by J. Kenner
I stand and stretch, enjoying the soreness in my body, remembering the way he’d teased me, stroked me, claimed me. With a sigh, I lean against the railing, looking out at the ocean as I remember the way I’d exploded in his arms with at least as much force as the waves crashing against the shore below.
“Now that is a lovely sight.”
I don’t turn around, but I do close my eyes, letting the warm sensuality of his voice caress my skin. My lips curve into a smile, and I feel my nipples harden beneath the thin nightgown, my body now hyper-aware and craving his touch. “I woke up alone,” I say. “That just doesn’t seem right.”
“I had a quick errand to run. But now I suppose I’ll have to make it up to you.”
“I guess you will,” I say, unable to keep the tease—and the desire—out of my voice.
I continue to gaze out the Pacific, even though I want nothing more than to turn and see him. I don’t need to, though. I’ve memorized every line of his face. The strong jaw, so full of strength and power. The wide mouth that projects a delicious sensuality. The dark hair that will, this morning, be tousled from the wind, giving him the look of a man who commands not just a boardroom but the elements themselves.
And, of course, those brilliant, dual-colored eyes that have seen me so well from the first moment we met.
I close my eyes, fighting the urge to turn and look at the man I love. Instead, I listen to his footsteps on the wood, then the rustle of paper as he puts what is undoubtedly a bag of my favorite croissants on the small stone-top table. I feel the caress of his palms on my bare shoulders and the brush of his clothing against the diaphanous material of my gown.
I sigh and lean back as his arms surround me and hold me tight, as his mouth bends to my ear and I realize I’m holding my breath in anticipation of his touch. “I have something for you,” he whispers, even as his fingers tease up the hem of my nightgown to slip beneath and find my core.
I moan and lean back against him, willingly losing myself in pleasure as he strokes me, teases me. How many times has Damien touched me this way, bringing me right to the precipice, and then taking me all the way to utter, soul-rendering joy? “Damien.” His name on my lips is like a prayer, a wish, a sacred vow. “Please,” I beg, as he uses those miraculous fingers to stroke me while his other hand teases my breast. “Yes, oh, yes, please.”
But my husband can be a cruel man, too, and today, he simply brushes his lips over my ear again, then pulls his hands back so that he can step away, leaving me needy and hungry and wild with anticipation.
“You need some lessons in how to satisfy your wife, mister,” I say grumpily, still facing the beach.
He just laughs. “Do I?”
“I’ll find a Learning Annex class,” I say archly. “Definitely a fail on your part.”
I turn to face him. He is as exceptional in person as he was in my mind, and just seeing him takes my breath away. How, I wonder. How is this perfect man really mine?
“Mmm hmm,” he says, clearly not believing my assessment of his failings. He takes a step toward me, then another until my gown is brushing his jeans and T-shirt. “Is that a challenge?”
“Maybe…” My sex is throbbing merely from his proximity.
“How ironic. I have a challenge for you, too. Win, and I promise I’ll spend the entire weekend working to make sure my wife is one-hundred percent satisfied.”
“And if I lose?”
He chuckles. “Then I’ll be the one who’s satisfied.” He leans in and brushes his lips over mine. “I think it’s fair to say that’s a win-win.”
Considering that nothing turns Damien on more than turning me into a melting ball of passionate goo, I have to agree completely.
“All right,” I say. “What’s the challenge?”
His grin is full of the promise of sex and sin as he moves to the table, then returns to hand me a small envelope that was hidden behind the white bag from the bakery.
I frown, curious, as I open it, then pull out a small card with what looks like GPS coordinates on it. “What…?”
He just lifts his hands. “That’s part of the challenge. Figuring out what is the challenge.”
I narrow my eyes, but know better than to protest further. I squint at the card again—and then it hits me. “Mr. Stark, you aren’t nearly as smart as you think you are.”
“Oh, but I promise you I am.”
I just toss him a lofty laugh over my shoulder, then hurry into the bungalow to throw on yoga pants and a T-shirt. And, of course, to grab my phone. It’s going to be essential for this game.
“I think you’ve been hanging out with Ronnie too much,” I say as I hurry back onto the patio and down the wooden stairs to the sand. Ronnie is our niece, and she’s become obsessed with Pokémon Go. And now my husband is sending me on an adventure, too.
I can only imagine what I’ll find…
I didn’t bother with shoes, and the sand is cool against my bare feet. Damien is behind me, and I wait for him to catch up, then I grab his hand, laughing with delight. I love tech and we both love science, so this is about as perfect as a game can get. He’d left the degree, minute and second symbols off of the coordinates, but it’s still easy enough to see where they were meant to go. I input the numbers from the card into the GPS on my phone, and soon I’ve released Damien’s hand and am sprinting toward a large rock that is a focal point of this stretch of beach.
The sand shifts beneath my feet as I run, and the cold Pacific surf reaches out for my ankles. I drop to my knees when I reach the rock and start scouring the area, but I see nothing. After a moment, Damien is by my side, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.
“A rock?” I say, holding in laughter. “You’ve arranged for an encounter at a rock? Because I’m not sure my comfort level with exhibitionism runs that high.”
“Doesn’t it?” he asks, standing behind me and running a finger down the back of my neck, sending a hot wire of desire all the way through me. “Too bad.”
I press my lips together to hold back a moan. I know he’s teasing me, but right in that moment, with his touch and that tinge of commanding power in his voice, I’m quite certain I’d do anything he asked.
“An encounter might be on the agenda,” he murmurs, hands now caressing my shoulders, “but we won’t know for sure until you finish the challenge.” He bends and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “But baby,” he says, his voice filled with heated promise, “I need you to hurry.”
I swallow, then force my lust-muddled mind to focus. I’m certain the numbers were coordinates. I’m certain we’re in the right location. And since there’s nothing here except a rock, I’m also certain that whatever I’m looking for must be buried.
I shift so that I’m sitting on my rear, my yoga pants getting soaked as I ponder. Damien wouldn’t put something for me where the water might wash it away. Which means that whatever is there is buried on the side of the rock away from the ocean. But the rock is big and the coordinates aren’t precise, so I’m going to have to dig a long trough and hope I hit the spot.
Unless he’s left me another clue.
Fortunately, once I’m on my hands and knees on the other side of the rock, I see that he’s done exactly that. There is a small heart carved into the rock, still white because it hasn’t yet been weathered away. And inside the heart, written very clearly, is N + D. An arrow intersects the heart at an angle, and I follow the direction with my eyes, note where it’s pointing, and dig.
And less than a minute later I uncover a small metal box. I grin up at Damien, completely proud of myself, and find him smiling back at me. I open the box, and inside I find a large brass key resting on a small velvet pillow.
“Another challenge?” I ask. “Another game?”
“There might be games,” he says, helping me to my feet. “There will definitely be play.” His hands slide around me, one palm behind my neck, the other cupping my rear. “And I’m quite certain we’ll both enjoy
it very much.”
“Damien.” His mouth is on my neck, and his name is little more than a moan. “What does the key unlock?”
“A room,” he says. “In a very exclusive, very intimate hotel.” He pulls back to meet my eyes. “You’ve had a stressful week. So I’m taking you away for a weekend of relaxation, pampering, and a few more games. So tell me, Mrs. Stark, do you want to shut out the world with me?”
“I do,” I whisper as I melt in his arms, because to that question the answer will always be yes.
“Oh, no, Ms. Fairchild,” Damien says as I roll over on the bed, shifting my weight so that I can sit up. “I want you exactly the way you were.”
“Do you?” There is a tease in my voice as I turn onto my side, my head resting on the down-filled pillows, my legs together, and my knees pulled up to my chest. I smile as I take in my husband’s perfect body. Naked, firm, and oh-so-tempting. He may not have played professional tennis in years, but you couldn’t tell it from looking, and now my eyes trail over the lean, sculpted muscles that my fingers itch to caress. “What more could you possibly want from me, Mr. Stark?”
It’s a legitimate question. We’ve been in the charming penthouse suite of this secluded Beverly Hills hotel for the last three hours. He’d brought me here after leading me on a treasure hunt, the prize of which was the key to this room.
I’d been working like crazy and he’d been traveling, and this surprise getaway was at least as wonderful as any present Damien had ever bought me. We’d come in the limo, had lunch on the rooftop, then returned to this room—and to Damien’s plans for the rest of the day.
Now, my body is deliciously, wonderfully sore. I’ve been worshipped, fucked, and used in all the most sensual ways since the first moment we arrived. If he were to tell me now that all he wants is for me to fall asleep in his arms, I would be disappointed, but undeniably satisfied.
But it is the wolf-at-the-door look in his eyes that lets me know that sleep is the last thing on his mind. “What more do I want from you?” he repeats. “So many decadent things.”
He is standing beside the bed, and now he leans over to roll me onto my back. And then, with hands that move so slowly I am certain that he will drive me crazy before the afternoon is over, he caresses his way down over my waist, my hips, my thighs, before gently spreading my legs until I am wide open and exposed to him.
He eases onto the bed, then kneels between my legs, but he doesn’t touch me. Instead, he simply looks at me. At my lips, parted now in anticipation of his kiss. At my breasts, which grow heavy under his gaze, my nipples growing harder as I imagine his fingers pinching and stroking.
Lower and lower, as his intimate inspection leaves a red-hot trail down my body, making my sex throb in anticipation of his touch.
A touch that doesn’t come.
Instead, he lifts his head and meets my eyes. “Damien,” I whisper, barely able to speak my mouth is so dry. “Damien, please.”
“Please?” He tilts his head, his expression full of both heat and amusement. “Please, what, exactly? Tell me Nikki, what do you want?”
“You,” I say fervently. “All I ever want is you.”
He leans forward, his hands on either side of me, his weight making the mattress sink just a bit. “We only have a few moments before room service arrives,” he says, reminding me that he’d called down to order cocktails.
“Then hurry,” I demand, making him laugh.
“I’d rather be slow and thorough and make the staff wait at the door.” And before I can respond, his mouth closes on my breast and I arch up, the electricity of that connection shooting from my nipple all the away to my clit. I gasp, then moan when he raises one of his hands to my mouth, his thumb stroking my lower lip. I draw it in, sucking and tasting, as he does the same, his mouth claiming my breast with equal fervency.
“Please,” I beg as his free hand cups my other breast even as his mouth starts to move lower, teasing his way down my belly, then lower and lower still until his tongue is tracing a path along my pubic bone, along the soft skin between my thigh and my sex.
He’s making me crazy with longing, and I shift and writhe, desperate to escape this assault, so intense that it is almost painful. “I can’t,” I gasp. I’m truly on a knife-edge, and it is Damien that is tormenting me.
“You can,” he counters. “You will.”
It’s only when I realize that I can no longer squirm away from him that I realize his hands have left my mouth and breasts. He’s holding my hips down, keeping me steady. Controlling me. Not just giving, but making me take. Not just teasing my clit, but demanding that I feel. That I submit. And as his mouth strokes and teases and plays me so perfectly, I fall willingly under his spell, lost in a sweet torment that is so perfect it is fragile. So incredible it is explosive.
“Now, baby,” he demands. And my body obeys. I break apart beneath him, riding out the power of his touch, falling over into wave after wave of orgasmic bliss that leaves me gasping and sated, both empty and full, for what must be the millionth time that afternoon.
“Damien.” His name is a whisper, but it is also a plea, and he understands exactly what I want. He eases up the mattress and pulls me close, holding me and caressing me, every stroke, every breath, telling me how much he loves me.
“You,” he whispers, then kisses my shoulder. “You’re my world, Nikki.”
I close my eyes, relishing the moment, only to be startled back to awareness by the rap on the door.
Damien eases off the bed, and I watch as he leaves the bedroom, sliding on a robe as he does so. A moment later, he returns with a tray carrying an ice bucket, two highball glasses, and a bottle of Scotch.
As I watch, he starts to open the bottle, but then he stops and takes the lid off the ice bucket instead. He takes out a single ice cube, then holds it over my belly.
I bite my lower lip, waiting. Because I know where this is heading. I recognize the gleam in my husband’s eye.
A moment later, a fat drop of water falls off the ice to land just above my navel.
Damien’s eyes dip down, then back up to me. The corner of his mouth curves up into a smile.
“So tell me, Mrs. Stark. Are you tired?”
“No,” I say, reaching for his free hand and pulling him close. “I’m not tired at all.”
Another sexy text
Here’s another sexy text! This one from Seduce Me!
Delight Me: A Stark Celebration
A quick note from JK. I hope you enjoy this all-new holiday novella featuring Nikki & Damien!
In case you’re wondering, this story fits in the chronology after the events of DAMIEN, but before the Stark Security Agency has been officially formed. (And if you haven’t read the Stark Security books yet, what are you waiting for? Just follow the links below:
Stark Security:
Charismatic. Dangerous. Sexy as hell.
Meet the elite team of Stark Security.
Shattered With You
Shadows Of You (prequel to Broken With You)
Broken With You
Ruined With You
Wrecked With You
Now keep flipping pages for more Nikki & Damien!
Chapter 1
I wake to the tickle of Sunshine on my nose. Not the kind that streams in through the glass doors leading from the bedroom to the balcony. No, this Sunshine is warm and furry, with whiskers that tickle my cheeks and a purr that is powerful enough to shake the bed.
Reluctantly, I peel open my eyes. The cat might be comfy and content this morning, but I’m not ready to be awake. Christmas is fast approaching, and my partner Abby and I had stayed up until three in order to get the updates for five of our gaming products out before the holiday.
“What time is it?” I ask the cat. She doesn’t answer, but she does nuzzle my face, which I interpret as breakfast time.
I sigh, then roll over, planning to finagle my husband into handling this domestic chore. But instead of Damien, long a
nd lean and naked, I find nothing but a tangle of sheets and a slight indention in his pillow.
Without thinking, I reach out and rest my palm on the place where his body should be. It’s cold, and my chest tightens with a quick stab of fear before reality and reason win out. Nothing has happened to him. Or, more specifically, nothing has happened to him other than being sucked into the whirlwind that is two little girls.
Still, I wish that he’d woken me. My head knows it’s foolish to immediately imagine the worst when anyone I love isn’t exactly where I want them to be. But kidnapping rewires your brain, and now I have to work extra hard not to hold my kids so close it smothers them.
Damien, too. Though there has never been a time when I haven’t held him close. Haven’t drawn strength from him.
And that, I realize, is why I feel so alone this morning. I’d gone to bed worried that we’d missed something in the rollout, and those worries had grown and shifted, turning personal in my dreams. Potential failures in my job morphing into demons in my personal life. The kind of demons who sneak in around the edges and hurt your family. Your children.
The kind of demons I’ve always relied on Damien to protect me from. The kind that he has always known I’m able to fight myself, so long as I harness the strength inside me.
“Just dreams,” I tell the cat. “Stupid nightmares.”
She blinks at me, entirely unimpressed.
“Silent treatment, huh? Fine, come on. I’ll feed you.”
That she responds to, hopping nimbly off the bed and then prancing to the door, her tail high. She looks back at me, her head cocked as if to silently scold me for moving too slowly. I grab my robe from the back of the armchair by the door, then slip it over my naked body. I’d briefly tried to sleep in a nightshirt or sleep shorts after we adopted Lara, but it never stuck. The feel of my skin against Damien’s had become as comforting as sleep itself, and neither of us had made the transition.
