I lift a brow. “So now you think he’s just a nice guy who wants me to build an app for him? You think he’s so shy and unassuming he didn’t want to talk to me on the island?”
“I think we don’t know what the story is,” Damien says reasonably.
“You’re coddling me—you can’t protect me from everything.”
“Maybe not, but I can damn well try.”
At that, I have to laugh. It lightens my edgy mood, and I know that Damien realizes as much when he takes my hand. “I told you, we’re going to look into him. In the meantime, all I want is for you not to worry. At least not until we know there’s something to worry about.”
“But there is. We can worry about why he said nothing about watching me.”
Damien holds my gaze, his expression stern. “Until we know what he wants and if he’s dangerous, you let me do the worrying. Okay?”
I sigh. “It’s not a question of let, Damien. My mind is conjuring all sorts of scenarios.”
“Fair enough,” he says as he loosens the knot on his tie. “Until we know, will you let me take your mind off it?”
“I—well, yeah. Sure.” I’m actually confused, but when he slides off the seat and moves to kneel between my legs, I know I shouldn’t be.
“Hands up,” he orders, and when I comply he loops the neck portion of his tie around my wrists and then closes it like a slipknot, binding my wrists together. Then he ties the loose end against one of the handholds above us, effectively rendering my hands useless and making me sit up straight.
I lift a brow. “Happy, Mr. Stark?”
“Getting there,” he says. Then he leans around me so that his arm brushes my breast as he grabs something off the bar. It’s not until he’s back in front of me that I realize it’s a corkscrew—the kind with a tiny knife attached.
And that knife is what he opens now.
My eyes go wide as he eases my skirt up and then, very deftly, uses the blade to cut my panties right off me. He meets my eyes, and I realize I’m biting my lip. Not from nerves, but from pleasure. And when he slides his hand between my legs, I watch as passion colors every feature of his face.
“Christ, Nikki. You’re soaked.”
He’s right. I’m desperately wet. Wildly turned on. I think that I should be embarrassed. After all, I know damn well that it’s the blade combined with Damien’s touch that has fired me up. After all, don’t I know better than anyone the exquisite pleasure of a knife near flesh?
But I’m not ashamed. Damien knows that. He knows me.
And he understands that I’ve healed enough that it’s not the blade on my flesh that I want, but the blade in his hand. The teasing. The taunting.
The slight hint of danger.
But that little glimpse was enough. Now I want Damien alone. His mouth. His touch.
Not the blade.
I hold his gaze, and then I say the only word I need. “Please.”
He requires no further urging. He tosses the knife aside, then grabs my thighs and tugs me closer. The motion hikes my skirt up, exposing me even more, and he leans forward, then closes his mouth over my cunt in the softest of kisses.
I squirm, loving the sensation but wanting more. I want it rough. Wild.
And once again, Damien understands me. He teases my clit with his tongue. He clutches my thighs with his hands so hard I’m certain to bruise. He thrusts his tongue inside me. And then he returns to my clit in a slow back-and-forth that creates a euphoric pleasure so intense that I feel myself rising off the seat and pressing my body against his face in a silent demand that he touch me just there, just right.
And when he does—oh, Christ, when he does—I feel the tremors start all the way down at my toes. They rise up, higher and higher, firing my entire body until I can’t take the pressure anymore and cry out, shattering under the onslaught of my husband’s tongue and touch.
And as I do, I have to admit that Damien did a damn good job of making me forget my problems.
—
Despite Damien soothing me, my dreams keep me tossing all night. My mother. Damien’s father. They’re all twisted together, flashing as bright as neon in my mind, as if they’re trying to send me a message. The last image I see before I wake up gasping with my face wet from tears is Ashley, my sister, and she’s holding out a hand to me. You don’t remember, she says. But I’ll remember for you.
“It’s okay, baby.” Damien’s arms are tight around me. He’s dressed for the office and sitting on the side of the bed. But he’s there, he’s right by my side—just like he always is for me. “Only a nightmare.”
“It was so weird,” I murmur, breathing deep as he pulls me down so that my head is in his lap. “My mom was in it. And your dad. And Ashley.” I shake my head as if to dispel the lingering wisps of the dream.
“It’s your subconscious dealing with Dallas’s revelation about Frank.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Do you want me to stay home with you?”
I shake my head immediately. “I’m fine.” I sit up, as if that will prove the point. “Really. I’m going to take a long shower and maybe even work out.”
At that, Damien raises his brows; I very rarely use our gym.
I shrug. “I feel the need to burn off some steam, and,” I add as I see him about to suggest a way to do that without a treadmill or punching bag, “I know that you have a meeting this morning with those guys from Korea. Go,” I insist. “I’ll be fine.”