Damien meets me at the door with one hand in the pocket of his jeans and a fresh drink in the other. He may not have texted me during the drive, but apparently Edward contacted him to let him know my drink of choice.
He also has a twinkle in his eye that hints at all sorts of decadent possibilities. He holds out his hand. “Panties,” he demands.
I tilt my head. “What makes you think I obeyed?”
His lips curve up. “Because I know you, Mrs. Stark,” he says at the same time that the silver egg inside me starts to vibrate. I gasp, my already primed body begging for more, but the vibration stops as quickly as it started.
He pulls me close, making me moan as he lifts my skirt, then slips his fingers between my legs, finding me slick and ready.
“I think somebody likes her present.”
I meet his eyes. “Or maybe I just like you.”
I’m still in his embrace, though he’s pulled his hand back and let my skirt fall. Now he cups my head, and there’s so much heat in his eyes I almost fear getting burned.
He bends his head to kiss me, so deep and hard and demanding that I want him to just swoop me up, carry me to the bedroom, and take me fast and hard. For a moment, I even wonder if that’s his plan because I would be just fine with that. But he breaks the kiss, eases back, and flashes a lopsided grin.
“Panties,” he asks again, and this time I hand them to him. He tucks them in his pocket, then slides an arm around me. “I asked Bree to get the kids ready for bed, and then babysit until we get back. But I told her we want to tuck them in.”
“And then?” I ask, walking with him up the stairs.
“I guess you’ll find out.”
I glance at him sideways and see that he’s already looking at me. “I like this game,” I admit, and he laughs, then tells me he likes it, too.
We check on Anne first, and I hold her while Damien reads her Goodnight, Gorilla and she smiles and blows bubbles and grabs at the cardboard pages.
Lara is next, and she sits on Damien’s lap as I read Goodnight, Sleep Tight, Little Bunnies, a book she apparently never tires of. When I shut the book, her eyes are drooping, and Damien tucks her into bed, the covers pulled up and Kitty snuggled close.
“What now?” I whisper once we’re back in the hallway.
He raises a finger to his lips, then leads me to the kitchen. There’s a clay bowl there, and in it, I can see a dozen or so bits of folded paper. “Pick one,” he orders.
I do, and when I unfold it, I see that it says beach in neatly typed letters. I look up at him. “And now?”
“Now you grab your purse and come with me.”
Normally, I’d expect beach to mean our beach, at the end of the path that meanders across our property. But since he has me bring my bag, I’m not surprised when we go out the front door and get back into the limo. But I am surprised when Edward only winds the limo down the service road to the beach bungalow that Damien had built for me just over a year ago.
“What’s going on?” I ask when Edward opens the door to let us out. But Damien doesn’t answer. Instead, he puts a finger over my lip and leads me inside.
Damien built the bungalow as a surprise for me because I’d once told him that as much as I adore our Malibu house and its amazing view, I’d love to be able to simply walk outside and then stroll along the beach. And because Damien spoils me mercilessly, soon enough, a small bungalow appeared on our property… And it was nestled right on the beach.
It’s a charming little two-bedroom property, the best feature of which is its patio, which boasts two levels. A traditional patio off the back door runs the length of the house and curves around to the front door. It offers an amazing view of the beach and the Pacific, and also has a set of stairs leading down to the sand, as well as a small, free-standing shower and footbath so that the beach doesn’t have to come into the house with us.
But it’s the second level that is truly exceptional, because it’s a rooftop patio. It’s superbly designed, with areas for both shade and sun, but what I like best is that if you’re stretched out on one of the oversized chaise lounges, you can’t see the beach at all. Just an infinity of wide-open ocean. It’s like being on a magic carpet and escaping from everything, even if only for a little while.
There’s where Damien takes me now, forgoing entering the house at all. Instead, we walk along the lower patio to the stairs leading up to the roof. There, I’m greeted by a bottle of champagne chilling on ice and a bowl of strawberries.
I tug him to a stop and slide into his arms. “When did you pull this together?”
“I just snapped my fingers,” he says. “I have magic powers, you know.”
I laugh, mostly because sometimes it seems like that’s true.
“But I think you’re trying to get me drunk. Bourbon. Champagne. You know I—”
He shuts me up with a kiss so intense that my knees go weak, and he scoops me up and carries me to the chaise. “Yes, wife of mine, I intend to get you a little drunk. Or maybe a lot drunk. The baby will do just fine on the milk you’ve stored.”
I grin. “In that case, I think I’d like some champagne.”
He pours me some, and as I’m sipping it, I feel the slightest of rumbles in my core. I close my eyes and tilt my head back against the cushion as Damien slowly ramps up the vibrations of that delightful little bullet inside me.
My skirt has no zipper. Just a wide, stretchy band at the waist. Now I feel the cushion shift as Damien sits next to me. His fingers hook under the band as he tugs the skirt down over my hips, then tosses it onto a nearby chair.
The patio is somewhat shielded from the wind by a glass barrier that surrounds the area, but I can still feel the chill, and it feels exceptional against my overheated skin. Slowly, he trails the fingers of one hand up my inner thighs, barely stroking my sex as I tremble and gasp at the flurry of sensations threatening to sweep me away.
His hand continues upward, and he pulls my top off, leaving me in a lacy bra. Then he kisses his way back down my abdomen, slowly decreasing the vibe inside me until it’s completely turned off by the time his tongue flicks lightly over my clit.
I make a soft noise of protest and he chuckles, then lifts his head, stands, and holds out a hand to urge me to my feet.
I hesitate, because I’m honestly not sure my legs have the strength to stand, but then I let him pull me up, and I walk with him to the glass barrier that faces the ocean. He stands behind me, unfastens my bra, then lets it drop to the floor.
“Close your eyes,” he says, and although I’m standing at the edge of my roof, completely naked, the wind caressing me and the sound of the waves crashing in my ears, I do exactly as he says.
“Someone could see,” I murmur as he pulls me close so that my bare ass brushes his clothes.
“Then they’re lucky, because you’re beautiful. But no one will.”
I know he’s right. The beach is technically public, but it’s also very secluded, and the property is such that we’re a long way from our neighbors. And maybe I’d be uncomfortable if it was more likely that we’d be seen, but right now, I can’t deny that it feels exciting and wonderful to be standing naked under the sky with Damien like this.
“Touch me,” I beg. “Please, Damien. Please, fuck me.”
“Is that what you want?” he murmurs, his hands roaming over me. My breasts, my hips, my thighs. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”
“Mmm.” One hand slides up until he is cupping my neck, right under my chin. The other slides down until his palm cups my sex, his fingers slipping inside me, pushing the egg even deeper. My knees go weak, and as I start to sag, the pressure on my throat increases. I’m not scared—how could I be with Damien?—but there’s an aspect of danger to this that we’ve never played with before. And when his mouth brushes my ear and he whispers, “Mine,” I feel a flood of desire run through me that almost knocks me over.
And when he slides his fingers out long enough to find the switch that triggers the egg, I really do start to fall. Damien, however, is right there to hold me up. “I’ve got you,” he says, one hand still tight around my neck and the other steadying me at the waist. “Watch the water, baby,” he says as the vibrator ramps up again, sending waves through my body that seem to come in time with the movement of the Pacific.
His lips brush my bare shoulder, and his hand returns to cup me. With the tip of his forefinger, he circles my clit, coming close, but never quite taking me all the way. And all the while he’s holding my throat, just tight enough that I feel the pressure as I gasp with pleasure.
“Do you trust me, baby?” he asks as he strokes and teases me, taking me right to the edge.
“Of course.” I have to fight to get the words out. Talking really isn’t on my agenda right now. Besides, it’s not like he needs to ask. I may not know what he has in mind, but I trust Damien with my life, my body, my heart.
He doesn’t answer, but I hear a low noise of approval. At the same time, I feel a tug between my legs and then the slick sensation of the egg sliding out of me. As it does, Damien tightens his grip on my throat as he arches my body back, so that I’m the most vulnerable at the same time the vibrating egg leaves my body.
The sensation is amazing, all the more so because of the way Damien is holding me. But when he tightens his grip at the same time he skims the egg over my clit, I break completely apart. A wave of ecstasy crashes over me, seeming to last forever as my body struggles to come back together even while I try to draw a cohesive breath.
When the last vibrations of the orgasm pass, Damien scoops me up. He has no choice, really, because my legs are essentially nonfunctional at this point. He carries me back to the chaise and lays me down as I keep my arms hooked around his neck.
“Please,” I murmur. “Don’t make me beg.”
He kisses my nose. “I like it when you beg. But right now, I can’t wait any longer.” Gently, he pulls back, forcing me to either rise with him or to release him. I choose the latter, letting my fingers graze his face, tracing over the light scruff of his evening beard as he straightens and I sink back into the cushion.
I watch as he strips off his clothes. His shirt falling to the ground. His jeans sliding over his hips. His gray boxer briefs easing down to free his cock, which is hard and huge and ready.
For a moment he just stands there, and I gaze greedily at him, this man who belongs to me. The sun is sinking low in the sky, casting an orange glow over the patio and illuminating Damien’s skin. I can imagine him as a sculptor’s model, his image carved in marble forever.
But it’s not his beauty that I crave, it’s what’s inside him. I want the man who loves me. Who makes me laugh and makes me feel safe. The man who is the father of my children, and who will always—always—watch over us.
I hold out my hands in a silent demand, and he comes to me, easing up the chaise between my now-spread legs. “Make love to me,” I whisper, then melt a little when he says “Nikki” with such tenderness that his voice feels like a caress.
He kisses me, feather-light at first, but then harder and more demanding, and I cling to him, my hands tight on his shoulders. I want him inside me, to feel the connection, so deep that I don’t know where I end and he begins. And I hook my legs over his, easing them higher until I’m gripping him with my thighs, and his cock is right at my center, and I’m open and wet and so completely ready.
“Damien,” I demand, squirming against him as I close my eyes and soak in the feel of him. “Now. Please, please, now.”
“Look at me,” he says, and I open my eyes, only to see so much heat and longing and intensity reflected back at me that I would swear he was already inside me. I feel my core tighten, clenching and unclenching in a silent demand. And when he shifts just enough so that he barely slips inside me, I gasp from the sensation of being entered—and in anticipation of being filled.
“Now,” he says, his eyes still on mine. And in time with the word, he pistons his hips, thrusting inside of me, and then going deeper and deeper with each slow, mesmerizing thrust.
Gradually, he speeds up, our combined passion fueling a need. Until finally, he’s pounding inside me, thrusting me back against the chaise as I cling even tighter, certain that somehow he’s going to fuck me so hard that we’re going to actually meld into one person.
“Touch yourself, baby. I want to feel you explode.”
I’m so close, and I do as he says, taking one hand off his back and sliding it between our bodies so that I can stroke my clit as he thrusts inside me, until the melding of the sensations is too much to bear and I feel an electrical prickling on my inner thighs, a signal of a coming orgasm.
“Damien,” I beg as I stroke myself, desperate now to go over that edge. “Please,” I add, though I’m not even sure what I’m asking.
But as my body starts to shake—as I arch up and cry out as millions of electric sparks race over my body—I know that I was demanding that he come with me. And now my body is milking him, clenching tight around his cock again and again, in the throes of a massive orgasm.
Above me, I see the storm on Damien’s face, a raw, wild pleasure that fades into an expression of pure adoration when the orgasm passes and his body relaxes.
“Hi,” he says when we can both breathe again. He slowly lowers himself, then settles next to me, using a nearby napkin to gently clean me up.
“Hi, yourself.” I curl up next to him, wanting both his touch and his warmth. After a moment, he eases off the chaise, then returns with one of the blankets we keep in a waterproof trunk by the door. He carefully covers me, making sure I’m all tucked in, then joins me again, pulling me close so that I’m snuggled against his chest.
“Warm?” he asks.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I thought we could lie here for just a little bit, relaxing and watching the stars.”
I prop myself up enough to see him. “I think you’re pampering me, Mr. Stark.”
“You could call it that,” he says.
“What would you call it?”
“Being.”
I shift, confused, and pull myself all the way upright, the blanket falling off in the process. “What are you talking about?”
“You,” he says simply as his hands roam my naked skin, making it hard to concentrate on his words.
“You’re going to have to give me more to go on.”
He chuckles, then sits up, pulling the lever on the chaise so that we have a back rest. He draws me toward him again, then pulls the blanket back to cover us. “You’ve spent months being a mom,” he says. “And a wife. And a business owner. All of which are wonderful and important.”
“But?” I ask, because he’s clearly going somewhere with this.
“But it’s been a long time since you’ve had the chance to just be. So that’s what tonight is for, baby. To simply enjoy the night and each other. To just be Nikki and Damien.”
“Thank you,” I say, my heart swelling from the sweetness of the sentiment, and from the knowledge that he’s arranged all of this to take care of me.
We stay like that for a while—our fingers twined, our bodies touching—until Damien gets up, telling me to wait while he goes inside to get something.
He’s back in less than five minutes, a paper bag in his hand. “Pick one,” he says as I sit up, already smiling.
“Again?”
He shakes the bag at me in silent demand, and I laugh but comply. When I unfold it, I read it to Damien. “Dinner. Hmmm,” I add.
“What?”
“Just thinking,” I say.
“Always dangerous. What were you thinking?”
“About those slips of paper.” I make a fast grab for the bag, but he pulls it away from me and sets it out of reach on a table behind us. “I’m thinking that if I draw another note, it’ll say dinner, too.” And then, just to prove my point, I make another lunge toward the sack.
This time, Damien grabs my wrists and pulls me up for a gentle kiss, topped off with a sharp bite to my lip and an equally sharp smack on my rear. “Don’t even think about it.”
But I know I’m right, and I grin happily as I hold him close. “Thank you for planning a wonderful date.”
“You’re welcome,” he says. “But it’s not over yet.”
“I know. I’m just telling my husband—” I cut myself off with a frown because my phone is chiming an incoming call, using the ringtone I designated for Abby.
I meet Damien’s eyes, hating the fact that I need to grab it. I see the disappointment in his eyes, too, but he nods, and I leave his arms to go find my phone in my small handbag.
I miss the call, but before I can check to see if she left a voicemail, a text comes through: SOS. Crisis with Greystone-Branch. Can you come to the office?
Damien is standing behind me, and when I turn to meet his eyes, I see the heat fading to an all-business demeanor. A cold wave of regret washes over me. But what can I do? Greystone-Branch is my biggest client next to Stark International, and having them on my roster upped the prestige of Fairchild Development considerably.
So I do the only thing I can do—I text back, On my way.