Please Me: A Stark Ever After Novella

by J. Kenner

  “There’s something erotic about seeing you that way.”

  I’ve taken a Christmas bow and used double-sided fashion tape to position it low on my pubis, hiding my pussy from view. And as for my breasts, well, that required some doing—and Jamie’s help—but we managed to essentially concoct a cup-less bra by wrapping red ribbon over and under my breasts in a criss-cross pattern, then tying it off in the back.

  The real kicker? I’m wearing nipple jewelry. Clamps that look like rings for pierced nipples, but are really just attached using pressure. Which started out uncomfortable but has progressed to rather fabulous.

  And both of the rings have tiny stars dangling from them. With the stars and the ribbon, I look like something that should be under the tree.

  “You look like something that should be in my lap,” Damien counters when I tell him my tree theory. And about that, I wholeheartedly agree.

  “I think, Mr. Stark, that if you want to be fucked senseless on this ride, you need to unfasten those slacks.”

  He starts to, then halts his hands, deliberately puts them on the arm rests, and says, “I think you should do that.” And when I start to bend over to free his cock, he adds, “With your mouth. And only your mouth.”

  His words send tremors of lust tumbling through me, and I’m more eager than I probably should be to use my teeth to tug down a zipper. But eager I am, and so I kneel in front of him.

  Before I can tilt forward to put my mouth at his fly, he reaches out, tugging lightly on one of the nipple rings. I tilt my head back as the sensation from that connection shoots right to my clit and an uncontrolled shiver, like an orgasmic Coming Attraction, unsettles me.

  “Do that again and I won’t have the patience to use my mouth,” I say, and this time he behaves as I bend over and, with some effort, manage to get the button open and the zipper down. He takes pity on me next and helps free his cock from his briefs and slacks. Though I’m not sure how much was pity and how much was desperation. My mouth dancing on his cock through his clothes has made him grow rock hard. So hard in fact that I don’t want to wait any longer.

  But once again, Damien steps in first, ordering me onto the couch with him. “Straddle me,” he says. “I want that pretty pussy just barely brushing the head of my cock. Make me crazy, Nikki. I want you to make me moan.”

  “With pleasure, Sir,” I say, then do as he says, straining my thighs to adjust my height above him to the perfect distance. Thankfully, I’ve been working out like a fiend in the months since Anne’s birth, and my muscles aren’t crying out in protest yet.

  The rest of me is starting to weep though. Not in pain, but in frustration. I’m teasing him, yes. But I’m teasing me, too. Light caresses to my clit. The sweet promise of penetration pulled back at the last minute.

  Fire rages in my core, and I want him inside me. Deep and fast and hard.

  Damien’s holding me by the waist, but now he slides his hands down to cup my ass and I bite my lower lip, knowing what’s coming next. And when he moans and says, “Oh, baby,” I tell him to check under the blanket on the seat next to him.

  He does, finding the remote control for the butt plug I’d inserted as the very last step in the day’s outfit. Damien had surprised me with it before we were married, and I’d relished being at his mercy.

  Now I am again as he holds the remote but doesn’t activate it, leaving me tense and horny and more than a little desperate.

  But that’s okay. There’s one part of my desperation I can satisfy right now, and as I tease his cock with my pussy, I also reach down, taking his shaft in my hand and positioning him right at my center.

  “Nikki…”

  “Damien, I need you to fuck me. I need you inside me.” And without waiting, I lower myself onto him, so wet and so ready that he fills me completely. And just as I’ve settled myself and am rocking with him, my clit rubbing against him, he turns on the vibrator, making me arch back, and cry out, unable to contain the rush of wild, wicked lust that gallops through me before breaking free.

  “That’s it, baby. You are so fucking beautiful. Ride me, baby,” he orders, and I do. My hands on his shoulders as I ride him hard.

  I’m close, and I know he is too. Our bodies are matching each other. Breaths. Moans. An almost discernible tremble that courses through his body, matching the electric tingle that shoots up my thighs toward my core.

  “Damien,” I whimper. Because I’m close. So close. And then, “Oh, my God,” I cry as the plane hits an air pocket and I’m bounced up and then pounded back down on him, a violent, tidal orgasm crashing over me as Damien explodes inside me, his own release at least as powerful as mine.

  He holds me close as my body shakes and shimmies, the lingering flutters of electrical pleasure dancing over the surface of my skin.

  “Best present ever,” he says as he pulls me close and I curl up on his lap. I glance down, then flash a wry grin. “I think you’re going to have to change those slacks,” I tell him at the same time that the intercom bursts on and the attendant, Katie, apologizes for the unexpected air pocket.

  I meet Damien’s eyes and we both start laughing, clinging tight to each other in post-coital, hysterical bliss.

  I don’t know what’s been bothering Damien. But in that moment at least, I know that he’s put it behind him.

  And as I cuddle close, naked and sated, I can only hope that his demons stay away from our weekend.

  Chapter Seven

  Just as I’d requested, there’s a car waiting for us when we land at the Oakland airport. I make a mental note to tell Rachel that she pulled everything off perfectly.

  While the driver whisks our bags to the trunk, we say goodbye to Grayson. Since it’s only a long weekend, and I confirmed that the other fleet pilots can handle transportation for the Stark International execs this weekend, I told Grayson to take the weekend off and enjoy San Francisco. I even offered him a room at the hotel where Damien and I are staying. He declined, explaining that his oldest daughter lives in Silicon Valley. So as soon as he’s hangared the plane, he’s heading that way.

  “And where are you taking me now?” Damien asks once we’re ensconced in the plush backseat of the Lincoln Town Car.

  “We’ll drop our bags at the hotel, and then I have our itinerary all mapped out.”

  “Itinerary,” he repeats, sounding amused.

  “It’s important,” I say indignantly. “Maybe you’ve been to San Francisco before, but this is only my second trip. And on the first one, all I saw was the inside of some hotel ballroom while I went through the paces for a Miss Junior Hoopdedoo pageant.”

  His mouth twitches. “Not a pageant I’m familiar with. But I’m sure you blew them all away.”

  I scowl, because I had. And that victory when I wasn’t even a teen yet had spurred my mother to push and push and push, going to any lengths in her obsession to gain me yet another tiara.

  “Moving on,” I say, because I am not letting my mother creep into this weekend. “I thought about staying someplace funky and unusual, but to be honest I couldn’t find a place that had everything I want other than the Stark Century-Nob Hill.”

  “As it should be,” he says, buffing his fingernails on the front of his Henley shirt that he’s paired with the fresh khakis he changed into.

  I aim an exaggerated eye roll his direction. “Yes, you’re amazing. Your properties are amazing. Your employees are amazing.”

  “And my wife is amazing,” he concludes, taking my hand and pressing my palm to his chest. “Which is why I always keep her right here.”

  “Don’t make me melt,” I whisper. “We’re not in the limo.” The Town Car is plush, but there is no privacy screen in this particular model.

  “Not to worry,” he says with a perfectly straight face as his free hand moves to the hem of my dress and starts to gently stroke the soft skin of my thigh. “Every Stark employee signs a nondisclosure.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” I say, even though m
y body clearly has other ideas. I feel the heat pooling between my legs, and if the driver looks back, he’ll undoubtedly see how hard my nipples are. “Damien. Stop.”

  Gently, I push his hand away, and he shifts position, hooking his arm around my shoulder and tugging me close. “You sure?” he teases. “We’ve never made love with someone looking. I’ve never claimed you like that, letting anyone who’s watching know that you’re mine. Only mine. Completely mine.”

  “And you never will,” I say, even as a sensual shiver trills up my spine. We’ve watched other people make love—despite everything that went wrong, that night in Paris was incredible—but we’ve never been on display. And I’ve always said that I don’t want to be.

  But I can’t deny that it makes for a delicious fantasy.

  I meet Damien’s eyes, expecting to see a teasing humor there. Instead, I see genuine heat. The kind that shoots to my core and would soak my panties if I were wearing any. Apparently, I’m not the only one with wild fantasies on my mind. And so help me, I want him so much right now that I almost lean over and claim his mouth with mine.

  But Damien’s kiss is magical; it steals my reason as it floods my senses. His kisses make me hungry. Not for food, but for him. And I’m too afraid that if I kiss him my resolve will be shaken, and it won’t matter to me at all whether or not our driver can see everything.

  Good God, what’s gotten into me?

  The answer, of course, is simple. Damien.

  Resolutely, I scoot to the left, putting a good two inches between us. Beside me, Damien chuckles, the bastard. I know damn well that he understands exactly what I’m thinking.

  I clear my throat. “At any rate, we’re in the penthouse. I was going to simply take one of the suites, but then I looked at the online brochure, and—”

  “The rooftop patio.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I figure the view must be amazing.”

  “Yes,” he says, his gaze sweeping over me. “I’m sure it will be.”

  I sigh, delighted with not only his words and intimation, but also with the fact that Damien still affects me as deeply now as he did when we first got together. Although no, that’s not true. It’s deeper now. A wildfire of new passion burns now like the interior of the sun, self-sustaining and unimaginably hot.

  I force my attention back to the list on my phone. “That’s where we’ll have lunch—in fact, it should be waiting for us when we arrive.”

  “Good. I’m starving.” But the hunger I see in his eyes isn’t for food, and I have to laugh.

  “You’re insatiable.”

  “Where you’re concerned? Absolutely.”

  “Good,” I say firmly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “So after our … meal … what next?”

  “We’re taking the ferry to Sausalito for a late afternoon bike ride along the waterfront. Then we’re taking a limo back to the hotel because, well, I tend to enjoy limo rides with my husband.”

  “What a coincidence. I enjoy limo rides with my wife.”

  “Then tomorrow we explore the city. I want to see that winding street and Fisherman’s Wharf and Golden Gate Park. And sea lions. Aren’t there sea lions around here?”

  “If there aren’t, I’ll buy you some.”

  “Big spender,” I tease. “And then in the afternoon we’ll have a late lunch on the water in a private boat tour, then at sunset we’ll go check out Coit Tower before grabbing dinner somewhere. I’m thinking Chinatown, but haven’t decided.”

  “That’s quite the itinerary.”

  I frown. “Too much?”

  “There’s never too much where you’re concerned. And so long as you’ve kept room in the schedule for me to have you naked…”

  I roll my eyes. “Mr. Stark, you have a one-track mind.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  I force myself not to laugh. “Shopping for the kids needs to be on the agenda, too. But there are probably shops in Sausalito. And maybe at the Wharf?” I frown, then look back up at him sheepishly. “I know this is a romantic outing, but do you think we could call the kids when we get to the hotel?”

  “Sweetheart, I think I might have to insist on it.”

  “Thanks.” I snuggle against him. “Funny how life changes. One day you look at it a certain way, and then just a few years later you look back. And even though everything’s the same, it’s different, too.”

  “It’s fuller,” he says, and I nod in agreement. Because that’s exactly how I feel.

  He strokes my hair, and I sigh with pleasure. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he asks.

  “I think I have a clue.”

  We sit like that for a moment, looking out at the view as we head over the Bay Bridge. It’s peaceful. Romantic. Even sweet. And right then, I’m so glad that I arranged this. He needed it, I think. Hell, we needed it. Whatever ghost was haunting him at Stark International, now at least we’re far, far away.

  At least that’s what I think until his phone chirps. I lift my head, frowning because he told me he set it to silent.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting this. There are only four people whose calls can go through this weekend, and one of them is sitting next to me.”

  I’m certain that two of the others are Jamie and Rachel—this weekend’s babysitter and his assistant. I have no idea who the fourth is, but if Damien is allowing the call to ring through, I’m sure it must be important. I just hope that answering it doesn’t push Damien back into the dark from which I’m trying to drag him.

  “Nikki?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were waiting on me. Answer it, of course.”

  He does, and my chest tightens when I see the relief bloom on his face as he takes the call. “Tell me,” he says without preamble.

  He listens, his features tightening, then relaxing slightly when he says, “Well, that’s good news at least. No, go ahead and put it through. One way or the other, I need to know.” He glances at me, then looks away so quickly that it feels almost like a physical shove. “As quickly as possible, but you already know that. Yeah, I understand. And thanks, Quincy. Tell Dallas I owe him one.”

  He clicks off, then pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed as if he’s fighting a headache. When he opens his eyes and looks at me, his expression is both guarded and apologetic.

  “It’s okay,” I say, though I’m not sure it is. Not now that I see the hint of shadows that I thought we left behind blooming in his eyes. “Who is Quincy and what does he have to do with Dallas?”

  Dallas Sykes is the CEO of a longstanding department store chain who earned the nickname The King of Fuck because of his reputation as a playboy heir who romanced women, spent money, and basically wasted his life. Of course, all that changed after he got married—but that was scandalous, too, as his wife happened to also be his adoptive sister, Jane.

  The thing is, I’ve gotten to know Dallas a bit, and I’m quite certain that his reputation is manufactured. What I don’t know is what’s hidden under that fine-looking exterior. Damien does, I’m sure, but that’s the kind of secret I don’t mind him keeping. Yes, I want to know. But it’s not his story to share. Even so, I’m certain that there is a story. Especially since Damien recruited away one of Dallas’s former employees, Noah Carter, a brilliant programmer who would have been wasting his skills if he’d really only been doing work for a department store chain.

  “Quincy Radcliffe. An employee of Dallas’s with unique skills. I have him poking around for me. Doing a bit of investigation.”

  I nod, assuming this has to do with the botched acquisition, and since I want as little work creeping into this weekend as possible, I only nod and change the subject. “Any thoughts on where to go for dinner tomorrow? I suppose we can ask the concierge at the hotel. If he’s a Stark employee, he’s got to be knowledgeable.”

  “I like your idea of Chinatown,” Damien says as the Town Car starts to climb the hill, approaching the hotel. “But why don
’t we play it by ear? I may be in the mood to have my wife for dinner.”

  “Cute,” I say, but lean up against him, sighing happily as his arm tightens around me.

  “As for today, I like your plan.” He bends his head close to my ear, his voice pitched just for me. “I’ll just add that after drinks on the roof this evening, I intend to make love to you until you pass out. So we might want to grab a bite before we get those drinks.”

  “Oh,” I say, my core clenching. I lick my lips. “Well, I think that’s a fine addition to our itinerary.”

  “And tomorrow morning, we can walk around the corner to this charming little diner I know of.”

  “I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you this weekend,” I say.

  “How about we take care of each other?”

  I take his hand and squeeze it. “I can live with that.”

  His mouth brushes my ear. “I want you now,” he murmurs. “Thank God we’re almost to the hotel.”

  “Yes.” The word is almost a moan. “Thank God for—”

  But my words are cut off by the sharp beep of the driver’s horn as he slams on the brakes.

  “Sorry,” he calls back. “The guy in front of me stopped short. And look at that mess. Something’s going on.”

  He’s right. There are cars parked at odd angles blocking the street in front of the hotel. I see some officers trying to get the crowd to move, and someone appears to be arguing with the hotel valet.

  “I can get you a bit closer. And then I can take the car into the garage and park. I’ll make sure your luggage gets right up to you, sir.”

  “Much appreciated.” Once the driver pulls over, Damien leans forward to tip him, then reaches over me to open the door. I step out, Damien beside me, then immediately freeze as dozens of people swarm toward us, cameras clicking and microphones extended. It’s a cacophony of indistinguishable voices, and I turn, reaching for Damien who stands behind me, looking even more shellshocked than I feel.

  Then the noise starts to form into words, and the words slam against me with the force of a wrecking ball.

  “Mr. Stark! Damien! Is it true? Did you father a child with Marianna Kingsley?”