“Take your shoes off,” he says, and I bend down to tackle the small buckles. “Lift your skirt up around your waist. I want you bare against the leather. Oh, God, Nikki, yes,” he says as I comply. The leather is smooth and cool against my red-hot skin. The vibrations beneath me seem even more erotic and I feel wanton and wild.

“Spread your legs, baby. Just like the woman in the painting.”

His words—along with all they portend—are as erotic as his touch, and my already hyperaware body kicks into overdrive. I’m aware of every movement, every brush of air against my skin, every beat of my heart, every tiny drop of perspiration that beads between my breasts. I work to control my breathing as I lift one leg and wedge it between the door and the dashboard. Then I take the other and hook my ankle over the gearshift box. I’m spread as wide as possible, and when I reach down to recline the seat, the motion shifts my hips up a bit. I make a small, strangled sound. My entire body tingles, but I am most aware of the heavy throbbing between my legs.

“She lies there, silently begging for her lover. Her cunt is slick, her breasts tender, her nipples begging to be sucked.”

“Damien, please …”

“He doesn’t touch her, though,” Damien continues, and I bite back a frustrated moan. “He leaves her like that, a breeze blowing on her aching cunt.”

He leans over and adjusts the air conditioner so that a stream of cool air blows right between my legs. It’s soft and decadent and it makes me ache.

“If he were kind, he’d let her touch herself, but if you look closely at the painting, you see that her hand is in the air, wanting, but not reaching. Did you notice that, Nikki?”

“No,” I say firmly. “I’m certain she was touching herself.”

“Are you? Well, that’s the thing about art. It’s different for everybody. Shall I tell you what I see?”

I swallow and nod.

“I see the man who is not in the portrait. The woman means everything to him. And nothing can please him more than to bring her pleasure. And not just a quick fuck and a fast orgasm, Nikki. No, he wants to create their own nirvana. To build pleasure upon pleasure until the lines cross and neither is sure if it’s torment or delight.”

I lick my lips, my mouth dry. I’m hyperaware of my body. Of the motion of the car. Of my breasts, so tender now beneath the thin material.

“He wants his lover to trust him. To surrender herself to him completely. To let him orchestrate the pleasures of her body. But he leaves the ultimate choice up to her. He lets her have one hand free, and that is the moment Blaine captured on the canvas.”

He turns and looks briefly at me before returning his attention to the road. “And so the question is, does she touch herself or does she trust him?” His voice is as warm and soft and intimate as the caress I crave. “You tell me, Nikki. What does the woman do?”

“She trusts him,” I whisper.

And then I close my eyes and lose myself to the motion of the car and Damien’s promise of what is to come.

16

“We’re here,” Damien says, after a journey that must have been a thousand miles.

“Here?” I repeat. I glance out the window and see that we’re pulling into the driveway of the Century Plaza hotel.

“Tug your skirt down, baby,” he says. “Unless you want to give the valet a treat.”

I shift in the seat and cover myself, then bend even farther and put my shoes on. My body is achy and needy, and I am having trouble switching over to this new reality. “We’re checking into a hotel?” The prospect is undeniably enticing.

“You are,” he says, as he pulls up to the valet stand.

A young man in a red uniform hurries to Damien’s side of the car. “I’m just dropping off the lady,” he says.

Now I’m completely confused. “What are we—”

“Go register,” he says. “Don’t worry, you already have a reservation. And I suggest a drink. Take a seat at the bar. It’s a beautiful venue and the bartender makes an excellent martini.”

I am still in the car, and the valet is holding my door open. I wait for Damien to say more, but he has pulled out his phone and is scrolling through his text messages. I’m still not certain what the game is, but at least I’ve figured out that it is a game.

“Yes, sir.” I slip out of the car, then remember my purse. “Wait a minute,” I say, then I lean back in, making sure that the dress gapes enough in the front to give Damien an enticing view of what I wear underneath this dress. Which is absolutely nothing.

“Tip the young man, darling,” I say, once I’m standing upright again. Then I turn and head into the hotel, making sure to swing my hips so that the skirt swishes as I walk.

I’ve not been in this hotel, and it’s stunning. It takes me a moment to get my bearings, but I find both the registration desk and the lobby bar. I go to register first, smiling at the clean-cut man who greets me. “I’m checking in. Nikki Fairchild.”

He taps at the computer screen, then looks up at me with an even wider smile. “I see that you’re in our penthouse suite. Can I have someone take up your luggage?”

“Thank you, but no.” I don’t bother mentioning that I have no luggage.

“One key or two?”

“Just one,” I say. I am, after all, a woman alone.

I consider going up to the room and lying naked on the bed, but Damien has told me to have a drink, and I am intrigued by both his plan for the evening and the thought of an excellent martini.

Mostly, though, I don’t want to give Damien any cause for punishing me. Because I am certain that my punishment would be abstinence, and that is not something that is on my radar tonight.

It’s late, but the bar is full. There are very few women, and the men are mostly in suits. Considering the business attire, I’m guessing that there is a conference going on, because almost every table is full. I take a seat at one of the bar stools as Damien said and order a dirty martini. As I wait for the bartender to fix it, I glance out across the lobby, but so far, there is no sign of Damien.

I’m not sure what to expect, and I have to fight the urge to pull out my phone and call him. Instead, I tell myself that patience is a virtue. Not necessarily one of my virtues, but a virtue nonetheless.

“You look distracted. Anything I can help you with?”

The voice belongs to a nice-looking man who sits one seat over from me at the bar. I finally see Damien, and am about to tell the man that no, I’m fine, when Damien meets my eyes, then very deliberately takes a seat at a nearby table with three other men.