I move my hands to the front clasp of my bra, but he shakes his head. “No. I’ll do that.” He steps closer, and I find it suddenly hard to breathe, as if the air has become as thick as liquid. I should be used to this by now—to the way he makes my body hum, the way molecules seem to shimmer when he is near me. I should be able to draw a breath without trembling, and stand beside him without feeling as though I will swoon. But I cannot, and so help me I hope that day never comes. I am in thrall to this man, and I do not want anything about that to change.
His hands brush the swell of my breasts as he detaches the rings. I gasp, surprised by the rush of sensation back to my nipples that is at least as enticing as the initial shock of contact when he put them on. He sets the chain and rings on the bar, then removes my bra, sending shocks of anticipation shooting through me. I close my eyes, expecting to feel his mouth close over me, his teeth grazing my nipple. But that sweet sensation doesn’t come. Instead, his palms stroke down my arms and his fingers close around my wrists. Gently, he raises my hands above my head. “Keep your eyes closed,” he whispers.
Satin twines gently around my wrist before tightening, the pressure pulling my hand flush with the pillar. “What are you—”
“Hush,” he says. A moment later, I feel that same constriction around my other wrist. I try to move my arms, but they are bound in place, and I realize that Damien has used my bra to tie me to this pillar.
“Clever,” I say.
“Enticing,” he retorts. “Can I trust you not to peek?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Mmm.” From his tone, I’d have to say he doesn’t believe me, and I open my eyes to find him frowning at me. I grin sheepishly, but he says nothing. Just turns and goes into the bedroom leaving me tied to a pillar in the living room, wearing nothing but my thigh-high stockings, high heels, and a conservative strand of pearls.
I twist my head, trying to see what’s he’s doing, but it’s impossible. I listen, but I hear nothing.
I close my eyes and say a silent prayer that he’s not leaving me here. Unfortunately for me, I know damn well that I can’t discount the possibility. “Damien?”
There is no answer.
“Mr. Stark? Sir?”
Again, the room remains silent. And I, alone and essentially naked, can’t help but wonder just how long he’ll be gone. For that matter, I can’t help but wonder what he’ll do when he returns. This may be my punishment, but I know that the reward, when it finally comes, will be astounding.
“And here I thought you had more patience.” I hear his voice, but there is no Damien.
“And here I thought you were going to fuck me. At the very least, you were going to spank me.”
Then he steps in from the bedroom, his stride long and easy, his back straight, his expression that of a man who knows damn well that the earth will rotate whichever way he tells it to. All that power, and right now it is focused entirely on me. “Frustrated, Ms. Fairchild?”
“Maybe I’m feeling a little cheated,” I say.
“I promise you won’t by the time I’m through with you,” he says with such heat in his voice that it’s a wonder I don’t melt right there, and slip out of my bond like butter. “I didn’t get to take you as far as I would have liked during our limo ride. I intend to remedy that now. Slowly, and very, very thoroughly.”
He has something in his hand, and it takes me a minute to realize it’s one of his ties. “Your eyes are open,” he says.
“Ah.” I can hardly argue, as I’m looking right at him.
“Close them,” he says, and I do. I feel the brush of silk over my eyes, then the tug as he tightens the tie around the back of my head. His lips brush the corner of my mouth. “Nice,” he says. His lips brush my ear. “Now everything you hear, everything you feel, every bit of pleasure, every hint of pain will come from me. So tell me, Nikki. Does that excite you?”
“You know it does.”
His lips graze my neck, and his one simple word seems to reverberate through me. “Why?”
I swallow. It’s not a question I expected. “Because—because you know me. Because you know what I can take. You know what I want. You know my limits, Damien. And because you push them.”
“Good girl.”
He reaches up and traces his finger lightly along my collarbone, then over the strand of pearls. A moment later, he has removed the necklace, and I hear the clink of pearls against pearls as he crunches the strand in his palm, then cups his hand over my breast.
I tilt my head back and suck in air as he rubs small circles over my nipple, massaging me with the hard, slick surface of the cluster of pearls. Then he opens his hand more and I feel the brush of the necklace as he untangles it, then rubs the strand enticingly against the swell of my breast, my puckered areola, and my oh-so-sensitive nipple.
“Damien,” I murmur as he trails the tip of the strand down my belly, careful to let only the smooth surface of one stone touch my skin. The sensation is intoxicating. The cool brush of the gem. The sweet anticipation of not knowing where the next touch will fall.
I jump a little when the necklace grazes my pubis, then bite down on my lower lip, willing myself to stand still.
“Should I crush these as Cleopatra did?” he whispers.
“I don’t need an aphrodisiac,” I retort, my voice breathy.
“No, I don’t think you do. I can see the flush on your skin, I can breathe in the scent of your arousal. When I touch you, I know I will find you desperately wet for me. Won’t I, Nikki?”