by J. Kenner
His brows rise. “Why, Ms. Fairchild. How very bold.”
“I want your cock in my mouth. I want to take you to the edge, but not over. And then I want you to slide down my body and fuck me so hard we both see stars.”
He sits on the edge of the chaise, then leans forward and starts to untie my wrists. “Tempting,” he says. “But this night was about you.” He slides his hand down and cups my breast, tweaking my nipple just to the point of pain, and I moan from the pleasure of it. “I’ll definitely take a raincheck, though.”
He finishes untying me, then goes to the trunk where we keep towels and pulls out an oversized beach blanket. He spoons behind me on the chaise, my naked body against his fully-clothed one, then pulls the blanket over us.
“Sleep now,” he says, reaching over me to check the baby monitor on the side table, then resting his hand lightly on my sex. “Sleep. And let me hold you.”
Because I’m warm and satisfied and in Damien’s arms, I stop protesting and let the lull of his voice and the warmth of his body surround me, assuring me that we’re back, if we were ever lost. That there is no barrier between us, no gap at all.
I fall asleep, knowing that we’re fine. That, secrets or not, all is well in our world.
But when I wake to the sun, I’m all alone on the chaise, with no Damien beside me. And once again, I fear that the shadows I’ve seen lurking in his eyes have drawn him away from me.
Chapter Four
I check my phone, and am shocked to see that it’s already past seven. Not only that, but the volume is up high and the monitor app is on. And yet neither girl woke me up.
Damien.
That explains why he isn’t in my arms. He must have gotten up to feed the kids.
With a sigh, I sit up, letting the blanket fall away as I enjoy the feel of the crisp morning air on my bare skin. That’s one of my favorite things about this house. That I can lie here perfectly naked and not worry about anyone seeing me. Well, no one except Damien and Jamie, and neither of them are a problem. And while the kids are still little and tucked away in their rooms, they’re no hindrance either.
As for Bree…
Well, I adore her as a nanny, but it is nice when she’s away.
Of course, as much as I enjoy waking up like this, it’s not the caress of the morning air that I want, but Damien. Even after last night—or maybe especially after last night—I crave more. For that matter, with Damien, I always crave more.
My bikini top is still twisted in the leg of the chaise, and my bottoms seem to be missing. Since the lace cover-up is sheer—essentially defeating that whole covering up thing—I leave it on the chaise and wrap the blanket around me. I haven’t heard a peep from Lara or Anne, but since Lara’s in a toddler bed now and sometimes wanders, I don’t want to take a chance on her stumbling across a naked mommy on the search for Daddy.
It’s not hard to find the man in question. I hear the shower running when I enter our bedroom, and I drop the blanket onto the floor then cross the steam-filled room to the shower. I open the door and step in, sighing with pleasure when the scalding water hits my sensitive skin. Damien turns to face me, and I release a low moan, mesmerized by the sight of this man. His chiseled, perfect body, now slick with soap and steam. The hard planes of his chest. The tight muscles of his legs. And that gorgeous cock, so hard and ready it makes my mouth water.
“Looks like you’re happy to see me,” I say.
“I’ll be happier if you grab the soap and put it to good use.”
“I can do better than that,” I assure him. And then I drop to my knees and do what I wanted to do last night. I bend forward and tease the tip of his cock with my tongue as shockwaves of pleasure ricochet through me from nothing more than his low, sensual groan.
I put one hand on his hip to steady myself, and with the other I stroke him. Gentle caresses building to long, teasing pulls. And my lips just barely hovering at the tip of his cock as Damien twines his fingers in my hair, his other hand pressed against the slick tile wall for balance.
He urges my head forward, but I resist. This time, he has to wait. Because right now, I want to make him as crazy—and as satisfied—as he made me last night. And I’m not going to take him in my mouth until I know that he’s teetering on the brink of madness.
It doesn’t take long. There’s nothing about Damien’s body that’s a mystery to me, nor mine to him. I know how long and how hard to stroke him, taking him right to the brink. And when he’s close—when neither he nor I can stand it anymore—I take his cock into my mouth. He tastes like soap and salt and musk, and the feel and scent of him send a fresh tremor coursing through me, my sex aching for him. I clench my thighs together, and even in the shower, I can feel how slick I am. I take my hand from his hip and slide my fingers between my legs. When I do, Damien tightens his grip on my hair as my head bobs, sucking and licking and teasing the length of him.
“Nikki.” My name is little more than a groan, but I know what he wants, and I willingly give it to him. My surrender. My submission. I stop moving and wait for Damien to drive this show.
He doesn’t hesitate. With one hand holding me steady, he thrusts forward, fucking my mouth, and I surrender to him, knowing that’s what he wants. To claim me. To use me, knowing full well that I want it too. Wildly. Desperately.
The water pounds down on us, and his cock thrusts against the back of my throat. I can feel the tension in his muscles and hear his low sounds of rising passion. The knowledge that he’s close resonates through me. I feel strong. Feminine.
And when he explodes in my mouth with a deep, guttural groan, I feel one more thing. I feel powerful.
He spreads his arms, leaning forward over me so that his hands on the wall are supporting his weight. Then he eases his hips back, his still-erect cock pulling free of my mouth.
Without speaking, he reaches down, pulls me up, and kisses me. It’s long and deep. A kiss that starts slowly, then builds into a kiss so much like fucking, that I feel almost as if I’m still on my knees taking him in.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless, and he’s grinning. “By the way, good morning.”
I laugh. “It’s definitely starting out that way. And last night wasn’t too shabby either.”
He reaches over and turns off the water. “Definitely not.”
He starts to reach for the shower door, but I take his hand, twining our fingers together. “Damien,” I say. “I’m sorry about before.”
“Before?”
“I know I’ve been pressuring you to talk about whatever’s on your mind, and I’m sorry about that. We said no secrets, but maybe that’s not fair. Being married doesn’t mean we have to be entirely in each other’s heads.”
“Nikki—”
“No. That’s all I wanted to say. That, and to tell you not to dress for work today.”
He cocks a brow. “Somehow I don’t think that naked is going to catch on as the hot new business attire.”
I step back and make a show of looking him up and down. A former professional tennis player, Damien has never let himself go slack. He’s tall and lean and was clearly sculpted by the gods on a particularly good day. He’s also mine, and I’m not the kind of girl who shares.
“No,” I say. “You’re right. Not making that bold fashion statement. What I mean,” I add over his chuckle, “is that I have plans for you today. Jeans will do nicely. Khakis if you prefer.”
“Plans?” His voice rises with both amusement and interest.
“Yup.” I grin, exceedingly pleased with myself. “Rachel cleared your schedule, and Jamie’s here to watch the kids. Edward will be here in a few hours, so we can have breakfast with the girls before getting out the door. And I’ve already packed our bags.”
“Why, Ms. Fairchild. Are you handling me?”
“You’ve been taking care of me for years. Now it’s my turn.” I move back into his arms, then tilt my face up so that his eyes meet mine. “You’ve been too stre
ssed lately. I intend to make sure that for the next three days, you are very, very relaxed.”
“Is that so?” He brushes a gentle kiss over my lips as his arms tighten around my waist. “I think I could get used to this.”
“Good,” I say, melting against him. “Because I like taking care of my husband.”
“So where are we going?”
“If you treat me well enough, I just might tell you on the way.” I ease back, trailing my fingers over his cock as I step toward the shower door, his low moan of frustration and longing making me smile.
“I thought I treated you pretty well last night.”
“You definitely did, Mr. Stark. But just so you know, I’m a very greedy woman.”
Chapter Five
“Choca-pipcakes, Daddy! Make me choca-pipcakes!”
Beside me at the kitchen table, Jamie laughs as we both watch Lara tug on Damien’s khakis. She’s perfectly capable of saying pancake now, but she’s been calling them that since she first started talking, and neither Damien nor I want to put a stop to the cuteness.
“I’ll take a choca-pipcake, too,” Jamie says, grinning. “Sounds amazing, Lara.”
Across the kitchen, Lara flashes a wide smile, her face already smeared from the chocolate chips that she begged from her softie of a father.
“Aunt Jamie!” Lara cries, then bursts across the room and leaps into Jamie’s lap.
“Already, I’m second best,” Damien grumbles.
“Well, we know who counts around here, I guess,” Jamie says, holding Lara’s waist as my little monkey leans backward over Jamie’s legs, her fingers dangling toward the floor.
“Hey, at least you rank,” I tell Damien. “Apparently I’m not even on the list.”
“Mommies always have the first spot,” he says to me, then walks over, spatula in hand, and kisses me sweetly, but thoroughly.
“You’re cruel, you know,” Jamie tells Damien. “First, you send my husband to the other side of the globe. Then you force me to watch public displays of affection.”
Ryan is the Security Chief for Stark International and Damien’s best friend.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not starved for affection,” I tell Jamie as soon as Damien’s lips leave mine. “And as for the PDA, that’s the price you pay for our friendship,” I add, my voice high and lilting with humor.
“It’s a steep price,” Jamie grumbles before bending over to blow raspberries on Lara’s now-exposed tummy.
“First one’s ready,” Damien says. “Lara, why don’t you take it to your sister?”
Lara claps, and across the room, Anne joins in. “Pip-ca!” she says, then bangs on a frying pan with a wooden spoon. It’s annoying, but she loves it. And for all I know, we have a burgeoning rock star in the family.
“Pip-ca!” Anne says, this time with more force.
“Annnnie. You be good!” Lara’s got her stern voice on, and I watch as Jamie cracks up, then points to me. “Good impression,” she says, and I roll my eyes.
At the counter, Lara carefully takes the plate from Damien, then oh-so-carefully tiptoes to the activity area we’ve set up in the far corner of the kitchen. It’s outlined by interlocking plastic blocks and filled with every toy imaginable. Most of the time, Anne joins us at her booster seat, but the table’s crowded enough this morning.
As Lara takes care of her little sister, Damien starts bringing the plates of pancakes to the table. He’s made choca-pip, blueberry, banana, and plain. Which is far more than we need, but Damien never does anything by half.
“I’ll keep an eye on Anne,” Damien tells Lara. “Come get your pancakes.”
She squeals and scurries over as I make her a plate, then pass her the syrup. She dives in, and in no time flat is a sticky little mess.
“And that’s your problem,” I say to Jamie as I glance at the clock. “I need to go get ready.”
Damien frowns in my direction. “I thought you said we were ready. I was even under strict orders not to pack anything since you’ve taken care of it all.”
“I have. I just have one minor wardrobe tweak to take care of. And I’ve got just enough time to do that before Edward pulls the limo around.”
“And you’re still not telling me where we’re going.”
“Nope.” I walk to him, my arm going around his neck as I press close. “But feel free to try to persuade me otherwise,” I whisper. “Feel free to try very, very hard.”
He chuckles. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he assures me, then seals the deal with a long, slow kiss that leaves me breathless…and all the more certain that my wardrobe adjustment will prove to be very, very welcome.
“Get a room,” Jamie calls from the table, making Damien and me break apart, laughing.
“The bags are by the stairs,” I tell Damien. “Will you take them down while I finish up?”
“At your service,” he says, the heat in his voice making me swoon.
I head for the bedroom, and the last thing I hear before disappearing inside is Damien telling Lara that he needs a goodbye kiss from his girls.
I sigh happily, thinking how lucky I am. Yes, this trip is all about eradicating the demons that have been taunting Damien lately, but even that bit of torment is only a blip compared to the incredible life I have with him and our kids and our friends. I’m ridiculously blessed, and I know it. And when I look back at the hell that was my life before LA, I’m all the more grateful for Damien and the way he’s filled and colored my life.
And this weekend, I think as I strip off my clothes and step into my closet, I intend to show him just how grateful I am.
Chapter Six
Damien steps out of the limo, his attention on the smallest plane hangared at the Santa Monica airfield—his personal, customized Lear 45.
“I’m guessing we’re not going to Europe,” Damien says. “Canada? Mexico?”
“You’re getting nothing out of me,” I tease, waving to Grayson, Damien’s favorite pilot.
The older man grins and rubs his graying beard as he hurries toward us. “She’s good to go, Mrs. Stark. We can take off as soon as you two are on board.” He hesitates for a moment, then nods to Damien, looking amused. Clearly the fact that I’m the one in charge of this particular excursion has tickled his funny bone.
“Is that all of your luggage?” he adds, glancing at the two suitcases that Edward has pulled from the limo’s trunk.
“That’s it,” I say happily. “This is a weekend without work.”
“Well, good for both of you.” He signals to a lanky teen, who hurries over and takes a suitcase in each hand, easily hefting the weight. “My grandson, Gary,” he says to me. “Just started working here for the summer. Saving money for college.”
“That’s great,” I say as we follow Gary toward the plane, then walk up the integrated stairs to the crew area. From the factory, the jet’s interior is set up like a luxurious commercial plane, with leather bucket seats on either side of an aisle. Unlike a commercial plane, the crew isn’t locked away, but sits beyond a partition.
Because Damien likes his privacy, he made certain modifications. The cockpit is open to the flight attendant’s area, but not to the passenger area. Now, the two sections are separated by a polished wooden panel and an accordion-style door.
The passenger section still boasts the leather upholstery, but now there are two oversized leather armchairs, a table large enough to either eat or work at paired with two chairs, and a plush sofa.
There’s no bedroom like there is on Damien’s larger planes, but I figure we’ll make do. Especially since Damien’s first rule for the flight staff is that if the Do Not Disturb light is on, no one enters the passenger area except in a life-threatening emergency.
It’s a rule I approve of. Especially today. I have plans for Damien, after all.
I’ve asked the crew not to announce our flying time or destination. So once we’re airborne, I’m the only one who knows how much time we have before landing
. Honestly, it’s kind of nice. There aren’t many occasions where Damien Stark doesn’t have all the relevant details right at his fingertips.
He laughs when I tell him as much. “I think I’m man enough to trust my wife to get us wherever we’re going.”
“Oh, it’s not just the destination,” I say. “It’s the ride.”
We’d buckled in side by side on the sofa, but now that we’ve reached cruising altitude, I stand and go to the wet bar, then pour him a double shot of Booker’s bourbon over ice. I walk slowly back to him, then stand in front of him, my legs spread. I’ve already kicked off my ballet flats, and I’m wearing a loose pullover dress in a soft jersey material. It’s short-sleeved and hits mid-thigh, and all Damien would have to do is reach for the hem and lift it slightly to get a very intimate view of what’s underneath. Which, frankly, isn’t much.
So little in fact, that just standing this way—my legs spread, the air caressing my sex, my mind imagining what’s to come—has me wet and ready. A fact that I’m sure Damien realizes, because I’m essentially braless, and my now-hard nipples are hard to miss under the clingy material.
His eyes lock on mine. “Something on your mind, Mrs. Stark?”
“Just that this trip is all about you. And I have something for you.”
“I’m intrigued.”
“I like you that way,” I say, then grab the hem of the dress, tug it over my head, and toss it aside, all in one motion.
I try to watch Damien’s face, and I see his eyes widen in surprise and pleasure at what I’ve revealed. Specifically, me. All wrapped up in a pretty red bow. One life-size present for him to play with.
“Christ, Nikki. I don’t know if I should frame you or fuck you.”
“The latter, please. There’s something very erotic about dressing this way.”
“There’s something erotic about seeing you that way.”
I’ve taken a Christmas bow and used double-sided fashion tape to position it low on my pubis, hiding my pussy from view. And as for my breasts, well, that required some doing—and Jamie’s help—but we managed to essentially concoct a cup-less bra by wrapping red ribbon over and under my breasts in a criss-cross pattern, then tying it off in the back.
