My breath comes in shudders and I squirm against him. I’m no longer sure what I need anymore except him. And now. Oh, please, now.
“You want the pain because it’s what gives you the power to beat it—to haul yourself back and say fuck you to the world. It’s a gift, Nikki—that red-hot sting. And I will be the one to give it to you.”
He tugs his fingers out of me, then flips me over as if I weigh nothing and carries me toward my desk. He puts me on my feet in front of it and orders me to bend over. I do, the bulk of my skirt between my hips and the edge of the desktop providing some padding.
He stands off to one side, and as I watch, he tugs his belt free. I bite my lower lip, imagining the feel of leather against my rear. I wanted his hand, but this—oh, yes, I can imagine it. The shock, the sting. The building sensation as I close my eyes and grab hold letting the pain focus at my core.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, and from his tone I realize he had not intended that. But Damien is nothing if not adaptable, and I see the tip of his head and the rise of his brow. Then the slow smile when he nods. He moves behind me, one hand stroking circles on my bare back. “You’ll have my hand, too, because I can’t bear not to touch you. But if this is what you need—”
He punctuates the word with a lash to my ass and I cry out from surprise and pleasure. The sting is exquisite, and I bite my lower lip, then moan in delight as he rubs his palm over the tender flesh. There is another sting, then another, and with each I feel myself getting wetter. I imagine my rear turning red, and Damien’s large hand cupping me tenderly, stroking away any lingering pain that I have not claimed and drawn inside.
“Is that what you needed?” he says after four strokes. He is behind me, his trousers and briefs gone. His palms are on my rear, and his cock is hard between my legs, the length of it stroking me and teasing my clit. “Do you need more? Tell me, Nikki. I want to hear what you need.” His voice is raw with excitement, and I know that he needs this as much as I do. And that knowledge turns me on even more.
“You,” I say, lifting my ass and spreading my legs wider. I grip the sides of the desk and sigh from the sweet sensation of my breasts hard against the desktop. “Inside me now. Like this. Right here on my desk. And hard. Please, Damien, fuck me hard.”
“Oh, baby.” He thrusts inside me, using his hands on my hips to piston us together as he pounds and pounds, using me, taking me. I feel the stirrings of my climax inside me, and squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to draw it out. He is so thick, and he’s going so deep, and all I want is for this to last. The sensation of him filling me. Of every thrust causing the bunched up material to rub against my clit. I am lost in a sensual web, and it isn’t until I feel the tremors run through Damien and know that he is close, that I start to let myself go so that—oh, God, yes—I can explode when he does, my body squeezing tight around him, drawing every last bit of pleasure out of him.
And then, sated and breathing deep, I sink my head down onto the desk with a moan of deep satisfaction.
He molds his body over mine, and I do not know how long we stay like that. Then he scoops me up and carries me back to the love seat, curling me up on his lap and covering me with his suit jacket.
I snuggle close, then lift my head to look at him. I cleave now to Damien instead of the pain, and the beautiful, wondrous thing is that he understands. Hell, he understands better than I do.
A single tear escapes and he brushes it away with his thumb, his eyes like a question mark.
“I need you, Damien—God, I need you in ways that you understand better than I do. But I feel so selfish. So—”
He lifts a brow, but his smile is gentle. “Are you under the impression that I don’t need you, Nikki?”
“I—no. But I—” I stop, confused. Because the truth is, that has been my fear, but now that he has spoken it aloud, I feel foolish. I think of the way he claimed me the night he lost himself in a flurry of tennis balls. And all the times that he has bound me, controlled me, as a counterpoint to a world spinning away from him. We soothe each other, and I know that. I see that. And yet I still cannot quell the fear that while Damien wants me desperately, he doesn’t need me the way I need him. That he doesn’t love me as desperately as I love him.
He runs his fingers through my hair. “Do you remember what I told you in Munich? About not wanting to touch you with those images in my head.”
Remember? How could I forget? But all I say is, “Of course.”
“I wasn’t entirely accurate.”
“Oh.” Since I don’t know what else to say, I simply wait.
“Pictures or not—those memories are always there. I can’t shake them. I’ve never shaken them. But you make them tolerable.” He is looking hard at me now, the emotion so raw it seems to cut right through me. “You’re what gives me strength. If I am what centers you, Nikki, then you are what anchors me. Every time I touch you, every time I bury myself deep inside you—Nikki, don’t you see? You are the talisman of my life, and if I lose my grip on you, then I have lost myself.”
“Damien,” I say, because I need to hear his name. His words swell inside me, as if they will make me burst at the seams. But I hold tight to them, for they are too precious to lose.
But though I believe his words, I cannot help but realize that however much he might think I anchor him, when the abyss loomed in Germany, I had no power to pull him back.
The thought makes me shudder, and I cling to him harder.