by J. Kenner
Wild.
And I am just as wild as Damien.
I yank my skirt up, and he never once breaks our kiss. As his fingers thrust deep inside me, his mouth bruises mine and his other hand closes tight on my breast. So tight that it is not just trails of pleasure that shoot from my breast all the way down to my clit, but pain, white-hot and familiar.
Damn me, I want more. I want it hard. I want to spin off into an away place--and I want Damien as the tether to bring me back.
Damien, I know, needs that, too. He needs to dominate, to regain control.
And I need--god help me--I need the pain to get centered.
"Yes," I say, and that one word is like a trigger. I feel his muscles tense, his body tighten, both with need and with trepidation.
"Nikki." He backs off, the increased distance almost imperceptible, but to me it is a dangerous gulf.
I pull him back. "Yes," I repeat. "You need it. And so do I." I meet his eyes, knowing that he understands the depth of my craving. The extent of my need. Knowing also that I understand that he needs this just as much as I do. "You're the only one who can take me there."
"And the only way you will ever go there." His voice is harsh and firm, but he is right. I will never turn to the blade again. I don't need it. I have Damien.
I do not respond; I don't have to. Whatever fears he had about my need have been either soothed or overwhelmed by his own desire. By his need to lash out and grasp firm to the strands of our life that have been whipped into a frenzy, spinning wildly out of control.
I am those threads, and by claiming me, he can take back that control. And I--I can find the center that I crave, lost in the storm that is Damien.
My dress buttons up the front and I hadn't bothered to replace the belt when we'd dressed at the club. Without warning, Damien clutches the material and rips the dress open. I gasp as buttons fly, then suck in air as he turns me around, then pulls the garment free, tossing it negligently aside before turning me around again and thrusting two fingers roughly inside me.
I arch my back, my mouth open in a moan, and I grind down on his hand, wanting him to fill me.
He withdraws, pinching my clit and sending shocks of pain colored as pleasure racing through me.
I gasp, overwhelmed by this new sensation, then cry out in surprise when he lifts me up and carries me to the sofa, bending me over the back. I start to put my arms down to balance, but he is having none of that. "Behind your back," he says, and I use my right hand to clasp the wrist of my left. It is uncomfortable; I feel unbalanced. But I know that is how he wants me to feel. Unbalanced, shaky, off-center. Because if I am not, how can he make me whole again? He stands behind me, and I hear the metallic glide of his zipper as he strips, then feel the warm press of his hand on my ass, stroking, exploring, teasing. He slides it down slowly, sensually, then finds my core, so wet and ready for him.
"Is this what you want?" he whispers. "Do you want my fingers inside you? Stretching you, playing with you? Do you want me to fuck you, Nikki? Do you want me to take us both over the edge?"
I do--but that is not all that I want, and Damien knows it. I say nothing.
"Tell me," he says, bending over me so that I feel the warmth of his skin over my rear and over my arms as his weight presses them down into my back. I could stay like that forever, warm and enveloped within him. But he asks the question again, his lips now brushing my ear so that his voice makes me shiver. "Tell me, Nikki. Tell me what you need."
"You know," I say, because I do not want to put it into words. I do not want to crave what I do--to need the pain to drive me back to center. But he already knows, because he understands me as well as he understands himself. "Please."
"You are mine." The words are a whisper, so soft I can barely hear them and yet those three words crash through me, full of love and hope and longing. "Mine," he repeats, louder this time as he stands up, breaking that contact between us and leaving me longing for the warmth of his touch again. "Mine," he says as his hand comes down sharply against my ass, sending hundreds of fiery pinpricks through me to gather between my thighs.
"Mine," he repeats, as his palm strokes my ass, soothing before rising again to spank me over and over, the sting building inside, the fire of contact shooting out like lightning, making me cry out even as I focus on it, grabbing hold and pulling it back in, taking it over so that it is not the pain that controls me, but me that controls the pain.
"Mine," he repeats as my body lights up with sensation and desire. He moves closer, his cock pressing against my rear as he spreads my legs and strokes my core, the touch sending shock waves rippling across my skin. "I take care of what's mine," he says, the words spilling over me as he thrusts hard and fast inside me.
I cry out as my body welcomes him, tightening around him to draw him deeper. But this isn't slow and easy. This is hard and fast, and he pulls out, then slams into me again, our bodies coming together in a violent impact that sends me spiraling up out of myself.
He holds my hips tight with one hand, the other reaching around to stroke my clit as he pounds relentlessly into me. He is using me, and I am using him, and together we are leading each other through this horrific forest that has grown up around us.
I can feel everything inside me--everything inside him--and it builds and builds until the explosion is inevitable, and I know that if we were to explode like this without each other, we would be lost.
But Damien and I are each other's bread crumbs, and we will always lead each other back.
After, he pulls me gently to the ground. I lay on my back and look up at him as he strokes my face and then gently, so gently, enters me again. He is no longer controlling me, but controlling himself, and I submit willingly, letting him go where he needs, and letting him take me with him.
I close my eyes, lost in the sweetness as he moves in soft and subtle motions, letting my pleasure build slowly and gently until it breaks over both of us, not an explosion this time, but a gentle rainfall that washes all the harshness away.
With a sigh, I curl up beside him on the floor, my body pressed against his. "How is it that you can make my world so right even when everything is going wrong?"
"Because you love me," he says. "And I love you. That is our talisman, our charm. We may still break a little, you and I. But so long as we are together, neither of us will shatter."
I close my eyes and breathe deeply, because he is right. With Damien, I will always be made whole.
We lay there in silence until I cannot stand it any longer. "What are you going to do?" I finally ask.
"The news will have leaked," he says. "Even if no bra or panty shows up on eBay, already the tabloids have heard. We'll be the story of the moment, for however long the moment lasts."
"Add in the picture of us outside the club and you taking a swing at that photographer ..." I trail off. I don't really need to go on.
"Do you want to stay?"
"Yes," I blurt, then immediately say, "No." I grimace. "I want Paris," I admit. "And I meant what I said before--the scrutiny and the photographers all come with the package. I'm your wife, Damien, and I will handle whatever I have to handle because I will never give you up. But--"
"I know," he says. "And the truth is, if my money can't buy us an escape, then what the hell is it good for?"
I prop myself up on an elbow to squint at him, wondering where he is going with this.
"I can't make the social media blasts go away," he says. "And I can't shoo away the photographers. I can't even promise it will be better the next time we come. But what I can do is make it better now."
His words are like a soothing balm, swathing me with hope.
"Will you trust me to make it right?" he asks, his eyes fixed on mine. He says nothing else, and I know that this man who single-handedly rules an empire is leaving this to me.
"You're my breath," I say, telling him what he already knows. "You're the beat of my heart. You are the essence of me. And I will always tr
ust you."
Chapter 12
I push my windswept hair out of my eyes and take the captain's hand. He is a huge man, his coffee-colored skin slick with sweat. His smile flashes a hint of gold as he helps me from the boat to the unstable, floating dock that shifts beneath me as I step onto the weathered wood.
Damien follows, then pauses long enough to pay the man and thank him for bringing us over.
"I be bringing your staff, too, you just say the word, mon."
"No staff," Damien says. "Not this trip. But I'll radio when we need you to come back for us." He splays his hand against my back, and I can almost feel his thoughts in the pressure of his fingers. Alone. Together. Paradise.
I turn my head to smile at him. That sounds like heaven to me.
The captain returns to his little boat as Damien and I step from the dock to the white sand. I am wearing shorts and a tank top. My feet are bare. The captain unloaded our luggage onto the dock, but we leave it there for the time being, too intent on exploring this wide-open, nearly wild island in the Bahamas.
The sand is warm beneath my feet, and Damien and I walk across it to the water's edge. There are barely any waves; instead, the turquoise water sits as still as a painting, wide-open and vibrant and never-ending, this fabulous tableau broken only by the silhouette of similar small islands in the distance.
Behind us, the sand rises toward a line of vegetation, and I see a rustic path cut through the brush. I follow it with my eyes and can just make out a small stone house.
"That's the only structure," Damien says. "It needs a bit of fixing up, but it's perfectly livable. The cay is seven acres of undeveloped wilderness and pristine beaches. And there's not a soul here other than us."
"You really bought it?" I'm still in awe.
"I really did."
I wade out until the warm water hits me just below the knees, then look back at him with a grin. "I thought you didn't impulse-buy real estate."
"I don't. But you have a way of shifting my priorities and undermining my equilibrium."
"Oh, do I?" I reach down and scoop some water with my hand, flinging it toward him. "Should I apologize?"
"Hell, no," he says, then splashes me right back before taking my hand and tugging me toward him. I laugh and stumble into his arms, then hold on to him as we both tumble to the sand.
Damien is on top of me, and our lighthearted playfulness changes to heated longing as easily as flipping a light switch. Suddenly I am breathing hard, my skin tingling, and my body aware of every point of contact. My blood pounds, and the island noises--the birds, the surf--are muffled by the overwhelming beat of my own heart.
"I bought it for you," he says, his voice rough. "But I was selfish, too."
"How so?"
He is straddling me, and his hips move now, almost imperceptibly, but enough to send sparks through me. "I want to make love to my wife on the beach. I want to walk naked in the surf. I want the freedom to take you anytime, anyplace and know that there are no cameras, no paparazzi. No one watching us. No one paying any attention to us at all."
I nod, too overwhelmed to speak. He did this for me. He bought a freaking island for me. I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around the magnitude of that, and all I can say is what's in my heart. "I love you."
His smile is radiant.
"But how?" I ask. "I mean, how did you find it? It was only last night that we found the room ransacked, and only this morning that we flew to Nassau. Do you keep a list of Really Expensive Places I Might Decide to Buy?"
"Something like that," he says, his lips twitching as his fingers smooth my hair. "I looked at it about six months ago as a potential resort site. I didn't think it worked for that, but I had Sylvia call the agent last night to see if it was still available. It was--and now it's ours."
"It's so much." I can't even imagine how much an entire island must have cost him.
"I promise we can afford it. And what's the point of working hard to build a fortune if you don't enjoy the money once you have it?"
Since I can't argue with that, I don't. Instead, I lean up long enough to hook my arms around his neck and pull him even closer to me. I meet his eyes, so full of heat and power they rival the sun that beats down on us. "Make love to me, Damien," I whisper, and feel the immediate tightening in his body and the concomitant awakening of my own.
"With pleasure," he says, flashing a sexy Damien Stark smile. Then he claims me with a kiss so bold and hot and deep that it clears my mind completely, erasing everything but this moment and this man and those three simple words that I cling to with such desire and wonder--Mrs. Damien Stark.
Now, on this island, with only the sun and the sky to witness our passion, I lose myself in the pleasure of this man that I married. And, yes, I am content.
