Entice Me (Stark Trilogy 3.7)

“Nikki.” There’s a tightness in his voice. Almost a warning. But I don’t heed it. Frankly, I don’t think he wants me to. Slowly, I stroke my hand up the length of him, a wild knot of heated need growing inside me, spreading wilder and faster as I feel him harden beneath my hand. As I hear the shift in his breathing. The catch in his throat when my hand reaches the base of his cock and then rises to the button of his jeans.

“Christ.”

That’s all he says, and I turn my head just enough so that I can see the desire in his eyes. A wild lust. A wanton need that matches my own. There’s never a moment when I don’t crave this man, but right now—after a day in the sun with the alcohol still warming my blood—I think that I will die if I can’t touch him. Can’t taste him.

And with every second that passes—with every tiny shift in his posture, every shortened breath, every tightening of his muscles as he fights for control—I know that I am winning. And that rush of power that courses through me is as potent as wine and as powerful as the most magical aphrodisiac.

It takes some doing, but I manage the button with one hand. The zipper is trickier, and I try to hurry because Damien has lifted his hand, and I’m afraid that if I don’t manage, Damien will do it himself, and this is something that I want. Wholly and completely.

But it’s not his fly that Damien is reaching for, it’s my leg. And as I lower his zipper, his hand slides slowly up my leg, slipping under the hem of my skirt so his palm rubs my bare skin.

I shiver as I ease his zipper down, then slide my hand in and stroke his cock though his briefs. He’s so damn hard, and I slowly ease the fly open to free him. His erection springs free, and I move forward just enough so that I can run the tip of my tongue lightly over the head as his hand squeezes my thigh tighter and tighter.

“Nikki, fuck, baby, that feels amazing.”

I allow myself a smug smile before I move forward even more and tease the tip of my tongue along the underside of his cock, all the way from balls to tip.

As I do, his free hand slides up the back of my neck and I feel the pressure of his thumb as I slowly draw in his cock, deeper and deeper until I feel it in he back of my throat. Until his hips start to shift under me in a subtle demand that I suck him hard, deeper.

His fingers slide further up my leg, then slip under my panties. “Spread your legs,” he orders, his voice like heated sandpaper. I try, but it’s not easy in my awkward, sideways position. It’s enough, though, and soon his fingers are stroking me. I’m wet and slick, and I shift position, pressing against his hand, wanting more and more—and then gasping when he thrusts his fingers deep inside me, mimicking the way I’m taking his cock in my mouth.

He finger fucks me hard and deep, and I shamelessly ride his hand, my own mouth working the same rhythm on his cock as a wild, wanton pressure builds inside me.

I’m close—I’m so damn close. And my muscles tighten around him, drawing him in even as every cell in my body races closer and closer to release.

And then he withdraws, shocking me with the sudden cessation. I pull my head back, releasing his cock as I cry out in protest.

“On me,” he orders as I struggle to catch my breath and swallow my protests. “I want to feel you shatter around me. I want to look in your eyes while you come. And I want to explode deep inside you.”

I nod because words just aren’t happening right now, and I start to pull off my panties while I rearrange myself so that I can move onto his lap.

“No.”

I don’t understand at first, but then his hand slides under my skirt again and he tugs the crotch aside as I straddle him. His cock is right there pressing against me, and I’m so turned on I don’t want to wait. I lower myself, biting my lower lip as he fills me, then gasping as his finger inside my panties shifts just enough so he can tease my clit as I ride him.

“Hurry, baby,” he murmurs. “We’re almost there.”

My head is fuzzy with lust, but I realize he means the Tower—not our orgasms.

With his other hand he cups my breast, and as I ride him faster and harder, his fingers tighten on my nipple, hard now under my thin bra and T-shirt. Tighter and tighter, and I moan and squirm and gasp as a delicious pressure builds inside me. And when I explode—when a wild, relentless orgasm rocks through me like a cresting, pounding wave—Damien releases my nipple and I feel a wild whipping heat crack through my body, tracing a line of indescribable intensity from my nipple to my clit, and deep, deep inside me.

“Damien,” I beg. “Now. Please, now.” Because we’ve arrived, and Edward is shutting off the engine, and any minute now he’s going to open the limo door that’s just a few feet from us. But no way am I getting off my husband until I’ve taken him all the way.

And just as that determined thought cuts through me, Damien clutches my hips, thrusts down even harder so that he fills me completely, leans his head back, and explodes.

For a moment, we stay like that, me straddling him and us both breathing hard. Then I hear Edward’s footsteps and I scramble off, adjusting my skirt, and knowing full well that my panties are soaked through.

And by the time Edward opens the door, my clothes are back to normal and Damien’s jeans are buttoned.

Damien grins at me, then ushers me out of the limo in front of him. I comply, though I don’t look Edward in the eye. And it’s not until we’re in our private elevator that I finally relax, my nerves kicking in as I collapse against the side of the car, my body shaking with laughter.

“I swear I hadn’t planned a repeat performance,” I say as we step into the elevator.

“Complaining, Mrs. Stark?”

“On the contrary,” I say as we begin to rise. “I was going to comment how very much I love limousines. They’re very . . . invigorating. I’m hardly tired at all anymore.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I was wiped,” I admit. “Those kids exhausted me. I expected it from Ronnie. But I had no idea a baby could wear me out. Did you see how fast that kid can move?”

The elevator arrives, the doors opening on our foyer. I step out, and immediately kick off my shoes.

“He’s got good genes,” Damian says. “He’ll be a little athlete, that one.”

“I think Jackson’s hoping for a little architect,” I counter.

“I have every confidence in Jeffery. He can be both.”

“Absolutely,” I agree as I head toward the living room.

Damien takes my arm and tugs me back toward him. “Might be nice to have one around here.” His voice is low. Almost tentative. And Damien is never tentative.

Something raw shifts in my chest, and I’m really not sure if it’s a good or a bad feeling. “I thought you said you weren’t drunk.”

“I’m very sober.” He holds my head with one hand and traces my lower lip with the index finger of the other. “They have good kids,” he says softly. “We would, too.”

“We would, yes.” My voice is shaky. “But I just got invited to submit that proposal. My business is just getting off the ground.”

“I know,” he says.

“I don’t want to put all that aside.” My insides are tight, and my voice is rising in pitch. “And I haven’t got a clue about how to be a mom. You know that.”

“Hey,” he says gently. “Calm down. I didn’t say we should have kids tomorrow. Just some day. We’ve always said we’ll have them some day.”

I nod, a little relieved. A little embarrassed that I overreacted. “Sorry. I just—”

“Of course, I am getting older,” he interrupts with a definite tease in his voice.

I smirk. “Yeah, you’re looking pretty decrepit these days. Is that your way of reminding me you have a birthday coming up?”

“Are you saying you need reminding?”

“Never.” I sidle up closer, shaking off the lingering panic, then smile up at him. “So tell me, Birthday Boy. What would you like?”

“So many choices.” He trails

a fingertip down my arm. “Maybe a birthday strip tease?”

I raise my brow. “Interesting choice. I’ll see if I can’t hire someone.”

“I’d rather have one from my wife.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Maybe you should practice so it’s perfect.”

“Should I?”

He bends down so that his lips graze my ear. “Dance for me, baby. Right now.”

“Is that what you want?” I ask. “To watch me dance? Because I have something else in mind.”

His brow rises. “Do you?”

“Mmm,” I say, then start humming as I pull out my phone and find my current favorite song on my workout playlist. A little fast. A little raunchy. A lot fun. I click the button to send it through our sound system, and when the music starts, I press my hand to Damien’s chest and jauntily strut forward, forcing him backward to the padded bench that is intended as a place to sit and wait for the elevator. Right now, I have a different purpose in mind.

“I’ll dance,” I say, doing a shimmy and pulling off my T-shirt in the process. “I’ll even do a stripper dance,” I add. “But I don’t do solo shows. I require full participation.”