“Oh.” The word slips out of me like a wisp of cloud.

“Did you do this, baby?” he asks, guiding my hand higher. Tracing over my scars, finding that soft, tender spot where my thigh meets my sex. “Did you touch yourself before I came over?” He slides my hand over my sex. I’m slick with desire. He guides me to the pearls, then curves my fingers so that I’m caressing them as he moves my hand up and down, up and down. “Did you play with your clit? Did you think of me?”

“Yes,” I whisper, as his hand continues to control my finger.

“Did you read my note?”

“Yes.” I squirm as our joined hands continue to tease me. I am desperately, achingly hot for him.

“Yes, what?”

I fight not to smile and end up gasping. “Yes, sir.”

“What did it say?”

“Not to touch myself.” I tilt my head so that I’m looking straight into his eyes. My skin is burning, my dress clinging to me from the sheen of sweat our heat has generated. “You said that was your privilege.”

“And why is it my privilege?”

I’m so desperate for him I can barely speak. “Because I’m yours.”

“That’s right.” Slowly, he thrusts two fingers inside of me. I bite my lip so as not to cry out, silently begging him to just fuck me right then.

He doesn’t. Instead he pulls out, then gently takes both our hands away, sliding out from under my skirt. I actually whimper. “You broke the rules, Ms. Fairchild. What happens to girls who break the rules?”

I shift my hips, letting the pearls continue the work that our hands were doing. “They’re punished.”

He casts his eyes down toward my crotch. “I think you better sit still, Ms. Fairchild.”

“Damien,” I beg.

He bends over and slides his hands down into the bodice of my dress. His fingers find my very erect, very sensitive nipples, and twists them. Not hard enough to hurt—but just barely. I gasp as a fresh wave of pleasure breaks through me.

“Do you like that?”

“Oh, yes.”

He keeps one hand on my breast. With the other, he pulls out the lacquered chopstick I’d used to hold up my hair. It falls in loose curls to my shoulders. He runs the strands through his hands and breathes in the scent of my shampoo.

“I’m crazy about your hair,” he says, then takes a handful and tugs my head back so that I’m looking up at him. His mouth brushes over mine. My lips are parted, ready for his kiss, but he’s only teasing me. Torturing me.

“You’re so cruel,” I say.

“Oh, but I’m not,” he says, his lips brushing over my cheek, my temple as he speaks. “Tell me, Ms. Fairchild. What should your punishment be? What should I do to a naughty girl who touches herself when she’s not supposed to?”

I think about what he whispered to me the last time I was in this limo. About how he might have to punish me. About how if he was there, maybe he’d have to spank me. He’d been teasing—playing—but I’d heard real desire in his voice—and that had made me even wetter.

I lick my lips and turn my head so that I’m looking right at his face. “Maybe you ought to spank me.”

His eyes grow so dark I think I could get lost in them. “Jesus, Nikki.”

I wriggle off the seat and lay myself over his legs, my hips on his thighs. Slowly—deliberately—I raise my skirt. The pearls of the thong are tight between my ass cheeks, and the lace of the garters is pulled down tight to my stockings. But my ass is otherwise bare.

“Go ahead,” I whisper. “Punish me.”

I’m even wetter now, my cunt pulsing in anticipation. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

His palm strokes my rear, and I close my eyes. His touch feels amazing.

“Nikki,” he says. “Is this what you need?”

I open my eyes and see the slightest hint of worry beneath the desire. I think of my scars. Of my promise to him that I no longer need the pain.

“No,” I say. “But it is what I want.”

I watch as the worry fades to pure, erotic heat. “You’ve been a bad girl, Ms. Fairchild,” he says, his voice sending shockwaves through me.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Stark.”

His palm strokes my ass, then I feel a quick flash of cool air before his hand stings my rear. I cry out, more from surprise than from pain. He rubs me again, his fingers sliding down between my cheeks to find where I’m slick and wet for him. I hear his groan as my vagina clenches around him when he roughly thrusts two fingers inside me. “Oh, baby,” he says, then withdraws his hand and lands another smack on my ass.

This time, I don’t jump, but I do gasp, sucking in air while I keep my eyes closed, imagining the white of my rear turning slightly pink from the punishment he’s delivering.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes,” I confess.

“Hardly a punishment if you like it.” Smack. “But I like it, too.” Smack, smack.

I am in serious distress now, not from pain, but from such intense arousal that if Damien doesn’t fuck me right then and there, I’m probably going to lose my mind.

One more smack and I cry out for him to stop. He hesitates, probably not certain if I meant to call out our safeword, but I use the break to shift my position until I’m straddling him and my fingers are on the fly of his tux. “Fuck me,” I demand. “Fuck me now or don’t ever think of fucking me again.”

He laughs, then pulls me close and kisses me hard. I have his cock out and the pearls shoved to one side and I don’t wait for him because I am truly, totally, completely shameless at this point. I lower myself on him, taking him in, pressing my palms to the roof of the limo so that I can take him harder and deeper. He holds my waist and I ride him, everything disappearing around me except the sensation of pleasure and the feel of Damien’s cock filling me and my sore ass rubbing against the fine material of his tux.

“Oh, God, Nikki, those pearls,” he says, and even through the haze of passion, I have to laugh. He’s getting an interesting stroking, too. And I smile as I explode, my muscles clenching, milking him, making him come, too, until I collapse forward, my arms around his shoulders, and we breathe together, spent and sated.

“Serves you right,” I whisper, and Damien, now soft inside me, laughs.

Damien pushes the button for the intercom and tells Edward to circle the block until he says otherwise. Apparently we’d arrived at the party.