Lost With Me (Stark Trilogy 5)

“You were my anchor through all of that,” he tells me. “Tomorrow, I’m yours.”

“Tomorrow?” The corners of my mouth tug up into a smile. “You’re always mine.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, then pulls me close for a gentle kiss. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe I promised that I’d make love to my wife tonight.”

“You did,” I agree, my breath coming faster as his hand moves down over my T-shirt until he reaches the bare skin exposed between the shirt and the waistband of my baggy sleep shorts. “And my husband is a man who always keeps his promises.”

“Definitely.” His lips brush mine, softly at first and then with more intensity. The scruff of his afternoon beard rubs enticingly against my chin, and I shift on the bed, opening my mouth to deepen the kiss.

With one hand, he cups my head, his tongue working magic on my mouth, teasing and tasting as his fingers find their way under my waistband, then slip down, lower and lower over my bare skin.

I gasp as his fingers form a V, so that he’s stroking me, dancing around my core, but not yet touching me the way I crave. I shift my hips, and Damien chuckles. “Problem, Mrs. Stark?”

“Never,” I say as I spread my legs, silently demanding more before I slide my fingers through his hair and pull him even closer, deepening the kiss, our tongues clashing as my body burns hotter, desire pouring through me.

His fingers continue their tease, stroking me intimately, but never enough. My clit is throbbing, desperate for a touch that doesn’t come, and I whimper, then close my legs, trapping his hand. “Please,” I beg, my body screaming for release. For Damien.

He pulls back, his dark eyes searching mine. Then he pulls his hand free, the sound of my protest lost in a gasp when he roughly tugs me down the bed so that I’m flat on the mattress. He straddles me, his hands sliding up my body under my thin shirt to cup my bare breasts, his thumbs and forefingers tight on my nipples.

The sensation is exquisite, and I gasp, arching up as he bends over, his lips dancing over mine before moving slowly down along my jawline, then my neck. He replaces the hand on my left breast with his mouth, but keeps a tight grip on my right nipple, twisting and teasing.

At first, his tongue dances lightly over my areola. But soon he’s flicking my hard, sensitive nipple. As he teases me, his fingers slide down under my shorts again, only this time, it’s a different kind of tease. Light brushes over my clit, then a finger sliding inside me.

I’m wet, and with every intimate touch—with every long suck on my breast—I become more and more aroused. It’s as if a hot wire of pleasure runs from my breast to my core.

My body is throbbing. Longing for him. And though I don’t want these wild, glorious sensations to end, I also want more. Need more.

“Please,” I beg.

He lifts his mouth off my breast, and the sensation of air against my damp nipple makes me shiver. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” I beg. “Inside me.”

“Like this?” he asks, making me gasp as he thrusts his fingers deep into me. I close my eyes and arch back, my hips moving of their own volition as my body craves more and more and more.

“Yes.” My voice is breathy. “Yes, but more. Damien, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Fuck me. Please, Damien. Take me now.”

Our eyes meet, and the heat I see reflected back almost melts me.

He slides down my body, then lifts my hips as he pulls off my sleep shorts, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the bed. I expect him to tug off his sweats, but instead he spreads my legs wider, then kisses the inside of my thigh.

I moan with pleasure, then cry out when he moves higher until his tongue is stroking my clit and his fingers are thrusting into me. I curse, begging him to fuck me, but at the same time lost in these glorious sensations. I want more—I want him inside me, filling me—but I don’t want this to end. This growing, consuming pleasure.

Shamelessly, I grind against him, surrendering completely as my body tenses with my approaching release. I’m close—so damn close—and I crave the explosion. Right now, I need it more than I need air. I’m trembling on the edge, Damien’s mouth sucking my clit, his fingers sliding in and out in a glorious rhythm until finally, finally, the world falls away, and my body breaks into a million pieces, an entire universe of pleasure spread out before me—

—and then hurtling me back down to reality when I hear that one little word.

Mommy?

I crash back to earth, see that the door is moving slowly open, then catch Damien’s eye before we both start laughing.

“Well, her timing could be worse,” I say, scrambling to put my shorts back on.

His eyes narrow with mock reproach. “I believe you owe me.”

“Definitely,” I say, then nod toward the door and the little girl creeping into the room. “But later.”

“Somebody’s supposed to be asleep,” Damien says to Lara.

She blinks big, watery eyes. “I had a bad dream.” Her lower lip protrudes, quivering a little. “Croca-dolls.”

“Oh, no.” Damien smooths back her hair and kisses her forward. “Well, it’s safe here with Mommy and me, okay?”

She nods, then wraps her arms around his neck as she snuggles close. He brings her to the bed and she shifts her snuggles to me.

From the monitor, Anne’s sleepy voice calls for her sister. I catch Damien’s eye and grin. “Well, we did come down to the bungalow for family time.”

His mouth quirks up on one side. “I’ll go get her,” he says, then returns quickly, adding a second sleepy girl between us.

I’m sleepy myself, and as I close my eyes, I reach across the girls to find Damien’s hand. Our fingers twine, and I open my heavy lids long enough to see him watching me. I sigh, content, then let sleep pull me under.

Or I try to at least, because the next thing I’m aware of is a soft punch to the chin. My eyes fly open, and I realize that some time must have passed, because Anne’s upside down, and her foot is in my face. How such a little person can manage to take up so much of the bed is beyond me, but every time she shares our bed, she manages to get completely twisted around.

On top of that, she’s a light sleeper, and whenever I try to adjust her in bed, I inevitably wake her. Since Damien is much better at rearranging our youngest without disturbing her sleep, I yawn and stretch toward his side of the bed, intending to shake him gently awake.

Except he’s not there.

I collapse again on my pillow, a tiny bare foot under my chin. My brain’s not awake yet, but I think that it must be morning. I reach for my phone to check the time, and see that it’s only one-fifteen.

So maybe he’s in the bathroom?

I call quietly for him, but get no response, and even though I know I’m over-reacting, tiny frissons of panic spread through me. I carefully extricate myself from the bed, then move quietly through the house, looking for him.

When I don’t find him, those fingers of panic tighten their grip, and I hurry to the patio, wondering if perhaps he’d stepped outsi

de to look at the stars. He’s not there, and I’m about to go back inside to find my phone and text him, when I see movement on the beach. Just a shadowy flicker, but when I look closer I can see that it’s a man. Damien. Even from this distance on an almost moonless night, I recognize him, and I exhale with relief, then take a step toward the stairs, intending to go join him.

Except, of course, I can’t. The girls are in our room, so there’s no monitor in there, and I’m not about to leave them alone.

I stand there, the door to the house open behind me, hoping that he turns and sees me. Something must be on his mind to send him wandering in the night, and I hope that he’s not worried about me and tomorrow’s speech.

He moves, a dark figure shifting on the beach, illuminated only by the dim light from the sliver of a crescent moon. I see him take a step toward the house, then see something white fluttering near him. I bend forward, as if an extra three inches is somehow going to magically make everything clear.

It doesn’t. Because even though I’m hit with a sudden understanding of what the fluttering thing is, I have no idea what woman Damien could be talking with on the beach in the middle of the night.

Because that is definitely a skirt. Now that it’s clicked in my mind, I can see that there is a second shadowy figure by Damien. A woman. There’s no question in my mind.

But who is she? And what are they talking about?

I run back inside and take the monitor from the girl’s room, then put it on the dresser in the master bedroom.

Then I grab a bathrobe to cover my tank and sleep shorts. I shove my arms through the sleeves and tie the belt around my waist as I step out onto the patio again. I have the receiving end of the monitor in the robe pocket, and I start down the steps, only to realize that the woman is gone and Damien’s on the path back to the bungalow.

“Nikki?”