“I get it,” I say. “I understand what you’ve been telling me. That it’s okay to need you this way. To let you anchor me so that I can get her out of my head. So that I can hold on to the me that I’ve worked so hard to build. And on to the life we’ve built together.”
“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes, Nikki. Yes.”
“Then do it.” I demand as he grabs my hips and lifts me onto the counter, balancing me right on the edge as he roughly spreads my legs. I reach out to stroke his rock hard erection. “Anchor me. Make it rough. Make it hard.”
And damned if he doesn’t do just that. Wild and fast—and exactly what I need.
He doesn’t use his fingers first, doesn’t get me ready in any way.
Instead he holds me steady and thrusts hard inside me all the way to his balls. So deep I cry out. So hard I swear he must be bruising my insides. He thrusts again and again, one hand on my hip, the other on my shoulder, so that he has absolute control of me and can hold me steady, so that I can’t move at all to provide even the slightest resistance to his pounding. I’m absorbing it all, taking it. Letting him fill me. Letting him use me.
Harder and harder, not making love but fucking. Raw, violent, wild fucking. And I can do nothing but submit. I can’t lean back. I can’t shift. I’m right here, going nowhere, and it’s hard and it’s hot and I don’t want it to end.
Again and again and again. And as he gets closer, he slides the hand on my shoulder down until he has my nipple tight between two fingers. I bite my lip, relishing this new sensation and the way the touch shoots all the way down to my clit, now throbbing with the need for release.
He pinches my nipple tighter, then twists a little. “Come with me,” he demands, and this time he takes the hand from my hip and puts it around my throat, just tight enough so that if I want to breathe I can’t move.
This is new and disconcerting and completely awesome, and as the pressure on my neck increases with the pounding of his cock into me, I feel my body start to unravel, the threads Damien is spinning from tit to cunt shooting out like lines of fire.
When his body begins to shake as he starts to come, it’s as if he has flipped a switch in me. My own orgasm bursts through me, and in that moment I know with crystal clarity that this is the real key between us. Because Damien will always be there, when I’m broken and when I’m not. He will always be there to hold me close. To give me what I need.
And he will always help me heal.
Damien and I spend Sunday morning in bed, then join the others at the restaurant for brunch and a walk along the storm-swept beach before we all go to our bungalow to just hang out until we head back to the mainland. The others take a boat—except for Jackson and Sylvia who decided to stay an extra day to play with Ronnie on the beach—but Damien and I travel by helicopter from the island directly to our home in Malibu.
There are, as I remind myself almost daily, some fabulous perks to being married to a billionaire. Door to door transportation is just one of many.
We spend the evening relaxing at home, curled up beside each other in bed, with our cat, Sunshine, purring contentedly at our feet while Damien reads a Ray Bradbury novel and I scour the most recent edition of Wired. Or, that’s what we do until I yawn and stretch and put my magazine on the side table.
That’s when Damien rolls on his side, his expression devilish. “Tired?”
“Exhausted,” I admit. “I bet you could wake me up.”
“Do you think so?”
“Well, you may not be able to handle it.” I let an impudent tone color my voice. “I mean, you’re good at so many things, I can’t expect perfection in all areas.”
He laughs. “Is that a challenge?”
“Maybe a little one,” I admit, then burst into laughter as he rolls over on top of me and effectively silences me with a kiss.
“I don’t know about energizing you,” he says once he breaks the kiss. His hand slides down over my T-shirt, then back up over my skin. “But I can guarantee a good night’s sleep.”
“Shall I prove it? Shall I play out a lullaby on your body?”
My smile blooms wide. “I like the sound of that.”
“That’s convenient, then,” he says. “Because I like the feel of it.”
As if in illustration, he brushes his thumb across my nipple, then cups my breast gently. I sigh with pleasure as Damien’s hands continue to roam my body, teasing my breasts, stroking my rib cage, then settling between my thighs.
“Close your eyes, baby,” he says as he strokes me. “Close your eyes, and let me fill your dreams.”
I comply, and give myself over to the feel of Damien’s soft touch as he slowly takes me higher and higher. His fingers are teasing me, firing my senses. This isn’t rough or wild, but as gentle and soft as a feather. A stroke here. A kiss there. Until I feel as if I am floating.
And when his mouth cups my sex and his tongue teases me just right, I come apart in his arms. But it’s not an explosion that rips through me. Instead, I’m deluged with sensations, as if I am standing beneath a warm waterfall as pleasure pounds through me, on and on and on, in what feels like an infinite loop of sublime gratification that ushers me into Damien’s arms. And then, finally, to sleep.
All of which means that by the time Monday morning rolls around, my mother’s call has been completely erased from my mind, and I’m feeling wonderfully loved and thoroughly satisfied.