Lost With Me (Stark Trilogy 5)

“What turned me on is knowing that you wouldn’t ever do that. That I belong to you.”

I feel the rise and fall of his chest as he draws breath. Then he steps back, his hands slipping from my clothes.

I turn to face him, afraid something is wrong, but the heat I see in his eyes soon dispels that fear. “With me,” he says, then leads me to the far end of the room and up the staircase to the first landing.

“What—?”

But he cuts me off with a kiss, long and so deep a shudder runs through me, a tiny hint of the explosion that’s to come.

“Look at them,” he says, turning me around so that I’m looking down into the grand room, at the people touching and kissing and petting. I watch, my blood heating as I do, and my breath coming faster as Damien’s hands stroke lightly over my back and then down to cup my ass.

He bends forward, and I feel his breath on my neck, then I gasp when I realize that he’s used his teeth to tug the bow free. My blouse falls, attached only around my waist, my breasts now completely bare. “Mine,” he says, then starts to tug up the back of my skirt.

“Damien…”

“Trust me,” he says, as inch by inch more of me is revealed. Because of the slits, the front remains down, so I know my scars remain hidden, but soon enough I’m not only topless but my backside is bare except for Damien’s palms cupping my ass cheeks.

A tremor cuts through me, and I close my eyes. He needs this, I realize. My trust. Tonight. But I want it, too. And what I’m feeling now is as much arousal as it is embarrassment.

“Touch your breasts,” he says. “And spread your legs.”

I hesitate, but do as he says, then moan as he slides a hand between my legs, finding me ridiculously wet. “Bend forward,” he orders, “and don’t close your eyes.”

Once again, I comply, this time without hesitation, and as I watch the crowd below, I hear Damien’s zipper, then feel the pressure of his rock hard erection against my core. I gasp as he enters me, my hips thrusting back in a silent demand for him to go deeper, to thrust harder.

He keeps up a slow, steady rhythm, and as he bends over me, fucking me on these stairs for all the guests to see, he cups my breast and tells me I’m beautiful. That I’m his. And that he wants to feel me come.

“Now, baby,” he says, his fingers tight on my nipple and his cock thrusting hard into me. His other hand slides around, teasing my swollen clit. I’m incredibly wet, my body on full awareness, right on the cusp of exploding. “Come with me,” he demands, the tension building in him. Both of us climbing higher and higher until—oh, God—I actually scream when my release comes in time with his, and a dozen faces below turn and look as I shatter in Damien’s arms, my knees going weak as I sink to the ground with him beside me.

We cling to each other until sanity returns, then he finds the tie for my shirt and fastens it behind my neck.

We’re both breathing hard, but he pulls me close and kisses my temple.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear.

I nod, my heart still pounding. “Yes. I think so.”

“Think so?” There’s concern in his voice.

“I just mean that I liked this,” I confess. “I liked it a hell of a lot more than I thought I would.”

His eyes study mine, intent behind the mask. “I will never share you,” he says, and I shake my head in a firm no. “But I liked it, too. A hell of a lot more than I thought I would,” he adds, his words mirroring mine.

“Take me home,” I say. I slide my hand around, cupping the back of his neck. “Take me home so that you can undress me and make love to me while you tell me about tonight. About what you liked the most. What turned you on. About what you want to do if we come back.” I study his face then smile. “When we come back.

“Tell me all that, Damien, while you’re deep inside me. Then do what you can’t do here. And watch my face when I come.”

17

I wake to the warmth of the sun on my face and the sound of the shower running in the attached bathroom in the Tower Apartment. I stretch, my body stiff and deliciously sore. And while I’m tempted to join Damien in the shower, the gurgle of the coffee maker and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee is too compelling. I slide out of bed, slip on my robe, and head toward the kitchen, planning on pouring us both a cup and then heading for the shower.

The Tower staff keeps the apartment’s refrigerator stocked, so there is fresh cream for my coffee, and I pour in a nice dollop, feeling indulgent. I take my first sip and sigh with pleasure, then pick up both mugs. I’m heading toward the bathroom when I hear my phone ring, and I detour toward my side of the bed just in case it’s Bree or Moira calling about the kids.

It’s neither. The caller ID shows up as Jenny Neeley, our neighbor, and I frown in concern as I answer. “Jenny? Is everything okay?” We’re casual acquaintances, not close friends, and the first thing that pops into my mind is that there’s an issue with our adjoining properties.

“What? Oh, everything’s fine. At least, I assume it is. I’m still at Martha’s Vineyard.”

“You’re in Massachusetts?” Something about that strikes me as wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it.

“That’s why I’m calling. Our trip went longer than we planned, and I’m supposed to be hosting a lunch for a small group of volunteers just a few days after I get back. I thought I’d have plenty of time to get everything organized, but, well, you know how it goes.”

“I—sure. What can I help you with?”

“Could you text me the contact info for the caterer you used when you and Damien hosted that lovely open house at the bungalow? The one last summer.”

“Oh. Of course. Hang on.” I switch the call to speaker so that I can continue the conversation while I look up the information, then press the button to text her the contact card.

“You’re a doll. This is one less thing to worry about. We’ll be back the day after tomorrow. I’m picking up Dover at ten. Thank goodness that dog thinks that going to the kennel is a vacation. He’s been there four days longer than we’d planned.”

I can practically feel my thoughts sliding into place. “So Dover wasn’t loose on the beach recently?”

“God, I hope not or I’ll be speaking harshly to someone at Happy Tails.” There’s a pause, then she asks, “Why?”

“I saw a dog on the beach,” I lie. “Since Dover’s an escape artist, I assumed it was him. But obviously it wasn’t, not if he’s kenneled.”

“Maybe that means someone near us has a new dog. Dover could use a buddy. At any rate, I need to run. And thanks so much for the info.”

I assure her it’s no problem, then end the call. I sit on the edge of the bed and pick my coffee back up, frowning as I take a sip and consider everything she said.

There was no loose dog. Jenny isn’t in Malibu.

I look up as Damien comes into the bedroom, his hair damp, a towel wrapped low around his hips. He looks magnificent, and all I feel is cold. All I can think about is last night. About how much I trust—trusted—this man.

“Who was she?” I ask, proud of how steady my voice is.

He cocks his head, his confusion obvious. “Who?”

“The woman on the beach who wasn’t Jenny Neeley.”

I watch his face, looking for a reaction, but there’s nothing. That goddamn, famous control. Something I obviously don’t have, because I’m on my feet now, coffee sloshing all over the sheets. I slam my mug down onto the side table, then clench my hands at my side. “Dammit, Damien, answer me. Who the fuck was she?”

“Sofia.”

My knees go weak, and I sit back down, realizing that I knew it all along. Who else would he keep secret from me? I know he wouldn’t cheat on me, and we’re nowhere close to my birthday or our anniversary or any other event that would have him planning a surprise for me. Certainly not on the beach in the middle of the night.

Which means Sofia Richter, Damien’s childhood frien

d. The woman he suffered through abuse with at the hand of her father, his tennis coach. Sofia, the woman who harassed me and gaslighted me, all with the intent of getting me to cut again. Or worse.

“I thought she was better,” I say, my voice tight. For years, Damien has paid for her care. The best doctors at the best facility money could buy. And two years ago, her doctors assured Damien that she was better. She went through a twelve-step program and everything, apologizing to me as part of that process. She even came to Lara’s welcome party when we brought her home from China and was very sweet and sincerely apologetic about the past. Or she seemed to be.

“She is better,” he says.

A slow rage starts to bubble inside me. “Then why the hell are you keeping secrets? Seriously, Damien, we’ve been down this road before.”

“Because she asked me to,” he says. “She called and said she was outside on the beach. That she needed to talk to me. And she asked me to not say anything. She wanted my opinion before I talked with you—before she talked with you.”