Beneath the table his leg caresses mine. “I know the feeling.”
The softness of his words takes my breath away, but I can’t meet his eyes. I concentrate instead on my wine and am grateful when he changes the subject, telling me how he found this restaurant when he decided to spend a weekend exploring small California towns. By the time the coffee and crème brûlée arrives for dessert, my melancholy for my roommate has disappeared. More than that, I’m having such a good time listening to Damien’s stories that I’ve actually forgotten about the decadent little toy—until it starts to vibrate inside me with no warning at all.
I’m holding a spoonful of dessert, and I gasp a little as it slides over my lips. On the other side of the table, Damien smiles innocently at me. “You’re glowing again, Ms. Fairchild. Is that for the crème brûlée? Or could there be another reason?”
“You’re a cruel man, Mr. Stark. And I think it’s time we get the check.”
We’ve been in the restaurant for hours and the downtown area is dark and abandoned by the time we leave. His car is in a paid lot a few blocks away, and we turn into an alley as a shortcut. There’s no one around, and I step to one side, tugging Damien with me. “What is it?” he asks.
“Just this.” I kiss him, hard, and ease backward until my shoulders press against the rough brick of the building. “Turn it on,” I demand.
“Oh, baby,” he says, but he complies.
I take his hand and slide it up under my skirt, putting his fingers right on me. I’m desperately wet.
“God, Nikki, let’s get to the car.”
“No,” I say and unzip his fly. I have my hand inside his jeans, and his cock is steel against my palm. “Now. Please.”
He growls, and I know he’s fighting for control.
“Now,” I repeat. “Leave the thing on. And don’t take it out.”
That pushes him over the edge and he shifts his jeans to free himself, then slams me harder against the wall. I gasp and curl one leg up around him. “Please,” I say. “Please, Damien. Fuck anticipation. I want you now.”
I take his cock and guide the head between my legs. My skirt falls over us, the soft feel of the hem moving against us adding to the frenzy. I’m vibrating inside, and that sensation coupled with his deep, penetrating thrusts is enough to send me over the edge in no time at all, Damien right there with me.
“Holy hell,” he whispers, clutching me tight. “That was quite a trip.”
“Got your vibe on?”
“You’re quite the minx.”
“I guess so,” I say. “I seem to remember someone saying he doesn’t have sex in public.”
“That’s my rule,” he admits. “Anyone who works so very hard to make me break it deserves an equally inventive punishment.”
I swallow, my nipples tightening again from his tone. It’s low and commanding and I have no doubt that it will be sweet punishment indeed.
“Come on, Ms. Fairchild. I think it’s time to get you home.”
26
By the time we pull up to my apartment, I am once again liquid with desire. Damien has allowed me to remove the magical vibrating egg, but he makes me sit with my legs spread wide beneath my skirt. That position combined with the thrum of the engine is erotic in and of itself. Knowing that he has a special punishment in store for me is enough to make me almost come every time he taps the brakes or revs the engine.
He parallel-parks expertly and kills the engine. He doesn’t, however, get out. I eye him, my teeth scraping over my lower lip. “Are you going to come in?” I’m suddenly afraid that the punishment he has in mind is to not touch me at all.
A predatory spark flares in his eyes. “Oh, I’m coming in, all right.”
I exhale in relief, then suck in sharply with confusion as he reaches behind his seat to retrieve a thin leather case, like a briefcase, only smaller. He smiles enigmatically, then exits the car with the case. He’s at my side before I can figure out how to work the locking mechanism. He pulls open the door, then takes my hand and helps me out. It’s all very proper and polite—and that’s making me even more nervous.
What does he have in store for me? What is in that damn case?
My fingers shake as I insert my key in the lock. Damien’s proximity and promises have done quite a number on me. I think I’m more aware of my body than I’ve ever been, and every part of me is taut and tense with excitement, nervousness, and anticipation.
Once we’re inside, I stand awkwardly in the room, not quite sure what to do now. It’s a strange feeling considering all we’ve done together, not to mention the fact that he’s already seen the apartment. But I feel like a teenager inviting a boy home for the first time.
Jamie is still at the spa, so we have the place to ourselves. Damien shares none of my hesitations; he strides right to the dining table and puts the case down. I look at it, expecting him to open it. He doesn’t. He just stands there watching me, his inspection so intense that I feel the urge to fidget.
I don’t, though. Instead I stand perfectly still, my chin tilted slightly up. This is part of the game, and right now my role is to wait.
Damien strokes his chin, his head tilted sideways in the manner of a museum patron inspecting a classic work of art. His words, however, lack the sophistication of a museum excursion.
“Take off your skirt.” The force and command in his voice is undeniable.
I look down; I don’t want him to see my smile.