by Anthology
He takes it, and despite every way that he has touched me, this simple brush of palm against palm sends shockwaves skittering all through me. "It's a pleasure, Ms. Fairchild."
I pull my hand away, feeling strangely unsettled. I want to play this game. And that means keeping my cool.
"Why did you want to buy an introduction?"
"I was hoping you'd have dinner with me."
"Were you?" I run my finger along the rim of my glass, my eyes never leaving his. "Why?"
He doesn't hesitate. "Because I was hoping you'd spend a few hours after dinner with me."
He reaches for the toothpick in my drink, then lifts it to his mouth, casually biting off the olive.
He has, I think, an absolutely perfect mouth.
"Ms. Fairchild?"
"I'm sorry," I say. "You have me at a disadvantage. Mr.--"
"Stark," he says. "Damien Stark." I like the way he says his name. He says it as though it belongs to me.
I put on one of my plastic smiles, the kind I practiced in my pageant days. "I've heard of you, Mr. Stark."
"Should I be flattered?"
"Tennis player. Entrepreneur. Womanizer." I say the last as a question.
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Apparently I have quite the reputation."
He's put the toothpick on a napkin on the bar. Now I pick it up and brush it lightly over my lower lip, gratified when I see his gaze dip to my mouth. "Are you denying it?" I ask.
"Not at all. I've fucked a lot of women in my life, Ms. Fairchild."
"Oh." I lick my lips. "And do you want to fuck me, too?"
"Desperately. That, and so much more."
It takes a superhuman amount of effort, but I manage not to squirm. I am, however, hopelessly wet. And I'm quite sure that Damien knows it.
I draw a breath, gather myself, and look deep into those dual-colored eyes. "I'm not interested in being one of many, Mr. Stark."
"And any man who thought of you that way would be a fool. I'm not a fool, Ms. Fairchild." He takes my hand and kisses my fingertips, and it is as if coils of pleasure shoot straight from my fingertips all the way to my clit.
I can't help it, I actually moan. And when I do, I see victory dance in his eyes.
Bastard.
"About dinner," he says, trailing a fingertip lazily over my palm and driving me just a tiny bit crazy. "You still haven't answered."
I tug my hand away, then mourn the loss of contact.
"Sorry," I say. "I have plans with my friend."
His eyes narrow. "I don't believe you do." He nods, indicating something over my shoulder.
I turn, then see Jamie in a lip lock with Ryan just outside the bar's entrance.
I catch her eye when she comes up for air, and she gives me an apologetic shrug. I stifle a laugh. Even when we're playing at seduction, Jamie is quick to jump into a man's bed. But what the hell. With Ryan at least, it's as safe as it gets.
I, however, am enjoying the chase too much to give in.
I reach into my purse and put a fifty dollar bill on the bar before sliding off my stool. "I barely know you, Mr. Stark and it's been a long day. Thank you for the drink, but I think I'll just order room service."
I see genuine surprise on Damien's face, and as I turn to walk away, I don't even bother to hide my grin.
Yes, I think, this is going to be fun.
CHAPTER FOUR
I walk to the elevator feeling smug, and even add a little swing to my step. I don't know what he has planned, but I do know it will be interesting.
The elevator bank is a few yards down an elegantly appointed hallway, and I turn into the alcove, press my room key to the panel to call the elevator for the top floors, and then step on as soon as the car arrives. I press the button for my floor, then move back, waiting for the inevitable rise.
The doors are just about to close when Damien appears. He thrusts his arm through the gap to stop the doors, and then slides his whole body inside the car with me.
A car that suddenly seems much smaller than it is.
"Ms. Fairchild," he says, stepping toward me so that I am forced to either move backward into the corner or give up my personal space.
Damien's wife wouldn't move.
Nikki Fairchild--who is still being seduced--does.
His smile is slow, and suggests that he knows exactly what I'm thinking. He leans toward me, then reaches out to press his palm against the polished metal paneling just over my shoulder. "I'm not sure you understand the kind of man I am," he says. "I don't like hearing no."
I lift a brow. "In that case, I hope you're the kind of man who can handle disappointment. Because I'm not a woman who says yes easily." The elevator slides to a stop on the thirty-fifth floor, and I ease past him.
"I do love a challenge," he says as I step from the car and into the hallway.
I turn back, looking at him before the doors close and block the view. He looks magnificent in a tailored gray suit and an ice blue tie. He looks like a man in control. A man who takes what he wants. And seeing him like that makes me feel a burst of feminine power that both fuels my desire for the man--and for this game.
"I'm glad," I say as the doors start to close. "Because you definitely have your work cut out for you."
I'm not certain, but I think I see him smile before the doors block my view.
In the suite, I head first to Jamie's room, but she has tied a red ribbon on the doorknob, and I have to laugh--it's our old symbol for Man In The Room. And while I'm a little jealous that Jamie has her boyfriend in her bed tonight, I'm not jealous enough to call Damien and end this.
I'm too curious to see how it plays out.
Since I'm alone, I decide to watch a movie in bed instead of in the living room, and I'm scrolling through a selection of truly uninteresting choices when my phone rings.
I glance at it, but it's not a number I recognize, and I'm really not in the mood to chat with a telemarketer.
I let it go to voicemail.
A moment later, a text flashes on my screen from that same number:
Answer your phone - D
I lick my lips and snuggle back against the pillows. Well, okay, then.
I wait. And then I wait a little longer.
And then--just when I've decided that he's intentionally tormenting me--my phone rings again.
"Mr. Stark," I say. "How did you get this number?"
"I have a knack for getting the things I want, Ms. Fairchild." The words are simple, but they are spoken in such a low, sensual tone that their effect on me is anything but. Quite the contrary, actually, and I close my eyes and just let the pleasure of his voice curl through me.
"Do you?" I ask, then lick my lips. "What is it you want?"
"I think we already covered that, Ms. Fairchild. What was it you said I wanted?"
I lick my lips, surprised that I find myself a little bit shy. This is Damien, after all.
Not now, though. Not tonight.
Right. I draw in a breath. "You said you want to fuck me."
"Very good. What else?"
"And so much more," I say dutifully.
His low chuckle rumbles through me. "Someone was paying attention."
"It was a very intriguing conversation," I admit. "So what is the so much more?"
"Where to begin? I want to touch you," he says. "Run my fingers over every inch of you, and then do the same with my tongue. I want to suck on your nipples until they're almost too sensitive to be touched, and then I want to do the same to your clit while I hold you fast in place. You'll want to squirm, to move, but you'll be trapped, a slave to every manner of pleasure that I can imagine, and all of it aimed at the ultimate goal of making you come."
I bite back a moan as I squirm on the bed, every inch of my skin on fire from his words.
He pauses, and the silence is as potent as if he had taken his hand from my body. I don't admit that, though. Right now, I'm not ready to admit anything. Instead, I feign nonchalance. "Oh,"
I say, "is that all?"
He bursts out laughing. "Oh, no, Ms. Fairchild. I'm not buying it at all."
"Buying what?"
But all he says is, "Mmm."
I shift on the bed, wanting his voice again. Just wanting more. "Mr. Stark?"
"I'm here. What are you wearing?"
"The same thing I was in the bar. A skirt. A blouse."
"Are you wearing a bra?"
"Yes."
"Underwear?"
I lick my lips. "No."
"No? How very naughty of you, Ms. Fairchild."
"Maybe I like to be naughty."
He makes a rough sound in the back of his throat. "Do you? I'll have to keep that in mind."
I hold the phone tighter, wondering just what that will entail.
"How naughty would you like to be tonight?" he asks.
"I don't know."
"There are rules," he says, reminding me of our first night when he sent me home in a limo with a phone. "And the first one is that you don't lie to me. Do you understand?"
I hesitate just a beat. "Yes," I say. And then because I do know some of the rules of this game, I add, "Yes, sir."
I can almost hear the smile of approval in his next words. "Now, answer the question. How naughty do you want to be tonight?"
"Very," I say. And then, because I'm feeling bold, "I want to get you hard."
"Baby, I'm already there. Put the phone on speaker and set it beside you. I want you to have both your hands free. Have you done it?"
"Yes," I say, glancing to where I've placed the phone just below the pillow.
"Now unbutton your shirt, just let it lay open on your skin. Are you doing it?"
"Yes."
"Good girl. Now I want you to stroke your skin. Slowly up and down, from your waist to your breast. Gently," he clarifies. "Just let your nails trail over your skin."
The sensation is incredible, and I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of this sweet caress.
"How does it feel?"
"Amazing," I say. "Like it should tickle, but it doesn't. Like I'm coming alive."
"Tell me where you feel it." His voice is husky, raw with need.
"Everywhere."
"Are your nipples hard? Straining against your bra?"
"Yes."
"Is your cunt wet? Are you throbbing, wanting to be touched? To be fucked?"
I don't answer. I can only manage a whimper.
"Tell me, baby."
"Yes. God, yes."
"Pull the cup down on your bra. I want your nipples free. Then tease them with your fingernails, too. Just the same, very lightly."
I do, and I feel the pathways of pleasure opening up all through me.
"Now harder. Pinch yourself. Imagine it's my mouth on your breast. My tongue teasing you. My teeth scraping, biting."
It is all I can do not to cry out from the pleasure.
"You like that." It's a statement, not a question, but I still admit what he already knows.
"Very much."
"Suck on your finger. Harder, baby. Use your tongue. Imagine it's my cock. Christ, baby, I'm so hard."
I groan, but I don't stop sucking, and I can feel the pull all the way through me, all the way to where my muscles clench in demand, needing to be filled, to be fucked.
I imagine Damien touching me, stroking me. I imagine him filling me, and when his voice comes on the line again, a tremor of pleasure cuts through me, a tiny hint of the explosion to come.
"Draw your finger over your nipple next," he says. "Get it wet. Are you doing it?"
"Yes." The sensation is intense. Every inch of me is an erogenous zone, but my nipples are so sensitive I think I would come if Damien closed his mouth over my breast and sucked.
"Good girl. Now tilt your head down and blow lightly across your breast."
I hesitate, but then comply. And ohmygod.
I arch up, the unexpected sensation wreaking havoc with my already heightened senses, setting my body on fire, making me gasp with longing and need.
"I think the lady liked that," he says, when I stop saying, "Oh fuck, oh wow."
"Yes," I agree. "The lady liked that a lot."
"I want to see you," he says. "I want to see how wet you are. How flushed your skin is."
"Do want to come to my room?"
He is quiet for just a little too long. Then he says, "So much I can't even tell you. But not tonight. Tonight, I want you to do something for me."
"What?"
"Stand up," he says, and since that's easy enough, I comply. "Now take your skirt off."
I reach behind me and find the zipper. I pull it down, then ease the skirt over my hips until it drops to the ground.
"Are you still wearing the shirt? Is it unbuttoned?"
"Yes."
"And your bra? It's still on with your breasts exposed?"
I nod. Then find my voice. "Yes, sir."
"Go to the window. Take the phone."
I do as he says, then stand there, half-naked, looking probably like some girl in a window in a red-light district. Only I'm thirty-five floors up and there's no one out there to see me.
"Send me a picture," he says, "just like that. Your breasts exposed. Your hand on your cunt."
I think I make a mewling sound.
"I want you in front of the window. I want to see the city spread out behind you."
"I--"
I close my mouth, unsure of what I wanted to say.
I want to do this, but at the same time I want to protest. I know it's a game, but at the same time...
"Come on, Ms. Fairchild." His voice, low and enticing, envelops me. "Don't you want to be naughty?"
CHAPTER FIVE
Do I? Do I want to be naughty?
I consider Damien's question, my body tightening with the thought of what he is asking me.
And the truth is that yeah, I do.
I love Damien, and I love being married to him. But this--this extra tinge of excitement. It fills me up and makes me float. It's shiny and new and tantalizing.
And while I would never go there without Damien, if he is holding my hand and keeping me safe, then well...
"Nikki?"
I close my eyes, smiling just a little. We are still playing the game; I know that. But this is the first time he has said my name, and I understand what that means. That he will always keep me safe. That he will never push me too far.
"Yes, Mr. Stark," I whisper. "I want to be naughty."
I stand as he told me, then use my free hand to hold the phone. I draw a breath, smile just a little, and snap the kind of naughty selfie that I never in a million years would have believed I had it in me to do.
I find it, then message it to Damien, being very, very careful to send it to the right recipient.
"Did you get it?" I ask, and then realize I'm holding my breath until I hear his, "Oh, holy Christ, yes."
My smile blooms. "I guess that means you like it."
"Fuck, yeah."
"Mr. Stark?"
"Yes, baby?"
I lick my lips, fighting shyness. "Are you looking at it now?"
"Oh, yes."
"Are you hard?"
I can almost hear his smile in the silence.
"What do you think?" he finally says.
"I think you are," I say, feeling emboldened. “Are you stroking yourself?" I press. Are you pretending it's me? Are you getting off?"
"Christ, baby, you're damn sure tempting me. But no. I'm not coming until I'm deep inside you. And you don't touch yourself either until I tell you to. Are we clear?"
And just like that he has turned it back around. Taken what little power I'd grabbed and claimed it again with both hands.
Honestly, I can't say that I mind.
"Ms. Fairchild? Are we clear?"
"Yes." I have to force the word out past walls of arousal. "Yes, sir."
"Tell me you want to be fucked."
My cunt clenches in response to his words, and I make a l
ow, needy sound.
"Please, Mr. Stark. I want to be fucked."
"Soon, baby. But tonight, I'm going to make you explode."
"Yes," I say, because right now that sounds pretty close to heaven. "Yes, please."
"Take the shirt off," he says. "And the bra. I want you naked."
I do as he says, and find myself standing naked in my bedroom, my body illuminated by the lights of the Las Vegas strip, as I wait for my husband--my lover--to tell me what to do next.
"Tell me what you packed."
I bite my lip.
"Packed?"
His low laugh rumbles through me. "I'm wondering what you tucked into your suitcase that we might find of use right now."
"Oh." I feel my cheeks heat, and am slightly mortified. Which is ridiculous. Under the circumstances, the fact that I packed a vibrator is hardly going to rock Damien's universe.
"Tell me." And though his voice is demanding, I hear the undercurrent of amusement. "I like a woman who takes charge of her own pleasure," he adds, the words rescuing me from my own slide into mortification.
"A vibrator," I mutter. "A bullet. It was a gift." I don't say that it was a bachelorette gift. He already knows that part very well. After all, we've played with this toy before.
"Interesting," he says. "Go get it. Then get on the bed."
I do, and I realize when I lay down that my heart is pounding so hard in anticipation that I can actually feel the bed pulse with each beat.
"Spread your legs, baby. I want you wide open. I'm right there with you, and I want to be able to kiss my way up your thighs. I want to be able to see how wet you are."
I close my eyes, imagining just that. His lips on my skin, his breath teasing my clit.
I shiver, and realize that I am very, very close.
"Turn on the vibrator, now," he orders, and though I comply, I want to protest. Because as soon as he tells me to go anywhere near my clit with this vibrating bullet, I am going to come completely undone. And I'm not ready for that. I want this sensation to last.
But this is Damien's show, and so I say nothing.
And when he tells me to brush the vibrator lightly over my nipple, I know that I should have trusted him to understand me. To know how to play me.
I do as he asks, and the feeling is incredible.
"Tell me," he says.
"I don't know how," I admit. "I--I've never done this. It's kind of amazing." My nipples are so damn sensitive, and the sensation from the vibrator is sending shockwaves through me, so that my body is trembling on the edge, but not going over. "It's like being suspended. Just waiting for the push."
