“I’m not even remotely interested in any love nest that isn’t ours,” he says. He kneels in front of me and puts his hands on either side of me, essentially caging me. “Now tell me, Nikki. Why did this guy scare you? What haven’t you told me?”
I can only shake my head. “Nothing, I swear. It was just a feeling. Like eyes on you in a dark alley.”
He’s silent for so long that I start to think he’s expecting me to continue. But I really don’t know what else to say, so I’m quiet, too. And when he does finally speak, his words both surprise me—and light a fire inside me.
“Baby,” he says as his palm grazes over my thigh. “Am I going to have to punish you?”
I can imagine what kind of punishment Damien will come up with, and the air between us has grown so thick with electricity that I can practically hear the crackling.
Being punished doesn’t scare me. On the contrary, the thought of Damien’s palm against my ass turns me on, and I squirm a bit, knowing that I’m wet merely from anticipation. But as much as I might enjoy the punishment, the accusation pisses me off. Because I really don’t know why the man got under my skin, and I’m certain Damien thinks I’m holding something back.
“I told you the truth,” I assert. “I don’t know what about the guy scared me.”
“I believe you,” he says, and I see amusement dance in his eyes. “But that’s not why I’m going to punish you.”
“It’s not,” he acknowledges. He takes my legs and tugs them out from under me so that I’m forced to sit upright, with my feet on the floor and Damien in front of me. His hands are on my denim-clad knees, and moving very slowly up my inner thighs. My jeans are suddenly far too constricting, and my breath is coming more and more shallow.
His palm presses against my crotch.
“—the woman I love more than my own life—”
His fingers toy with the button on my jeans.
“—she didn’t recognize me. Did she?”
With his eyes steady on mine, his hand slides into my jeans and underwear. I gasp and arch back as pre-orgasmic spasms rock through me from the brush of his fingertip over my clit.
“Did she?” he repeats.
“No.” Just forcing the word out is torture, I’m so lost in the storm of sensation that Damien is creating. I draw a stuttering breath and try to conjure words. “Your text. You said two more hours. I didn’t expect you before midnight.”
“I sent that text around seven-thirty,” he says, and I realize the text must have been delayed because of the weather. When I’d responded that I missed him, he thought I was just texting because I was thinking of him.
“But I thought—”
“I understand,” he says, making me cry out as he thrusts two fingers inside me. “And yet I’m unpersuaded by your excuses.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Oh, that’s easy, baby.” He rises up and bends over, his lips brushing against my temple as he whispers in my ear, his words and his tone making me tremble with longing. “I’m going to make certain that you won’t ever, ever forget me again.”
“Tell me how,” I beg. I want his words stroking me along with his hands. I want to bathe in the knowledge of what he’s going to do to me. I want to feel myself getting wetter and wetter as Damien whispers exactly how he’s going to fuck me.
But all Damien does is shake his head. His fingers are still inside me, and his thumb is on my mons so that he has a hold on me. And then, before I even have time to recognize what he’s doing, he pulls me forward roughly until my ass is right at the edge of the couch and I’m slouched back, breathing hard, my body hyperaware.
“Damien—” It’s the only word I can manage. He’s making small circles with his thumb just above my clit, and the fact that I’m still in my jeans so that his hand is forced tight against my flesh only adds to the pleasure that is rolling through me like a building storm. But that sweet sensation is mixed with a wild need—a desperate desire for a release that won’t quite come because his hand is just a few millimeters from where I crave it.
The corner of his mouth rises. “You like that?”
“Yes—god, yes.” I tilt my head back, expecting more.
Damien, damn him, pulls his hand away.
I make a low, moaning sound of protest, and the bastard chuckles. As he does, he grips my jeans on either side and tugs them down hard, taking my underwear with them, until the waistband is around my knees.
The jeans are as effective as cuffs, preventing me from spreading my legs any further, though I desperately want to. I struggle to do exactly that, my body acting on pure need rather than reason. I want to be fully open to him—I want to feel everything. Have everything. I want Damien’s touch, his mouth, his cock.
And then his fingers are back and he’s thrusting them inside me, so, so deep, and I’m rocking against him and his thumb is on my clit, and it feels so damn good.
“Tell me what you want,” he demands.
“Fuck me.” My voice is raw. Desperate. “Please, Damien. Please fuck me.”
His fingers go even deeper and I gasp as he rises higher on his knees, his hand pushing hard against me. I grind against him, and he leans forward, his mouth capturing mine, his tongue fucking my mouth even as his fingers fill my cunt. It’s raw and wild and I love it. But I want more. I want his cock. I want him deeper. I want to feel him come inside me, and I want to explode with him.