Stark After Dark (22 page)

We drove into town in the Jeep Grand Cherokee, and though it is the easiest car for me to drive, I wish we'd brought the Bugatti. Right now, I want speed, because I'm racing to get home before Edward gets on the road with Damien.

I'd called Edward again as I waited for the valet to bring the Jeep around, and he promised to text me the moment that Damien is in the limo. He doesn't know what I have planned, of course, but I think it amuses him to be in on my conspiracy, whatever it may be.

When I reach the house, I don't bother parking in the garage. Instead, I leave the Jeep in the circular drive and use the key code to enter the house. Though we have a butler/valet/all-around general house guy, Gregory does not live on the property. On the contrary, Damien has rented an apartment for him nearby, and is building a small bungalow on the eastern portion of the property that will become Gregory's home.

All of which is fine with me. I like Gregory. But I like being alone with Damien a whole lot more.

I take the stairs two at a time, then race into our closet, which is really more of a dressing room. For that matter, it's really more of an apartment, considering the entire space is bigger than the efficiency I lived in for one semester during college.

The jewelry drawers are against the back wall, and a single code unlocks all of them. I punch it in, then pull out the black velvet–lined drawer that holds the various bits of diamond jewelry that Damien has given me. Right now, that means it has a pair of earrings and a stunning necklace that he bought for me when we attended a charity function.

Sometimes, the emerald and diamond ankle bracelet he gave me even before we were officially together is in this drawer, but usually it is exactly where it is now—on my leg, a permanent reminder that I am his.

At first glance, everything appears as it should. Then I realize that there is an additional piece of black velvet in the drawer. I run my finger over it and feel the bumps of something hidden beneath.

I grin, because I know damn well that I have found the prize.

I peel the velvet back to reveal a strand of pearls and a pair of silver nipple rings, connected by a serpentine chain. My body flushes with desire and memory. He'd given me the pearls in Germany and put them to deliciously erotic use. As for the nipple rings, he'd introduced me to those in the condo I used to share with Jamie, and I'd been astounded by how much my body responded to the intense sensation of not only the constant pressure on my erect nipples, but also to the demanding tug when Damien pulled on the chain.

Just remembering makes me wet, and I drag my teeth over my lower lip, thinking that both of these things fit in perfectly with my plans for the night. And, more, thinking that I want Damien now—like right this very instant—and I am grateful when my phone buzzes with Edward's text letting me know that they are on their way.

Thank god.

The last thing in the drawer is an envelope that was underneath the jewelry. I take it out and open it to find an airline itinerary. Not a ticket, as that's not necessary for a man who owns his own fleet of aircraft. But according to this, we're leaving for Nassau tomorrow evening, then taking a puddle jumper to an island resort called
Serafina Spa Retreat
. We're staying there three nights, then returning home on Valentine's Day.

I sigh with pleasure. Damien took me to an island for part of our honeymoon, and while it was heavenly, the location was remote—just the two of us in a small cabin on an otherwise uninhabited island. Perfect for a honeymoon, and perfect for escaping the world.

But I can't deny that a spa sounds absolutely delicious, as does three nights on an island with Damien.

Right now, though, I have something else delicious in mind.

I want to change, and so I do that quickly, ultimately wrapping myself in my favorite white, fluffy robe. Then I move into the bedroom and put my phone on the mattress beside me. I put it on speaker, and dial Damien's number.

He answers on the first ring.

“Where are you?”

“At home. In bed.”

“Are you?” I hear the tinge of interest in his voice.

“But I'm imagining I'm with you,” I say. “Tell me, Mr. Stark, is the privacy screen up?”

There is a pause before he answers, and when he does, the heat in his voice is unmistakable. “It is now.”

“Close your eyes,” I tell him. I close mine as well, remembering the first time that I was alone in his limo with Damien's voice stroking me, caressing me, getting me off. “Can you imagine me there? Sitting beside you? My hand on your thigh?”

He says nothing, and I take that as acquiescence—a sign that he is willing to surrender to my game.

“I'm sliding it up,” I say. “Moving slowly over your slacks. Closing my fingers over your cock. Tell me something, Mr. Stark.” My voice is breathy, and it is all that I can do not to slip my hand down between my legs. “Are you hard?”

“Very.”

“I know. I can feel it. Can you feel me? I'm stroking you. Making you even harder until you're begging me to tug down your zipper and slip my hand inside. Do it,” I whisper.

“Jesus, Nikki.”

I allow myself a satisfied smile but otherwise don't pause in my seduction. “I'm unfastening your belt and unbuttoning your pants. I lower the zipper so carefully and slide my hand in to free your cock. Do that, Damien. Do that and imagine it's me.”

He doesn't answer, but I can hear him breathing.

“You're hard and soft, like velvet on steel, and I'm gliding my hand over you, teasing you, bringing you so close that you want to explode. But not yet,” I say. “I want to taste you.”

“Holy Christ.” His voice is raw, and I'm squirming on the bed, worked up not only by my words and the power they are having on him, but by what I'm wearing under this robe.

“Can you feel my tongue on you? Licking your balls, then tasting every bit of you as I lick you just like candy? I suck your crown, then draw you in, so deep, and you taste so amazing and I can't get enough, and you're getting harder and harder and—”

“Not just yet.” His voice is tight, and I am certain that he is fighting not to come. “You want this? You want to take me there?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Then you're going there with me. Tell me what you're wearing.”

I hesitate, because this wasn't the game I had planned, but I cannot deny that it has its own appeal.

“Tell me,” he repeats.

“A robe,” I say. “The thick white one.”

“Take it off.”

“Will you watch while I do?”

“You know I will.”

“It's off,” I say, as soon as I have dropped it off the side of the bed.

“Are you naked?”

I lick my lips. “No.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Funny you should ask,” I say. “I found the most interesting things in my jewelry drawer.”

“Did you?”

“So right now, I'm wearing a pearl choker and nipple rings.”

“Are you? I'm looking forward to seeing that. And nothing else?”

I know that he expects the answer to be yes, but instead I say, “Well…”

“Oh?” I hear the interest in his voice. “Tell me.”

“Well, it's just that I thought I should accessorize. After all, if I'm wearing the pearl necklace, then surely I should wear the matching panties.”

I trace my hand down to the thong that he once gave me, a delicious little piece of lingerie with a string of pearls in the most interesting of locations.

“Oh, baby,” he says, and I can't help the bubble of laughter that bursts free.

“Make me squirm,” I say, “and you'll make me come.”

“Slide your hand down,” he orders, “but touch nothing but the pearls.”

I do, moaning a little because the sensation is exquisite, all the more so because the pearls are slick with my own arousal.

“Very nice,” he says. “But, baby, as much as I'm enjoying this game, I think it's time for us to give it up.”

“Oh.” The disappointment practically floods my voice, and I hear his low chuckle of understanding.

“I'm on the property,” he says.

“Oh!” I may have been enjoying the game, but I cannot deny that I'm ready to have the man and not the fantasy.

“I want you on the bed.” The command is clear in his voice, and I melt just a little bit more. “Legs open. Arms at your sides. And your eyes closed.”

I comply, though it is hard to stay still when I hear the security system beeping, signaling that he has opened the door.

I've tucked the folded itinerary under the band of my thong, but I'm otherwise exactly how he wanted me to be. I hear his footsteps and force myself not to open my eyes and watch him approaching me. And when his weight shifts the mattress, I bite my lower lip and breathe deep as he trails kisses up my leg, finally taking the itinerary in his teeth before straddling me and dropping it on my chest.

“You've been a very naughty girl,” he says, then lowers himself to kiss me, long and hard. “I like it.”

I laugh, then open my eyes as I hook my arms around his neck and pull myself up for another kiss before taking the itinerary and setting it aside. “I like my present. A spa getaway with my husband. It's perfect.”

“You're perfect,” he says. “And right now, I'm not interested in spas or islands or getaways.” He starts to kiss his way down my body. “Can you guess what I am interested in?”

I press my fingertip against the corner of my mouth. “Hmm. Let me think.”

I lift my head long enough to meet his eyes. “I love you.”

“I know you do,” he says. “And that knowledge is what fuels my days and lights my nights. Now put your head back, baby, and close your eyes. I want to make you fly.”

He is as good as his word, and as his fingers and mouth set my body on fire, I stretch my arms out and close my fists around the bedclothes in defense against the pleasure that is rising like a storm inside me.

Down and down he moves until his tongue is stroking the string of pearls that makes up the thong of these exceptionally intriguing panties. And though he is not touching me directly, the pearls are moving intimately over me, making me even more desperate for him than I already was.

“Dammit, Damien, now,” I beg, but I tormented him in the limo, and he is not going easy on me now. This is torture by seduction, and it is glorious.

From the floor where it has fallen, my phone chirps, the distinctive cricket sound that I assigned to Jamie's texts. “Ignore it,” I say, then make a mental note to strangle my best friend after she repeats the text three more times.

I'm about to tell Damien to go ahead and toss my phone out the window when his phone rings. Another distinctive tone, this one assigned to the Stark International security department.

“Shit,” he says, but since I happen to know that the number is for emergency purposes only, I know that Damien will answer. As he reaches for his phone, I decide to grab mine and see what Jamie says.

All her text reads is
9-1-1
.

I frown, and turn to look at Damien, who now wears an expression that could bring down a small nation.

“What's happened?” I ask as soon as he ends the call.

“Get dressed,” he says, pulling his clothes back on.

“Tell me,” I demand as he tugs me toward the closet.

“Jamie and Ryan got an extortion email, too. Another two hundred grand or else the sender releases a sex tape.”

“Of her and Ryan?”

“Of her and Douglas,” Damien corrects, referring to the rather sleazy next-door neighbor that Jamie banged on more than one occasion.

“Oh, shit,” I say, as I pull on a knit skirt and a T-shirt.

“Yeah,” Damien says as we head toward the stairs. “I think that about sums it up.”

We start out heading toward Venice Beach, assuming that both Ryan and Jamie are at his house. But a text from Jamie soon has us changing course. Ryan, apparently, has taken off for Studio City. And according to my best friend, he's gone with the intent of beating the crap out of Douglas.

Fortunately, we're not yet to Santa Monica, so we abandon PCH once we reach the Getty Villa and Highway 27, and careen through the hills toward the 101 Freeway.

We arrive right before Jamie, who is squealing to a stop in front of our old building. She's in the Ferrari that Damien and I gave her as a going-away present, and I know damn well that she pushed that machine to the limit to get here that fast. I know, because we did the same thing.

“Ryan's here,” Damien says, nodding toward a Mercedes parked at an odd angle across the street.

“He's gonna kill him.” Jamie is hurrying toward us. Her eyes are red and her makeup blotchy. “I've never seen him so mad.”

“He has reason to be,” Damien says darkly. “Come on.”

The building entrance is enclosed now, thanks to Damien's contribution to building security, but Jamie has the key code. She taps it in, and we three hurry inside, then up the stairs to Douglas's condo, right next door to the one Jamie and I used to share.

Damien tries the knob, then pounds on the door when he finds it locked. “Dammit, Ryan. Open up.”

Jamie joins him in pounding. “Hunter! Open the door!”

For a moment, we hear nothing. Then the door opens, and I see Ryan, looking completely wrecked.

Immediately, Jamie launches herself at him. He catches her, then holds her close as she sobs against him.

Ryan meets Damien's eyes, and I can almost hear the question that is passing between them—
Did you do something I'm going to have to clean up?

And, yes, Damien would clean it up—of that much I'm certain. If Ryan Hunter beat the shit out of Douglas the Sex Tape Prick, Damien would do everything in his power to see that Ryan not only got off easy, but that the women of this city threw him a fucking parade.

For a moment, Ryan doesn't move. Then he just shakes his head before stepping aside, silently letting us pass.

Inside, Douglas is on the sofa clutching his stomach, his face so drained of blood it is almost translucent. “Fucker kicked the shit out of me.”

“And you deserved it,” Damien says.

“I didn't do it,” Douglas says. “Kung fu boy there says I threatened to sell a tape of me and Jamie to TMZ or some such shit, but it ain't true, man.”

“Bullshit,” Jamie says. She looks stronger now, and although she's still holding tight to Ryan's hand, she's standing on her own, and her face is on fire with anger. “You made that thing without telling me. You really think I'm going to believe your bullshit now?”

“Hey, it's true. I don't know how anyone got their hands on that file. Musta hacked my computer or something, because it wasn't me. I mean, shit, my whole life's about getting pussy. How much do you think I'm gonna get if word gets out I'm taping chicks without their knowledge?”

“How much pussy are you going to get in jail, you sick perv?” Jamie retorts.

“Jesus, fuck. Shit.” He drags his hands through his hair, making it stand on end. “This isn't on me. Christ, I swear.”

In an instant, Ryan is across the room. He has Douglas by the collar and hauls him to his feet. Douglas looks so terrified that I'm surprised he hasn't pissed himself.

For a moment, no one in the room breathes. Then Ryan tosses him back down. “You're not even worth it,” he says, then turns away. He walks toward the door, taking Jamie's hand as he does, and wordlessly leaves.

I start to follow, but then stop when I see Damien lagging behind. He meets the other man's eyes and says, very slowly and very calmly, “I'm going to find out who threatened to leak that tape, and if it comes back to you, that kick in the gut will seem like a gentle kiss good night compared to the hell I will put you through. Do we understand each other?”

If I'd thought that Douglas was pale before, I'd been seriously wrong. I watch now as every last bit of blood fades from his face. He starts to nod, but Damien has already turned away; he's made his point.

Once we are on the sidewalk with Ryan and Jamie, Damien puts his arm around Jamie's shoulders, then meets Ryan's eyes. “I'll pay.”

“Damien, no!” Jamie's protest is fast and sounds sincere, but Damien barely even acknowledges that she's spoken. Instead, he's looking straight at me. I swallow, grateful that he jumped to protect Jamie, but at the same time hating the fact that he is breaking from his usual pattern. Because Damien Stark is not a man who gives in to this kind of bullshit. Or, at least, he wasn't before I entered his life.

“There's no point in risking that tape getting out. I said I'll pay.” He shifts his attention to Ryan. “That's final.”

Ryan nods.

“But—” Jamie's protest dies as Damien turns back to me.

“We're leaving.”

I give Jamie a quick hug, and hear her whisper, “Don't let him do it,” but Damien tugs me away before I can respond. He opens the car door for me without saying a word, then gets in on his side. Immediately, the car is full of the power of his rage, and when he grips the steering wheel, I see that his knuckles are white.

I open my mouth to say something, then close it again. I understand why he is angry—hell, I'm angry, too. More than that, I understand his need to lash out. To push through. To figure out a way to get on top of this and say “fuck you” to the world.

So I am not surprised when he tears away from the curb with all the speed of a rocket.

Instead of turning toward the 101, he follows Laurel Canyon up into the foothills, then turns on Mulholland Drive. That doesn't surprise me either, and I simply hold on tight as he maneuvers the curves and straightaways before finally jerking the steering wheel and skidding to a halt in a turnout.

I'm breathing hard—I trust Damien, but this road is brutal. No guardrails, sharp curves, and the city spread out like a net below us.

Slowly, I reach for him and am relieved when his fingers close tight around mine. I want to speak, to soothe. But the truth is I don't know what to say.

Finally, I say the only thing that I am certain must be said. I tell him what Jamie said to me. “You don't have to pay. I don't want you to pay. And Jamie doesn't want you to pay, either.”

His eyes are flat when he looks at me. “I'm paying.” There is a beat—just one moment of silence—and then he gently tugs his hand free. He opens the door and gets out of the car, then moves to stand near the drop-off and look out over the city. The headlights are still on, and the light is hitting his back, illuminating him like an angel and casting his shadow down upon the world.

My chest tightens, and I wish that I had a magic potion that could make this entire mess go away. Because the truth is that both options suck. Damien isn't the kind of man who willingly pays blackmail. And though it is true that Jamie will survive if that tape goes public, that is not the kind of thing that she should have to be strong for.

I realize that I have been sitting stiffly, my fingers clenched into my thighs so that the pressure from my nails digs into the skin just below the hem of my skirt.
Shit
.

I sigh. There is no magic potion. There is just me and Damien and our friends and the world. And right now, the world has infringed too much.

I force myself to relax, to loosen my fingers and shut away the pain. I tell myself I don't need it now—not really. I may be a cutter, but it has been a long time since I have cut. I have Damien now to anchor me. Even more, I have found strength inside myself.

I will survive this. And so will Damien. And so will Jamie.

Telling myself that, I open my door and move to stand beside him, though this time I do not touch. This time I will wait for Damien, because I know that he will take what he needs from me, just as he lets me take what I need from him.

A moment passes, and then another. Finally, he speaks. “I will pay,” he repeats, as if he is responding to a question I just posed. He has been facing straight ahead. Now he turns to look at me, and what I see in his face is no longer flat, but fierce. “You say that you're strong enough to handle seeing that shit with me and Carmela, and I believe you. But this…no.”

“I can handle whatever comes.” My voice is soft, but strong. “With you beside me, you know I can. And so will Jamie. She made her choices, and she knows they were bad ones. She gets it. And she understands what it will cost you to pay extortion money. And, Damien, it's not even your choice. The file was sent to Jamie, not you. Not me.”

He manages a twisted smile. “You and I both know who they expected to pay.”

Since I can't argue the point, I don't. “Even so, it's not your decision.”

“I'm making it my decision.”

“Dammit, Damien—”

“
No
. She made bad choices? She damn sure did. But she's turned it around. She doesn't deserve this. And I won't have her tossed out there to the wolves any more than I will have you hurting for your friends. Not when I can fix it.”

“It's blackmail.”

“It is, yes.” He takes my hands and pulls me close. “Dammit, Nikki. Do you think I didn't see?” He brushes my cheek, and I shiver from his touch. “You were fine when it was just about us—you can stand it because you're strong, and because you've stood it before. But where Jamie is concerned—when you are shouldering pain for a friend—baby, do you think I don't know how it wrecks you? Don't you know by now how clearly I see you?”

I nod, my eyes flooded with tears, because I do know how well he sees me. Just like I know that Damien will do whatever it takes to protect me and mine, no matter how much a sacrifice that protection is.

But this isn't a sacrifice I want him to make. “It does wreck me,” I admit. “But I will get through it. So long as I have you to anchor me, you know I will. But what I can't survive is knowing that you did something like this for me, when doing it will chip away at the core of the man I love.”

He doesn't answer me. But I see the anguish on his face.

“I love you,” I whisper, but I barely get the words out before his mouth finds mine. The kiss is brutal, wild, and claiming. And I know that I was right—Damien will always take what he needs from me, and he knows that it is already his.

“Nikki.” My name is a moan, and I cannot respond. Not when he has claimed my mouth again, his tongue warring with mine, teasing and tasting, so deep and wild and hot that I can feel the power of this kiss reverberate through me, exciting every part of me so that I feel as though I will die if I don't feel his hands upon me.

“Yes,” I say. “Oh, god, yes.”

He pushes me back roughly so that my legs are against the hood of the car. His fingers tangle in my hair, his palm cupping the back of my head as he bruises my mouth with wild kisses.

This is passion, but it is also punishment and domination. Because I had a moment when I needed the pain and I didn't go to him. Because someone out in the world is fucking with us, and he can't find them or make them stop, and swimming in someone else's stream is not something Damien handles well.

I understand all that, and I want to give him what he needs. But right now, this isn't about control or anger or frustration. It's about heat and need. It's about touch and demand.

It's about the absolute certainty that I will not survive one minute longer if Damien doesn't take me right now, and I really don't care that we're on the side of the road with the sky open above us.

“Please,” I beg.

And Damien, who will always be there for me, does not disappoint.

He turns me around, pressing me down against the hood of the car. I spread my legs and lift myself on my toes. My skirt is up around my waist, the pearl thong absolutely soaked.

He rips it off, and I hear pearls scattering across the turnout. I don't even care. Right then, I'm lost in the feel of his fingers stroking my sex. I'm wet, and his hand slides over me, then thrusts inside. I moan with pleasure, but it's not enough. I want all of him, and tell him so. Begging. Demanding.

I'm rewarded by the sound of his zipper and then—thank god—by the hard press of the crown of his penis against my slit.

He enters me. Just a little at first, and I bite down on my lower lip, wanting more. Wanting all of him. And yet he is going so painfully, teasingly slow.

It's driving me crazy. Which, of course, he knows.

Then, without warning, he thrusts hard, sliding deep inside me. I cry out, my voice filling the night air. As I do, I arch up, and in that moment, Damien leans over me, his motion driving him even deeper into me. I try to thrust my hips back, wanting everything he has to give. He is filling me completely, and I cannot help but wonder how I survive even a second when I am not so intimately connected to Damien.

Except I am; I always am. Even when I am not touching him, I am connected to him.

The thought makes me soar, and as he cups my breasts in his palms—as he bites lightly on my neck and pounds hard into me—I shatter into a billion pieces, then cry out in passion and relief and exultation as Damien explodes inside me.

And the last coherent thought that I have is that no matter what, Damien and I give each other what we need, and we always will.