by J. Kenner
The longer he stays at the far end of the pool, the more that fear grows in me, so that when he finally does move toward me, I take an involuntary step backward.
It is only when I see his face that I stop. He is looking at me with such open adoration that it makes my heart skip a beat.
He stops swimming and stands in the chest-deep water. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“How do you expect me to sleep without you beside me?”
I’ve moved forward again, and the robe floats around me. Damien eases closer, cutting through the water, then tugs on the sash at my waist. The robe drifts open, exposing my body. He slips his hands up to my shoulders and slides it off. The damp material sticks to my arms, but I move forward, leaving the robe behind me, until I am no longer wrapped in silk, but wrapped in Damien’s arms.
“I think I ruined the robe,” I say. “I didn’t actually mean to wear it into the pool. I was watching you and got carried away.”
“I know the feeling.” His hand gently strokes my face while his other arm holds me firmly around the waist, as if afraid I’ll float away like the robe.
“Do you mind that I’m here?”
His mouth curves into an ironic smile and he pulls me closer. I feel his erection press against my thighs. “What do you think?”
I swallow and shake my head. But it’s not sex that I’ve come here for, though with Damien standing naked and erect next to me I am having a hard time recalling what my purpose actually was.
But, no, I do remember. I tilt my head up so that I can look directly in his eyes. “I was worried,” I admit.
“About the phone call? I told you it wasn’t about Carl’s threats.”
I nod, then take a deep breath. “Was it about the tennis center?”
He looks at me sharply. “You know about that?”
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
He hesitates, then gives one curt nod. “Yes.”
I bite my lip, because though I believe him, I’m certain that’s not the full story.
“How did you learn about it?”
“I saw the paper. You left it by the boxing bag.”
The corner of his mouth tugs upward. “Perhaps my subconscious wanted you to find it.”
“Well,” I say with a laugh. “That’s a start.”
As I had hoped, he laughs as well. Then his shoulders relax and he pulls me closer, his arms closing around me in a tight hug. I sigh and put my arms around his neck, then bury my head against his chest.
“I’m not a fan of Richter,” he says. “The idea that a professional tennis facility will bear his name pisses me off.”
“Can’t you do something?”
“I could buy the goddamned center,” he says. “But I won’t.”
I want to look at his face, but I don’t move. I’ve told him that I suspect abuse, but he’s never told me if I’m right or not. I stay very still, wondering if now is the time when Damien Stark will reveal his secrets to me.
“The call that upset me,” he begins. “It was from my father.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised enough that I do move, leaning back so that my weight is supported by his arms as I look into his face. It’s hard, and there’s something dark in his eyes. I’d been right about his earlier hesitation, and this is the reason why. The topic of Damien’s father is never an easy one.
I know they aren’t close. I know that Damien’s father pushed him to compete the same way my mother pushed me into pageant after pageant.
I know all that, because Damien has told me. But what I suspect is truly vile; I believe that Richter was abusing Damien, and that Damien’s father knew. But he forced Damien to stay with the son of a bitch anyway.
I swallow, and then speak the words that I know I shouldn’t: “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” The word is simple and final.
“Right. Okay.” I try to keep my voice casual, but I know I’ve failed when he presses his forehead against mine, his hands firm on my shoulders.
“I know it bothers you,” he says. “And I’m sorry.”
I start to protest. Every Proper Nikki attribute that was pounded into my head by my mother is ready to burst out and reassure him that no, really, it’s fine that he’s keeping secrets, fine that he doesn’t want to talk to me. Fine that though I now turn to him for comfort, he leaves our bed in the middle of the night to find solace in solitude.
Proper Nikki wants to say all of that, but I mentally shove my heel hard into the blond twit’s ass.
I take a deep breath, and this time it’s not Proper Nikki or Rebel Nikki or Social Nikki. It’s just me, wishing that I had some magic formula to make everything better for Damien, whether he tells me the truth or not. “It does bother me,” I admit. “But only because I don’t like to see you wounded.”
“And here I thought I hid my scars so well.” He is only half-teasing.
“You do,” I say. “But you’re talking to an expert at hiding scars. I see them even if no one else does. And I know how much it helped me to talk to you. To know that I could borrow your strength if my own wasn’t enough.”
He starts to speak, but I press a soft finger over his lips and shake my head.
“I mean it when I say that I want to be there for you, Damien, but saying it that way makes me sound more altruistic than I am.” I take a deep breath because honesty is never as easy as it should be. “The truth is that it feels unfair. I’ve shared everything with you, but you still keep so many things locked up tight.”
“Nikki—”
“No,” I interrupt. “This isn’t a demand or an accusation. It’s an apology. Because it was my choice to tell you, and it’s unfair of me to be irritated because you haven’t made the same choice. It’s not like we’re playing Follow the Leader.”
“No,” he agrees, and I see the faintest hint of a smile touch his lips. “But considering how much I enjoyed our game of Simon Says, perhaps we should add that one to our repertoire.”
I cock my head and grimace. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are.” He pauses. “Thank you.”
I look at him, at this man who commands an empire. But right now the power and the fame and the money mean nothing. He is just a man. My man. And in that moment I must acknowledge the truth that has gone unspoken and unexamined for so long—I am falling in love with Damien Stark.
The thought doesn’t scare me. On the contrary, it makes me smile.
He matches my grin, then brushes his fingertip over my lower lip. I open my mouth, drawing him in, tasting the chlorine and the soft comfort of Damien’s skin. “What are you thinking about?”
“You,” I admit. “Always you.”
“What about me?”
I allow my smile to widen. “Close your eyes, Mr. Stark, and I’ll show you.”
His brow lifts, but he complies, and I move closer, then stroke my fingers over his slick, wet chest.
“I’m going to make love to you, Damien.” My words are so full of emotion they feel too big for my throat.
“I’m going to take your mind off everything that’s bothering you. And a lot more effectively than swimming laps.” It’s late—after three—and I’m tired. I’m a bit sore, too, but it doesn’t matter, because I need this moment with Damien. I need to take care of him now, to stroke and soothe him.
I need it—and I desperately hope that he needs me, too.
I press a soft kiss to his temple, then ease down, trailing kisses down his neck, then his chest. We’re standing close together in waist-high water, and his erection presses against my thigh as if in silent demand. I want to shift and capture him between my legs, to use the buoyancy of the water to rise up and then sink back down again, impaling myself upon him.
I don’t, though—not yet. Instead, I slide my hands down over his back, breaking the surface to cup his perfect ass beneath the water, then continue my oral exploration, lower and lower until I’m tasting the lapping water along with the smoo
th skin of his tight lower abs.
I tilt my head to look at his face and find that he’s cheating—his eyes are open, but he’s looking at me so tenderly that I cannot chastise him. Instead, I allow myself one tiny smile, then slip beneath the water.
I hold his hips to keep me in place, and run my tongue along his cock. I’ve never done anything like this before, and the sensation of moving water coupled with the taste of chlorine and Damien seems sweetly wicked somehow. I want to draw him into my mouth, but I’m afraid of swallowing water, and so I satisfy myself with simply dancing my tongue and lips over his hard, beautiful cock. I can’t see him, but I know that the sensations are equally arousing to him. He’s becoming even harder under my ministrations, and the tension tightening in his body seems to shoot through him and into my hands as I hold tight to his bare, wet skin.
I rise up, needing both air and his kiss. I break the surface, gasping, and then press my mouth against his. His lips part, drawing me in, his tongue warring with mine as he takes control of the kiss. His lips are hard against my mouth, his tongue hot and demanding and so very thorough that there is no question that I have gone from being the seductress to being the seduced.
I’m only vaguely aware that he has moved us to the side of the pool. Now he breaks the kiss and turns me roughly around. I can feel my ribs beneath his hands and I am struck by how strong he is, and how fragile I am. He possessively skims his hands up to cup my breasts as his erection nestles against my ass. The cool air brushes my damp skin, but I hardly feel it. I am hot; hell, I am burning. I may have started this with the comforting warmth of glowing coals in mind, but I can already tell that Damien’s finish will be scorching.
“Tell me you trust me,” he whispers.
“You know that I do.”
“Tell me I can take you however I want to.”
I close my eyes and pull my lips into a smile. “Oh, yes.”
“I’m going to make you shatter, Nikki,” he says, as he takes one hand from my breast. He slips it between my legs, urging my thighs apart as he teases my sex with his fingers. “I want to feel my hands on you when you explode, and I want to know that I’m the one who gave that to you. Every breath, every ripple of pleasure, every ache in your cunt, every bite mark on your back. Me. I did that.”
My body shudders simply from the words and the anticipation of their fulfillment.
“Hold on to the side of the pool,” he orders, and as soon as I comply, he shifts his position and enters me from behind, gently at first, and then with a hard thrust that makes me gasp as water sloshes around us and my vagina clenches around him. I’m sore, but it doesn’t matter. I shift my hips, wanting more and more of him. One of his hands seeks to soothe my need for an additional touch, and it snakes around, finding my breast, squeezing my nipple so hard that it makes my sex clench even tighter around him. And then fingers are teasing their way down, down, until he brushes over my clit and I bite my lower lip in the expectation that, yes, he is going to let me come.
But not yet. This is Damien’s show, Damien’s game. And he is playing by his rules tonight.
Soon, he has withdrawn his cock from my vagina and his hand from my clit. I am bereft, lost without his touch, and I turn in his arms, intending to beg, then grateful to realize that I don’t have to, because he’s pulling me to him once again, demanding that I rise up, that I let the water do the work, that I wrap my legs around him and sink down deeper and deeper on his cock.
His hands on my ass support me, and I gasp in surprise and pleasure as he slides one finger down to our connected bodies, then rims my anus with a finger slick with pool water and my own arousal.
“Everywhere, Nikki.” There is a rawness in his voice. A need that seems to edge close to desperation, and as he speaks, he thrusts forward with his hips, at the same time pulling me down, impaling me hard against him even as his finger slips inside my ass.
I am impossibly full and the erotic sensation of having both his cock and finger inside me is almost more than I can handle. But Damien is relentless, and the force of his pounding has edged us backward so that my back scrapes hard against the pool’s edge and the water is as wild as a stormy sea.
“Forever,” he growls. His voice is rough, his actions more so. His thrusts are deep and violent. He is pounding into me, thrusting me wildly against the edge of the pool, my bare back scraping against the stone coping. Between my already sore sex, the assault on my back, and the tender flesh that his finger is so brutally invading, yes, he is hurting me.
I bite my lip because I don’t want to cry out. I don’t know why he needs this, but I know that he does.
Before he was gentle. Even his spanks were inflicted only for the purpose of pleasing me. This, however, is about Damien. Damien taking. Damien needing. It is me that he needs, and I give myself willingly. I am no stranger to pain. It gives me control, something tangible to hold on to. And I can take Damien’s pain and pull it tight inside me like a precious thing.
I think I understand what Damien needs. Not the pain, but the control. He needs to claim me. Maybe he can’t grab hold of the ghosts from his past that have returned to haunt him, but he has me. Right now, I am his to touch and possess. His to claim and use.
His. Simply Damien’s.
His release comes hard and fast, and I wrap my arms tight around his neck until the last shudder rips through him. He softens and slips out of me, first his cock, then his finger. I ease off him and find my footing, leaning back against the edge of the pool and breathing hard.
After a moment, he opens his eyes and looks at me. One moment passes, then another. And then I see the storm approaching. “Goddammit,” he says. “Nikki. I—”
“No.” I stroke his cheek. “No,” I repeat. “Don’t you get it? I want to be there for you. All of you. Whatever you need.”
For a moment, he is silent. “Did I hurt you?” he finally asks, his voice flat.
“No.” It’s only a little lie. Already the sharp pain has passed. I’m sore, yes, but it’s a pleasant feeling. A reminder of Damien. “No,” I repeat. “You felt wonderful.”
I don’t think he believes me, but he leads me to the steps and out of the pool. We towel off in silence. When I’m dry, he picks me up without asking and carries me back inside. He places me gently onto our bed on the third floor then gets in beside me.
He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. Instead, I move to snuggle against him. I know that he is still disturbed, as much because he thinks he hurt me as because he lost control. I, however, feel the opposite. He’s lost control with me. And that is almost like sharing a secret. The thought makes me smile, and I close my eyes and sigh deeply. Sore, yes, but sweetly content.
I’m on the verge of falling asleep when his soft words wash over me.
“My father intends to go to the dedication.”
“Oh,” I say. It’s all that I can manage, though I am fully awake now, and I rise up onto my elbow to face him.
“I won’t be there. Richter was a balls-out bastard, and I won’t support the decision to honor him, not even in the smallest way.”
“Of course you won’t go.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
“I’m glad you have the balls to stand up to your father. I don’t think I could ignore an edict from my mother.”
“I bet you could,” he says. “You’re stronger than you think.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I search his face. “And the tennis center thing is all that’s been bugging you? Truly?”
“Yes,” he says.
Am I imagining the hesitation? Am I so used to Damien’s secrets that I’m seeing them when they’re no longer there?
Yes, he said. And I decide to believe him. At the very least, he has opened a door. But Damien Stark, like this house, has many rooms, and I can’t help but wonder how many doors remain shut and locked.
6
I wake in the morning to the scent of brewing coffee and fresh-baked croissants, and when I
peel my eyes open I find Damien beside the bed holding a tray, which I immediately identify as the source of those mouthwatering scents. “What’s all this?” I ask.
“A woman heading off to the first day of a new job deserves breakfast in bed,” he says, setting the tray across my lap as soon as I’ve sat up and scooted back.
I take a sip of the coffee, then sigh as the elixir begins to work its magic. “What time is it?”
“Just past six,” he says, and I stifle a groan. “When are you supposed to be at work?”
“Ten,” I say. “Bruce is having me start on a Friday since it’s going to be a day of paperwork and getting my feet wet. Probably the last truly relaxing week I’ll have for a long time. Monday, I’ll be dragging myself in by eight, I’m sure.”
“Don’t even pretend to complain. You know you love it.” He sits on the bed beside me and takes a sip from my mug. I don’t think he even realizes that he’s done it, but I can’t help but smile at the casual intimacy.
As for loving the work, he’s right. I’d moved to Los Angeles less than a month ago planning to take the tech world by storm. My job at Carl’s company, C-Squared, turned out to be a bust, but I’m giddy about my new position at Innovative Resources, a company that does equally fine work with a less psychotic boss.
I spread some strawberry jam on the croissant and take a bite, surprised to find that it’s warm and flaky and just about melts in my mouth. “Where did you get fresh croissants?” I cannot believe that his morning jog took him into town. And these are not heated-up frozen pastries.
“Edward,” Damien says, referring to his driver.
“Thank him for me.”
“You can thank him yourself. Unless you’re planning to walk to work, he’ll be giving you a lift.”