“Am I?” He leans farther in, and those hands that I want so desperately between my legs move up to cup my breasts. I gasp as he pinches my nipples, once again sending hot threads of desire all through me. I bite my lower lip and squeeze my eyes shut. I swear if he does that again I really will come, and I silently beg him to do just that.

Naturally, he doesn’t, and I teeter there on my imaginary cliff, so very ready to leap into the chasm, but quite unable to take myself there.

“Cruel?” he whispers. “Or am I being very, very good to you?”

“Cruel,” I say very firmly, then smile when he laughs.

He slides his hands off my breasts to curve around my sides. I can feel the fragile bones of my rib cage beneath his strong hands, a reminder once again of how much I am his in this moment. Bound. Helpless. His to tease, to torment, to command.

Tenderly, he kisses the tiny scar above my pubic bone. I feel the rough brush of his beard stubble against my sensitive skin.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. “I want to hear you say it.”

I open my mouth, but no words come. “You,” I finally manage. My voice is rough. “I want you inside me.”

“Why, Ms. Fairchild,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my pubis and his voice so low I can barely hear him. “Are you saying you want to be fucked?”

“God, yes.”

“I like your answer.” He gently cups my needy sex. His skin is hot, but not as hot as mine. “But I don’t think you’re quite ready.”

It is entirely possible that I will die from frustration. I suck in a breath and find my words. “Mr. Stark,” I say sternly, “if you can’t tell how ready I am, then I’m afraid you’re not as skilled a lover as I had thought.”

“On the contrary,” he whispers. “I’m an exceptional lover. You just need to be more patient and let me prove it to you, slowly, methodically, and very, very thoroughly.”

I say nothing. Every sensation in my body, every ounce of feeling and desire has rushed between my legs. I feel heavy and swollen and desperate.

I need him inside me. If he doesn’t fuck me soon, I’m one-hundred-percent certain that I will implode. “Damien, please.”

“This?” He slides two fingers inside my vagina, and I gasp as my body tightens hungrily around him. My hips gyrate without me even thinking about it, and it’s an odd, amazing sensation with my legs bound open like that, because he is right. Not even the slightest shimmer of my desire can be hidden.

“Yes,” I manage, forcing the word to my lips. “But more. You.”

He adds another finger and begins a slow, sensual in-and-out. I tilt my head back, letting the pleasure build. I’m close, so very close, my muscles constricting to pull him in, harder and deeper. And then, finally, he gives me what I really want. He shifts his body over mine and holds himself up with one hand near my waist. The other he slides under my ass, lifting me just slightly. It feels strange because I cannot help. My knees and feet are not my own, but it’s not something I’m particularly worried about—for that matter, I’m no longer worried about anything, because Damien penetrates me now, his hips thrusting forward, his cock hard inside me as he holds my hips with his hands and pulls me toward him to meet his thrusts.

His movements are steady, even, and the tingling sensation in my body is like electricity building to a thrumming, steady power. But that’s the thing about electricity—it can surprise you, and when Damien changes the rhythm, I cry out, my body shuddering as a powerful, unexpected orgasm bursts through me, sending vibrant sensations throughout me like ripples from a rock in a pond.

Damien doesn’t stop. He thrusts again, harder and faster, again and again, until he, too, explodes. And, more than that, I explode again with him.

“Oh, baby,” he says, as his body melts against mine.

“That was spectacular,” I say, surprised that I can actually manage to form words.

He leans up on his elbow and looks at me. “Are you okay?”

“Mmm.” I moan in satisfaction. “More than okay. But just a little stiff,” I add.

He chuckles, then kisses me softly and tells me to wait. A moment later he is carefully cleaning me, then slowly unbinding me, massaging each place where the rope cut into me, and gently stretching out my limbs.

He picks me up and carries me to bed, then eases up to spoon behind me, his arms around my waist. I sigh, lost in the pleasure of being so well attended to. I feel spoiled and cherished. More than that, I feel safe.

For a moment, we are silent, but as my mind drifts back over the evening, I cannot keep my question in any longer.

“Damien?”

“Yes?” His voice is tired. Sleep will soon be upon both of us.

“What was your father talking about? Why do you need to be squeaky clean?”

He is quiet for so long that I hold my breath.

“He’s yanking my chain,” Damien finally says. But that is not the truth, and I’m certain that Damien realizes I know it.

“Damien—”

He rolls me over, and something about his eyes tells me that this is it. If I press, he will tell me.

I swallow. Because this isn’t about learning the truth, it’s about Damien willingly sharing the truth with me.

I begin again. “How did you know where to find me tonight?”

For a moment his expression reveals nothing. Then I see the smile light his eyes, though it does not reach his lips. He cups my head with his hand and looks at me with an expression of such adoration it takes my breath away.

“Don’t you know, Nikki? No matter where you go, I will always find you.”

12

My legs are deliciously sore when I wake Saturday morning. I roll over, searching for Damien, but he isn’t there. I consider staying in bed—after all, at some point he has to come back—but the lure of coffee wins out and I head for the kitchen.

The man knows me well, because the note he left for me is taped to the coffeepot.

A few things came up. At the office. Loved last night. The image of you naked and bound, spread wide for me, is burned into my mind. I expect that I will find it difficult to concentrate. I may just have to spank you later for distracting me so …

I smile and tuck the note into my purse. Then I shower and change before heading through the door in the back that connects the apartment to the office. When I finish navigating the maze of hallways and find myself in the reception area, Ms. Peters greets me with a smile.