Complete Me (Stark Trilogy 3)

“No?” His voice is very low and as sharp as a knife. “Goddammit, Nikki, why the hell not?”

I force myself to remain resolute. Because the truth is that I do want to live with him. Hell, I never want to leave his side. But not like this. “Do you want me to live with you because you love me or because you want to protect me?”

He studies me for a moment, then shakes his head as if in exasperation, which, frankly, pisses me off. “I want you with me, Nikki. And dammit, you want it, too.”

Since I can’t deny that, I stay quiet. Sometimes silence is the best policy.

“Shit,” he says, more to himself than to me.

I point to the letter. “As much as I hate that, the bottom line is that mail can’t hurt me, Damien, and the condo is safe. Your own team scoped it out. Or should I assume that the security team at Stark International does subpar work?”

“I have certain expectations regarding everything I own.” He’s striding toward me as he speaks, the power seeming to come off him in waves. I swear if I look closely, I could see the electrons shimmer in response to his passing.

I cock my head. “Am I one of your possessions, Mr. Stark?”

He stops right in front of me, and even though I am determined to hold my ground, I find that I am having a hard time breathing. “I believe we had an arrangement,” he says as he traces a fingertip lightly along my collarbone. My lips part and my legs feel weak. He knows the effect he has on me, damn him, and I close my eyes and succumb to the sensation. The trill of tiny sparks that seem to radiate through my body. That heavy, demanding longing between my thighs. I draw in a breath, and murmur a single word: “Damien.”

“There are rules, remember?” I think I hear a smile in his voice. The confidence of a man who thinks that he has won. “You’re mine, Nikki. Whenever and however I want. And wherever,” he adds, cupping my breast in his hand and squeezing my nipple between his thumb and forefinger so hard that it makes me gasp as pain mixes with pleasure and rockets through me all the way to my sex. “And where I want you is with me.”

“I am always with you,” I say, though I have to fight to form words. I open my eyes, my body on fire and desperate for his touch. I want his hands on me. I want his cock inside me. I am his and I want to surrender to him right there, to let him have me however he wants.

I want all that—but I also want to win this battle. And so I draw in a breath and say, slowly and firmly, “But I’m not moving in with you.”

He grabs my arms and pulls me to him. “Dammit, Nikki, this isn’t a game.”

I raise a brow. “Isn’t it, sir?”

I see him flinch, then the jerk of his arms as he releases me, pushing back so that he can stalk away from me.

I exhale, regretting my moment of bitchiness. “Damien, I’m fine.” My voice is gentle but firm. “That letter gives me jitters, too, but it’s just mail and bullshit. No one’s in the condo. I mean, Jesus, you’ve turned this place into a fortress. Just give it a rest, okay?”

“The hell I will,” he snaps. “I want you safe. Nothing is going to happen to you. I’m not losing you the way—” He cuts himself off and I’m left gaping at him.

“What? Dammit, Damien, is this about Sofia? You think her having gone missing has something to do with you?”

“I don’t have a clue why she’s gone missing,” he says.

“And it’s driving you crazy. And you aren’t telling me a goddamn thing.” I want to be understanding, really I do. I get that the situation is eating at him. His friend has disappeared. Some asshole is stalking me. And some potentially malevolent benefactor arranged for the dismissal of the charges against him in the worst way possible. He’s trying to grab control of all that, and it’s just slipping through his fingers. I get it; I do.

But at the end of the day that doesn’t change a thing.

“Do not fight me on this, Nikki.”

“Hell yes, I’m fighting. Why bother to put the gate around my apartment if you’re not going to trust that it will do its job? I mean, I don’t like getting nasty mail any more than you do, but for all we know it was mailed from Antarctica.”

He strides to me, all power and control and cool masculinity. He reaches out and his finger brushes my cheek, the shock of his touch sending sparks through me. “I don’t like being defied,” he says.

I suck in air, determined not to melt or back down. “I don’t like being bossed around.” I shift my feet, mentally planting my stance along with my posture. “You’re not winning this one, Damien. Deal with it.”

His finger trails down my neck to the collar of my T-shirt. “Do you have any idea how frustrated I am right now?”

I shudder, the light pressure of his touch sending all sorts of decadent promises swirling through me. “I know what you’re doing.” My words tremble. “It won’t work.”

“Won’t it?”

I close my eyes, shivering as his fingertip follows the curve of my breast. “I’m not giving in.”

He fists his hand around the collar of my shirt and tugs me close. “I’ll have you safe,” he murmurs. As he holds me in place with one hand, with the other he captures my waist.

He eases me backward, and I feel the bed press against the back of my thighs. My body tingles with awareness, but also with something new. This is the Damien I know so well, but there’s a quality to his touch I haven’t felt before. A take-no-prisoners attitude that excites me, making my inner thighs tingle and my cunt throb for his touch.

“I want to cup my hand around you,” he murmurs, sliding his hand over my sex as if in illustration, and then making me gasp when he uses that grip to lift me up onto the bed, the pressure from his thumb on my pubis and his palm over my sex so intense it send tremors though me, like portents of an explosion to come.

He lays me out on the bed, one hand stroking circles on my sex and the other cupping my breast. I moan, my hips gyrating to meet him, my back arching up to increase the pressure of his hand against my painfully sensitive nipple. “That protective bubble you mentioned? I want to keep you locked inside. Whatever it takes,” he says. “You can’t possibly know how much I need you.”

“I do.” I am not entirely sure how I manage to form words. Whatever game we are playing, I have conceded long ago. Whatever he wants from me, he can take. All I want right now is his touch.