Indulge Me

by J. Kenner

  “Damien!” I cry, tugging him to a stop.

  His eyes meet mine, his brows rising in question.

  “What are you doing?”

  A hint of a smile touches his mouth as he says, “Let’s find out what it’s like to be the mirror.”

  * * * *

  He leads me through the dim lights, past other couples, threesomes, and more. Some corners filled with passion. Some with punishment. And with each person, I wonder how it would feel if Damien was touching me that way, or that, or even like that.

  He leads me into a room illuminated with dim red bulbs. Appropriate, I think. We pass several other couples as he takes me to a wooden bench. It’s sitting a few feet from a wall, facing it, so that anyone on the bench has their back to the room.

  “Shall I bend you over the back of that bench?” he asks. “Tie your arms to the slats. Stroke my hand between your thighs and tease your ass until you beg me to take you like that with the whole room watching?”

  I open my mouth, then close it again when I realize my automatic reply was, “Yes.”

  He’s watching my face, and I’m certain that he sees the truth in my eyes. But he doesn’t call me on it. Instead, he takes my hand, circles the bench, and sits. He opens his robe, revealing his incredible body and fully erect cock. I know that I’m the only one who can see him. The bench is on one side of the wall, and all the other people are behind him. If they see anything, it’s his still-robed shoulders and back.

  But they can see me. I’m standing topless in front of him, the rest of my dress mostly sheer in the strange lighting.

  I taste blood and realize I’m biting my lower lip.

  “Nikki,” Damien says softly, his hand extended. “Come here.”

  I do, and his touch gives me courage. “Why are we out here?” I ask.

  “So you can watch them over my shoulder,” he says, tugging me onto his lap, then he lifts my skirt so that he can hold my hips and guide me onto his rock-hard cock. “And so they can watch us, too.”

  I bite my lip hard, astounded that we’re doing this. “Hold my shoulders, baby,” he demands, and I comply, reminding myself that I’m masked as I look at the others in the room. Some uninterested, some watching. And in the eyes of everyone watching us, I see a heat at least equal to our own.

  “Damien,” I murmur, not sure what I’m feeling. Excitement or embarrassment. Fear or euphoria. All I know is that my body is on fire and my husband is so hard and filling me so deliciously.

  His hands cup my ass, helping to thrust harder, deeper, and damned if I’m not wonderfully close, the edge of the universe rising up to greet me.

  “Take off your mask.”

  His whispered words shock me even as an unexpected trill of excitement runs up my spine, making my core clench tight around his erection. “Damien, no. Someone will recognize me.” I’m looking over his shoulder at the other couples and threesomes in this room. Couples in more compromising positions than we are. Some glance our way, but it’s obvious they are lost in their own pleasure. Most don’t even know we exist, too lost in a sexual haze.

  Maybe it would be safe. But even so...

  I moan as his hands on my hips push me, driving his cock deeper inside me. His dark eyes look into mine, full of heat and temptation and promise. And love. “Are you calling sunset?” I hear the effort it takes him to get out the words and I know he’s close to exploding.

  “I—” My mouth is so dry I can’t get the words out. I want—God, I want—and yet...

  “Think about the worst thing that could happen.” His hand slips from my hips to my ass, his finger moving to trace intimately between my ass cheeks, making me rock and moan, wanting him deeper. Wanting him every way possible. Just wanting him.

  His voice is low. Intimate. This conversation is meant for no one other than us. “Then ask yourself if you could survive that. You’re afraid, Nikki. Conquer the fear.”

  He’s right. It would be hell if I was recognized. I’ve had the tabloids after me, and it’s horrible. But I’ve always survived. Always, because Damien was at my side.

  I can get past my fear. I can own it. Use it. Turn it around and take power from it.

  I think of those damn boys in the car. Of the way I took a blade to my skin during the worst of Anne’s kidnapping. Of every time I let fear slide in and grab me by the throat.

  No more.

  I reach for the strap of my mask, but before I can take it off, Damien stills my hand.

  “What are you—”

  His grin has a hint of irony. “All I wanted was for you to learn to conquer your fear. That’s far enough to see that you can. It’s one thing to give in to fear. It’s another to be reckless.”

  I nod, relieved. But at the same time, I raise a brow. “In other words, Mr. Stark, I’m braver than you.”

  “I suppose you are. What do you intend to do about that?”

  I draw in a breath, then glance around the room. Anonymous bodies still move in the dark. I can smell the lust, the passion. And damned if I don’t want to be part of it. “I’m going to fuck my husband,” I say, moving my hips in time with my words, holding his gaze as I bring him back to full arousal.

  “Oh, baby,” he says, his hands on my hips as he guides me harder and deeper. “I love the way you surprise me.”

  I hook my hand around the back of his neck and rock my hips as my mouth meets his, my tongue going as deep as his cock. My other hand is on his bare chest for balance, and I can feel the tempo of his heart, the quickening as he comes closer, and the knowledge that he’s as excited as I am makes me even wilder. “Please,” I whisper. “Damien, please make me come.”

  He groans, sliding one hand between our bodies to find my clit. He teases me, his fingers working magic as I arch back, overwhelmed at the storm spinning out of control inside me. At the power of owning this moment and the knowledge that Damien is right there with me, holding fast to me as we inch beyond anywhere we’ve gone before. And God knows we’ve come far.

  He breathes my name, then bends forward, his mouth closing over my breast, his teeth grazing my nipple as his free hand cups the back of my head, making it impossible for me to arch back too far, so that I have no choice but to look at the other lovers in this room if I open my eyes.

  The room smells of sex, and the red tint that illuminates our bodies is like the reflection of our passion. His hands upon me act like a closed circuit, and my body explodes around his. My sex tightens, clenching his cock, claiming him as he readjusts his hands, once again taking my hips and slamming me down on to him, harder and harder until finally, sweetly, he explodes inside me and our joint exalted cries echo over the other bodies writhing in this small, dim room.

  I cling to him, breathing hard, both our bodies relaxing together. Finally, he picks me up and carries me to a private chamber with nothing in it but the freshly-made bed where he gently deposits me, then tugs my dress the rest of the way off.

  “I love you,” he says simply, as he removes the robe and slides onto the duvet beside me.

  “I know,” I say. “That love is my strength.” With a sigh, I curl up next to him, relishing the feel of his skin against mine. “I feel like we went to hell together and came out again through the fire. I feel raw. New.” I smile at him. “I feel wonderful.”

  “Then my plan worked.”

  I laugh. “When don’t your plans work?” I shift on the bed and sit up, facing him. “Do you remember when I told you that you couldn’t control the world?”

  “I believe you’ve mentioned it once or twice. You’ve said that I can’t control the world, but I can control you.”

  I meet his eyes. “I was right. You can control me.”

  I see a flicker of confusion, and then he says, “You’re saying it worked, bringing you here. Our game.”

  I nod. “I believed you before—when you said I was strong. But then I cut again, and … and I guess it felt as if everything that came before was erased. That I was weak after all.�
�

  “You know better. Everybody breaks a little sometimes.”

  “And that doesn’t make you weak. It makes you wounded.” I squeeze his hand. “You told me that. You were right.”

  “I do love hearing that,” he says, then kisses my fingertips. “I’ll give you a choice. I can release you from our arrangement. We can go back to the hotel, get in bed, drink wine, watch a movie, and make love.”

  “Or?”

  “Or we can stay here a few more hours. After that, we can continue as we’ve been during the rest of the trip. Maybe longer. I’ll explore your fears. I’ll push your boundaries.”

  “More than you already have?”

  He only smiles.

  “That,” I say, an exultant anticipation already rising inside me. “Door Number Two.”

  He studies me. “Why?”

  “Because I love you. Because I trust you. Because we haven’t reached our limit yet.”

  “Limit?”

  “Of what’s enticing, exciting. Of what turns us on. We’re still climbing the mountain, Damien. I want to know what it feels like when we reach the top.”

  “I’d say the view’s pretty good from where we are,” he says, his eyes skimming over every inch of me.

  I move over, then straddle his waist. “The view’s amazing.”

  “But you want more.”

  “No, I don’t want more. I want all. All of you.”

  “You already have me.”

  “I know,” I say happily. “And that’s why I’m not afraid.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Tony?” I ask, using the nickname that Antonio Santos requested when we were introduced. I, of course, invited him to call me Nikki.

  He smiles at me, but shakes his head. About thirty-five, he has the dark hair and warm brown skin that reflects his Mexican heritage. He also has the fresh, clean-cut appearance of a young businessman, a façade that camouflages all the rough edges that Damien swears make him such a viable candidate for Stark Security.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I believe I’m otherwise engaged.”

  I turn, following the direction of his gaze, and note the leggy redhead who’s been eyeing him throughout the entire meal. Damien and I share an amused glance before I turn back to Tony. “Looks like it,” I say, and his eyes dance with amusement.

  “I’m very happy we had the chance to meet. Your husband is excellent company, but you definitely brightened up the afternoon.”

  “Flirting?” Damien says, his voice laced with humor.

  “With Damien Stark’s wife? Would you be trying to hire me if I was that stupid?”

  Damien chuckles. “Good point.”

  Damien and I met Tony for lunch at the hotel’s restaurant as part of Damien’s continuing effort to get the former Deliverance member to join the Stark Security team. Now, lunch is over, and Damien and I head through the lobby to our waiting car so that we can squeeze in a quick visit to the Rodin Museum before his final meeting of the day.

  As we climb in, I see a tall man with a familiar shock of white-blond hair. I can’t place him, but he snarls something at the doorman who’s speaking to him, shoots a harsh glance toward our car, and then stalks off down the sidewalk.

  “What?” I ask, realizing Damien has said something.

  “I asked what you thought of Tony.”

  “I like him. And he seems to like you. Why is he hesitating?” The lunch was casual, a chance to interact informally, and we barely discussed business at all.

  “Let’s just say he’s on a personal mission.”

  “But he worked with Deliverance,” I point out.

  “He did. His mission lined up well with Dallas’s.” Dallas Sykes started Deliverance to find the men who had kidnapped him and his sister as teenagers.

  “Tony was kidnapped,” I guess. “And he wanted to find his kidnapper.”

  “Not exactly. He was kidnapped, but he knew by whom. His father kidnapped him when he was seven and took him to Mexico City.”

  “His poor mother. Did she get him back?”

  “She killed herself,” Damien says and I shiver. “At least, that’s what Tony’s father told him.”

  “He doesn’t believe that?”

  Damien shrugs. “I don’t think he wants to.”

  I take Damien’s hand and squeeze, thinking of Anne, and how I might have lost her forever. “So he grew up with a father who kidnapped him. When did he learn the truth?”

  “Actually, he was rescued and adopted by his uncle when he was ten. And apparently, rescued is accurate. His father sounds worse than mine.”

  “I’m glad he got away.”

  “As am I. He hasn’t specifically told me as much, but I think he’s investigating his mother’s death. And I know he’s trying to find the man who gunned down his uncle.”

  My hand goes to my mouth, and I think of how much Antonio Santos has endured. And how focused he is now. How ready and able to face the world despite seeing so much horror in the world. “I hope he finds answers,” I say. “But more, I hope he’s able to move on.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Damien agrees.

  It’s not a long ride to the museum, and I think that I might come back later with my camera. The building itself is gorgeous, a former mansion where Rodin worked when he was in the city. Apparently, he donated much of his work and the artwork he collected, and now it fills the gardens and the interior of the rococo mansion.

  We go inside first and wander leisurely. I love seeing the various pieces, including the famous The Kiss. But it’s the art students that litter the floor that draw my attention. They seem to come in two varieties —lone wolves or those that travel in packs with their teacher as the leader. Armed with sketchpads, they are everywhere, leaning against walls, seated on the floor around statues. Their pencils move over pads as their eyes move back and forth between their own work and the genius that is Rodin. They’ve come here to be close to talent. To genius. To soak it in, to study, to analyze. And, yes, to envy.

  There’s a look in their eyes I recognize, because I’ve seen it in the eyes of the young men and women who work with Damien. With Jackson, too. The passion and talent of those two men is electrifying, and people are drawn to them like moths to a burning flame.

  I glance sideways at my husband, seeing him instead of the art. And in that moment, I know that I am the luckiest woman on earth.

  “Nikki?” The teasing tone draws me from my thoughts, and I look up to find Damien smiling at me. “You look mesmerized.”

  I study his face and nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I am.”

  He takes my arm, oblivious to the full meaning of my words, and leads me outside. It’s as if we’ve stepped into a magical world, with the stunning landscaping beneath the blue Parisian sky.

  The Thinker sits in the garden to the right of the building, the massive Gates of Hell to the left, beautiful and fascinating despite the dark subject. Damien and I spend some time getting close to those famous doors, looking at the intricate detail of this intricate and disturbing piece.

  But it’s when we move behind the mansion that I really fall in love. There’s sculpture in the garden, of course, but it is the simplicity of the manicured lawn that sings to my soul. A stunning grassy rectangle leading from the back stone patio all the way down to a small pond.

  “Can you imagine the lawn parties this house must have seen?” I ask Damien. “Or the weddings.” I imagine the bride coming down the stairs, then walking a rolled-out carpeted path to her groom at the pond. “Wouldn’t that be magnificent?”

  He says nothing, but an odd expression colors his face.

  “Damien?”

  “You’re right,” he says. “It’s an incredible venue.”

  “I wish we had longer.”

  “I can send the car back for you,” he tells me, but I decline. Instead, I join him as the car takes us on to the office building where Damien has his meeting, then returns me to the h
otel.

  Since I’m now in the mood to take pictures, I hurry inside. I grab my camera and return to the sidewalk, intending to walk the short distance to the Tuileries.

  I don’t get that far. As soon as I’ve rounded the corner, I’m slammed from behind. Fear and confusion crash through me, but I don’t even have time to react before my attacker spins me around and slams my back against a wall. It’s broad daylight, but no one stops, and I think it’s because my attacker is right in my face, so close we could be lovers.

  It’s the white-blond man, and his face is full of hate. “Your husband thinks he is better than everyone,” he says in heavily accented English. “He thinks I am not good enough to work at his fucking hotel. Damien Stark with all his pretty things. Maybe I should make his wife a little bit less pretty. Do you think?”

  My heard is pounding, but despite all my adrenaline, I can’t struggle out of his grasp. I can think, though, and it’s Damien who fills my mind as I jerk a knee up, aiming for his crotch.

  He dodges, a deadly fury building in his eyes, and I fear that I just made a deadly mistake.

  He snarls, and as he lunges forward, cold terror courses through me.

  I have only a split second, and I force my panic down. I don’t have time for fear; I only have time to fight. I clench my fist, then lash out, gaining momentum as I thrust up the way Damien does in our gym. My hand explodes with pain as I make contact with the underside of his chin, knocking his head back as he stumbles away from me.

  I don’t hesitate, just take off running, expecting to hear his footsteps behind me. Anticipating the sudden stop when he grabs the back of my shirt just inches before I reach the corner.

  But there is no tug. And as I careen around the corner, I realize I’m free. I did it. I got away.

  “Mrs. Stark!”

  I barely register the distant words and keep on running.

  “Nikki!” The voice is closer. “Wait!”

  Tony.

  Confused, I stop and turn, only to see him rounding the corner, too, my attacker held in a head lock.