I ask.

“A woman heading off to the first day of a new job deserves breakfast in bed,” he says, setting the tray across my lap as soon as I’ve sat up and scooted back.

I take a sip of the coffee, then sigh as the elixir begins to work its magic. “What time is it?”

“Just past six,” he says, and I stifle a groan. “When are you supposed to be at work?”

“Ten,” I say. “Bruce is having me start on a Friday since it’s going to be a day of paperwork and getting my feet wet. Probably the last truly relaxing week I’ll have for a long time. Monday, I’ll be dragging myself in by eight, I’m sure.”

“Don’t even pretend to complain. You know you love it.” He sits on the bed beside me and takes a sip from my mug. I don’t think he even realizes that he’s done it, but I can’t help but smile at the casual intimacy.

As for loving the work, he’s right. I’d moved to Los Angeles less than a month ago planning to take the tech world by storm. My job at Carl’s company, C-Squared, turned out to be a bust, but I’m giddy about my new position at Innovative Resources, a company that does equally fine work with a less psychotic boss.

I spread some strawberry jam on the croissant and take a bite, surprised to find that it’s warm and flaky and just about melts in my mouth. “Where did you get fresh croissants?” I cannot believe that his morning jog took him into town. And these are not heated-up frozen pastries.

“Edward,” Damien says, referring to his driver.

“Thank him for me.”

“You can thank him yourself. Unless you’re planning to walk to work, he’ll be giving you a lift.”

“Not you?”

“While I would love to carpool with you, I’m afraid that’s not possible today.” He leans close and I expect a kiss. Instead, his hand closes over mine and he very deliberately brings the croissant to his mouth and takes a bite. He grins at me, his eyes dancing like a mischievous child. “You’re right,” he says. “Delicious.”

“You owe me now, mister. You can’t expect to steal a woman’s pastry and get away with it.”

“I look forward to your just and severe punishment,” he says, standing. He holds out his hand to me. “Or perhaps I could make it up to you in the shower.”

“I don’t think so,” I say archly. “I don’t want to be late for my first day.”

“I thought you weren’t due in until ten.”

I nod as I finish the croissant and wash it down with another slug of coffee. “I’m not. But I need to get home and get dressed.” I shoot him a wicked smile. “And I need to shower off last night’s sex.”

“That’s a very sad thought,” he says. “Of course, if you insist on taking such drastic action, I did offer to share my shower.”