Complete Me (Stark Trilogy 3)

“Slide your right hand down. Take your time, baby. You have such soft skin, I want you to feel it. To touch it.”

Once again, I comply. I keep my left hand on my breast, almost like an anchor, then spread my right so that my palm grazes my belly, my pelvis, and then my fingers dip under the band of my thong. I bite my lower lip as my hand slides over, then moan as my fingertip brushes my clit before easing farther down to soft, slippery flesh.

“Open your eyes,” Damien orders. “Look at me and touch yourself.”

“I—” But my words die on my lips when I open my eyes and see his face—the bold heat in his eyes, the flush of his skin. His hands are on the armrests of the chair, and he is gripping it so tightly I can see the whites of his knuckles. And his cock is so hard beneath his tailored trousers that I am afraid it will split a seam.

“Fuck me,” I whisper. “We both know you want to.”

“More than anything,” he says as our eyes meet and lock. Sparks burst through me merely from the connection of our gazes, and the heat grows in anticipation of his touch. “But no,” he says, making me want to weep. “This is about you. I want you to feel it, too.”

“Feel what?”

“The pleasure I take from your body,” he says simply. “I want to watch. I want to lose myself in the vision of you.” As if in illustration of his words, his eyes drag slowly over me. “Don’t stop, baby. Slide your fingers inside. Tease your clit. Let me see it. Let me watch the way your skin moves when you’re about to come. Each tiny gasp, each shudder. The way you drag your teeth over your lower lip. The flush that colors your skin before orgasm, and the just-fucked look in your eyes after you come.”

I am so hot, so wet, and I do as he says, fingerfucking myself hard and then lightly teasing my clit. I am dizzy with lust, and I reach out with my other hand, taking it off my breast so that I can clutch the side of my desk to steady myself.

“Oh, God, Nikki. Do you know how much watching you turns me on? How hot you make me? I have only begun to memorize the bits and pieces that make up you. You are my obsession.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Oh, yes.”

The sharp shrill of my phone fills the room, and I jump. “Don’t stop,” he orders. “Just ignore it.”

I do, too lost in this sensual haze to care about something as foolish as a phone. I grind my hips in time with the rings, then keep going even after it stops. I hear the ping that indicates a voice mail, followed by the buzz of a text message.

I manage to stifle the urge to throw my phone out the window.

“Don’t even think about it, baby. Just this. Just us. You’re so close, Nikki. God, I can see it on your face, in the way your lips are parted. Imagine it’s my mouth on your cunt, my tongue stroking you, tasting you. Baby, you taste so good.”

I whimper, so close, but not quite there, and my hips grind against my own hand. Soon, soon, so very soo—

“Ms. Fairchild?”

The receptionist’s voice bursts through the speaker, and I jump, feeling guilty and exposed, even as Damien bites out a curse.

“Ignore it,” he growls, but the voice continues, unable to hear our side of the conversation.

“Mr. Stark’s assistant is on the phone,” she says, as cold fingers of dread trail up my spine. “Apparently a Ms. Archer has been trying to reach you. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

Chapter Seventeen

I release Damien’s hand and burst through the door to Jamie’s tiny room on the third floor of the San Bernadino hospital, then sag with relief when I see her sitting up in bed watching SpongeBob. There’s a nasty bruise rising on her left cheek, and a white bandage taped across her forehead. Other than that, though, she looks intact, and for the first time since Sylvia called, I breathe easily.

“I’m sorry!” she says the second she sees us. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“But are you okay?” Thanks to Damien’s helicopter, it didn’t take us that long to get here, but I still spent the entire flight imagining the worst. Now I rush to her side and wince at the bruise that covers one arm, then disappears under her hospital gown.

“I’m banged up, but I’ll be fine. Really. But—I mean—oh, shit.” She glances Damien’s way. “Oh, God, Damien. The Ferrari’s toast. I totally fucked up.”

“You’re not badly hurt,” he says, moving to my side. He twines the fingers of one hand with mine, then takes Jamie’s hand in his other. “That’s all that matters.”

“Is the other driver okay?” I ask.

“It was just me,” she says, her voice as anguished as I’ve ever heard it. “I’m such a fucking loser.”

I am fighting hard not to cry. “You’re not, and you know it. It was an accident,” I say, but Jamie just shakes her head and doesn’t meet my eyes.

I frown and glance at Damien, who looks at least as concerned as I feel.

“So tell me what happened,” I say gently. I ease up to sit on the edge of the bed and Damien pulls up a chair. I put my foot on the seat cushion beside his leg, and he rests his hand on my ankle, just below the platinum and emerald bracelet. I focus on his touch, grateful for his strength and so desperately relieved that he is here with me.

Jamie sniffles and drags the back of her hand under her nose. “I went down the mountain to go check out some happy hours,” she says. “I mean, I had this frigging awesome car, so why not, right? And I met this guy and he was so totally hot.” She looks toward Damien and shrugs almost apologetically.

“Would you like me to step out?”

Her eyes widen. “No! I mean, you deserve to know how I totaled your car. And it’s not like my reputation doesn’t precede me, right?”

Damien, wisely, stays silent.

“Go on,” I prompt.

“Well, there were sparks, you know? And I haven’t banged anyone since Raine except for that one time with Douglas,” she says, referring to our horndog of a neighbor. “Honest,” she adds, holding her hand up in a Boy Scout salute. “I was practically a nun while you two were in Germany. Anyway, he needed a ride home, and I was happy to oblige because, well, why wouldn’t I be? And that part was great. And the part after was great, too,” she adds, cutting her eyes toward Damien.

I get it. For that matter, I’m sure Damien gets it, too. She fucked the guy. A perfect stranger. But this isn’t the time for yet another lecture, and I bite back my reprimands and instead say simply, “Go on.”