Play My Game (Stark Trilogy 3.3)

“Did you?”

“So right now, I’m wearing a pearl choker and nipple rings.”

“Are you? I’m looking forward to seeing that. And nothing else?”

I know that he expects the answer to be yes, but instead I say, “Well …”

“Oh?” I hear the interest in his voice. “Tell me.”

“Well, it’s just that I thought I should accessorize. After all, if I’m wearing the pearl necklace, then surely I should wear the matching panties.”

I trace my hand down to the thong that he once gave me, a delicious little piece of lingerie with a string of pearls in the most interesting of locations.

“Oh, baby,” he says, and I can’t help the bubble of laughter that bursts free.

“Make me squirm,” I say, “and you’ll make me come.”

“Slide your hand down,” he orders, “but touch nothing but the pearls.”

I do, moaning a little because the sensation is exquisite, all the more so because the pearls are slick with my own arousal.

“Very nice,” he says. “But, baby, as much as I’m enjoying this game, I think it’s time for us to give it up.”

“Oh.” The disappointment practically floods my voice, and I hear his low chuckle of understanding.

“I’m on the property,” he says.

“Oh!” I may have been enjoying the game, but I cannot deny that I’m ready to have the man and not the fantasy.

“I want you on the bed.” The command is clear in his voice, and I melt just a little bit more. “Legs open. Arms at your sides. And your eyes closed.”

I comply, though it is hard to stay still when I hear the security system beeping, signaling that he has opened the door.

I’ve tucked the folded itinerary under the band of my thong, but I’m otherwise exactly how he wanted me to be. I hear his footsteps and force myself not to open my eyes and watch him approaching me. And when his weight shifts the mattress, I bite my lower lip and breathe deep as he trails kisses up my leg, finally taking the itinerary in his teeth before straddling me and dropping it on my chest.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl,” he says, then lowers himself to kiss me, long and hard. “I like it.”

I laugh, then open my eyes as I hook my arms around his neck and pull myself up for another kiss before taking the itinerary and setting it aside. “I like my present. A spa getaway with my husband. It’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” he says. “And right now, I’m not interested in spas or islands or getaways.” He starts to kiss his way down my body. “Can you guess what I am interested in?”

I press my fingertip against the corner of my mouth. “Hmm. Let me think.”

I lift my head long enough to meet his eyes. “I love you.”

“I know you do,” he says. “And that knowledge is what fuels my days and lights my nights. Now put your head back, baby, and close your eyes. I want to make you fly.”

He is as good as his word, and as his fingers and mouth set my body on fire, I stretch my arms out and close my fists around the bedclothes in defense against the pleasure that is rising like a storm inside me.

Down and down he moves until his tongue is stroking the string of pearls that makes up the thong of these exceptionally intriguing panties. And though he is not touching me directly, the pearls are moving intimately over me, making me even more desperate for him than I already was.

“Dammit, Damien, now,” I beg, but I tormented him in the limo, and he is not going easy on me now. This is torture by seduction, and it is glorious.

From the floor where it has fallen, my phone chirps, the distinctive cricket sound that I assigned to Jamie’s texts. “Ignore it,” I say, then make a mental note to strangle my best friend after she repeats the text three more times.

I’m about to tell Damien to go ahead and toss my phone out the window when his phone rings. Another distinctive tone, this one assigned to the Stark International security department.

“Shit,” he says, but since I happen to know that the number is for emergency purposes only, I know that Damien will answer. As he reaches for his phone, I decide to grab mine and see what Jamie says.

All her text reads is 9-1-1.

I frown, and turn to look at Damien, who now wears an expression that could bring down a small nation.

“What’s happened?” I ask as soon as he ends the call.

“Get dressed,” he says, pulling his clothes back on.

“Tell me,” I demand as he tugs me toward the closet.

“Jamie and Ryan got an extortion email, too. Another two hundred grand or else the sender releases a sex tape.”

“Of her and Ryan?”

“Of her and Douglas,” Damien corrects, referring to the rather sleazy next-door neighbor that Jamie banged on more than one occasion.

“Oh, shit,” I say, as I pull on a knit skirt and a T-shirt.

“Yeah,” Damien says as we head toward the stairs. “I think that about sums it up.”

Chapter 8

We start out heading toward Venice Beach, assuming that both Ryan and Jamie are at his house. But a text from Jamie soon has us changing course. Ryan, apparently, has taken off for Studio City. And according to my best friend, he’s gone with the intent of beating the crap out of Douglas.

Fortunately, we’re not yet to Santa Monica, so we abandon PCH once we reach the Getty Villa and Highway 27, and careen through the hills toward the 101 Freeway.

We arrive right before Jamie, who is squealing to a stop in front of our old building. She’s in the Ferrari that Damien and I gave her as a going-away present, and I know damn well that she pushed that machine to the limit to get here that fast. I know, because we did the same thing.

“Ryan’s here,” Damien says, nodding toward a Mercedes parked at an odd angle across the street.

“He’s gonna kill him.” Jamie is hurrying toward us. Her eyes are red and her makeup blotchy. “I’ve never seen him so mad.”

“He has reason to be,” Damien says darkly. “Come on.”

The building entrance is enclosed now, thanks to Damien’s contribution to building security, but Jamie has the key code. She taps it in, and we three hurry inside, then up the stairs to Douglas’s condo, right next door to the one Jamie and I used to share.

Damien tries the knob, then pounds on the door when he finds it locked. “Dammit, Ryan. Open up.”