Please Me (Stark Trilogy 4.2)

“Already, I’m second best,” Damien grumbles.

“Well, we know who counts around here, I guess,” Jamie says, holding Lara’s waist as my little monkey leans backward over Jamie’s legs, her fingers dangling toward the floor.

“Hey, at least you rank,” I tell Damien. “Apparently I’m not even on the list.”

“Mommies always have the first spot,” he says to me, then walks over, spatula in hand, and kisses me sweetly, but thoroughly.

“You’re cruel, you know,” Jamie tells Damien. “First, you send my husband to the other side of the globe. Then you force me to watch public displays of affection.”

Ryan is the Security Chief for Stark International and Damien’s best friend.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not starved for affection,” I tell Jamie as soon as Damien’s lips leave mine. “And as for the PDA, that’s the price you pay for our friendship,” I add, my voice high and lilting with humor.

“It’s a steep price,” Jamie grumbles before bending over to blow raspberries on Lara’s now-exposed tummy.

“First one’s ready,” Damien says. “Lara, why don’t you take it to your sister?”

Lara claps, and across the room, Anne joins in. “Pip-ca!” she says, then bangs on a frying pan with a wooden spoon. It’s annoying, but she loves it. And for all I know, we have a burgeoning rock star in the family.

“Pip-ca!” Anne says, this time with more force.

“Annnnie. You be good!” Lara’s got her stern voice on, and I watch as Jamie cracks up, then points to me. “Good impression,” she says, and I roll my eyes.

At the counter, Lara carefully takes the plate from Damien, then oh-so-carefully tiptoes to the activity area we’ve set up in the far corner of the kitchen. It’s outlined by interlocking plastic blocks and filled with every toy imaginable. Most of the time, Anne joins us at her booster seat, but the table’s crowded enough this morning.

As Lara takes care of her little sister, Damien starts bringing the plates of pancakes to the table. He’s made choca-pip, blueberry, banana, and plain. Which is far more than we need, but Damien never does anything by half.

“I’ll keep an eye on Anne,” Damien tells Lara. “Come get your pancakes.”

She squeals and scurries over as I make her a plate, then pass her the syrup. She dives in, and in no time flat is a sticky little mess.

“And that’s your problem,” I say to Jamie as I glance at the clock. “I need to go get ready.”

Damien frowns in my direction. “I thought you said we were ready. I was even under strict orders not to pack anything since you’ve taken care of it all.”

“I have. I just have one minor wardrobe tweak to take care of. And I’ve got just enough time to do that before Edward pulls the limo around.”

“And you’re still not telling me where we’re going.”

“Nope.” I walk to him, my arm going around his neck as I press close. “But feel free to try to persuade me otherwise,” I whisper. “Feel free to try very, very hard.”

He chuckles. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he assures me, then seals the deal with a long, slow kiss that leaves me breathless…and all the more certain that my wardrobe adjustment will prove to be very, very welcome.

“Get a room,” Jamie calls from the table, making Damien and me break apart, laughing.

“The bags are by the stairs,” I tell Damien. “Will you take them down while I finish up?”

“At your service,” he says, the heat in his voice making me swoon.

I head for the bedroom, and the last thing I hear before disappearing inside is Damien telling Lara that he needs a goodbye kiss from his girls.

I sigh happily, thinking how lucky I am. Yes, this trip is all about eradicating the demons that have been taunting Damien lately, but even that bit of torment is only a blip compared to the incredible life I have with him and our kids and our friends. I’m ridiculously blessed, and I know it. And when I look back at the hell that was my life before LA, I’m all the more grateful for Damien and the way he’s filled and colored my life.

And this weekend, I think as I strip off my clothes and step into my closet, I intend to show him just how grateful I am.

Chapter Six

Damien steps out of the limo, his attention on the smallest plane hangared at the Santa Monica airfield—his personal, customized Lear 45.

“I’m guessing we’re not going to Europe,” Damien says. “Canada? Mexico?”

“You’re getting nothing out of me,” I tease, waving to Grayson, Damien’s favorite pilot.

The older man grins and rubs his graying beard as he hurries toward us. “She’s good to go, Mrs. Stark. We can take off as soon as you two are on board.” He hesitates for a moment, then nods to Damien, looking amused. Clearly the fact that I’m the one in charge of this particular excursion has tickled his funny bone.

“Is that all of your luggage?” he adds, glancing at the two suitcases that Edward has pulled from the limo’s trunk.

“That’s it,” I say happily. “This is a weekend without work.”

“Well, good for both of you.” He signals to a lanky teen, who hurries over and takes a suitcase in each hand, easily hefting the weight. “My grandson, Gary,” he says to me. “Just started working here for the summer. Saving money for college.”

“That’s great,” I say as we follow Gary toward the plane, then walk up the integrated stairs to the crew area. From the factory, the jet’s interior is set up like a luxurious commercial plane, with leather bucket seats on either side of an aisle. Unlike a commercial plane, the crew isn’t locked away, but sits beyond a partition.

Because Damien likes his privacy, he made certain modifications. The cockpit is open to the flight attendant’s area, but not to the passenger area. Now, the two sections are separated by a polished wooden panel and an accordion-style door.

The passenger section still boasts the leather upholstery, but now there are two oversized leather armchairs, a table large enough to either eat or work at paired with two chairs, and a plush sofa.

There’s no bedroom like there is on Damien’s larger planes, but I figure we’ll make do. Especially since Damien’s first rule for the flight staff is that if the Do Not Disturb light is on, no one enters the passenger area except in a life-threatening emergency.

It’s a rule I approve of. Especially today. I have plans for Damien, after all.

I’ve asked the crew not to announce our flying time or destination. So once we’re airborne, I’m the only one who knows how much time we have before landing

. Honestly, it’s kind of nice. There aren’t many occasions where Damien Stark doesn’t have all the relevant details right at his fingertips.

He laughs when I tell him as much. “I think I’m man enough to trust my wife to get us wherever we’re going.”

“Oh, it’s not just the destination,” I say. “It’s the ride.”

We’d buckled in side by side on the sofa, but now that we’ve reached cruising altitude, I stand and go to the wet bar, then pour him a double shot of Booker’s bourbon over ice. I walk slowly back to him, then stand in front of him, my legs spread. I’ve already kicked off my ballet flats, and I’m wearing a loose pullover dress in a soft jersey material. It’s short-sleeved and hits mid-thigh, and all Damien would have to do is reach for the hem and lift it slightly to get a very intimate view of what’s underneath. Which, frankly, isn’t much.

So little in fact, that just standing this way—my legs spread, the air caressing my sex, my mind imagining what’s to come—has me wet and ready. A fact that I’m sure Damien realizes, because I’m essentially braless, and my now-hard nipples are hard to miss under the clingy material.

His eyes lock on mine. “Something on your mind, Mrs. Stark?”

“Just that this trip is all about you. And I have something for you.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“I like you that way,” I say, then grab the hem of the dress, tug it over my head, and toss it aside, all in one motion.

I try to watch Damien’s face, and I see his eyes widen in surprise and pleasure at what I’ve revealed. Specifically, me. All wrapped up in a pretty red bow. One life-size present for him to play with.

“Christ, Nikki. I don’t know if I should frame you or fuck you.”

“The latter, please. There’s something very erotic about dressing this way.”

“There’s something erotic about seeing you that way.”

I’ve taken a Christmas bow and used double-sided fashion tape to position it low on my pubis, hiding my pussy from view. And as for my breasts, well, that required some doing—and Jamie’s help—but we managed to essentially concoct a cup-less bra by wrapping red ribbon over and under my breasts in a criss-cross pattern, then tying it off in the back.