Play My Game (Stark Trilogy, #3.7)(6)

I open my mouth, fully prepared to call him a nasty name, but then he tells me to bend over his knee.

I stay quiet. And then, because I’m feeling bold, I say huskily, “You do realize that’s not a punishment at all.”

“I know,” he says, and the dark promise in his tone makes me shiver.

He moves to sit at the foot of the chaise, and I eagerly bend across his lap, already more aroused than I was just moments before. It’s not about the anticipation of pain, though there is no denying that I will always want the pain. But I do not need it nearly as often as I used to. Now I want it only from Damien’s hand.

But this is not about battling my demons. This is about letting go. About surrendering to Damien. About letting him take me and fill me.

And, yes, it’s about pleasure. About passion.

And as Damien and I know better than most, pleasure and pain have the same core. And I willingly surrender to both of them.

The first spank makes me gasp, the sting spreading out, and then calming down as Damien rubs the curve of my rear, softening the sting. He smacks me again, just a little harder, and I feel my sex clench with longing. He slides his hand between my legs to stroke me, and I know that he is aware of how aroused he is making me. Of how much I want this—and how much I will want him after, once my ass is red and he has had his fill.

Again and again. Five more spanks and I am on fire, from the sting of flesh against flesh, but also from the erotic need to be f*cked, to be taken.

“Damien.” I only whisper his name, but it is enough, and he helps me up, then settles me on his lap, my knees on either side of him so that I am straddling him as he sits on the end of the lounger, his hands at my back keeping me steady.

“I want to watch it build in your eyes,” he says. “I want to see the moment when we float away.”

“Yes.” I rise up on my knees, then lower myself onto him, slowly at first and then faster and faster until that precipice looms in front of me again, and I can see the explosion building in his eyes, my own passion reflected right back at me.

“Now,” he demands when we are both at the edge. “Now, Nikki, dammit, come with me.”

I arch back, a slave to his demands, and burst into a billion pieces even as he explodes inside me. He holds me tight, keeping me from getting lost in the ether and providing a tether to bring me back to myself.

I collapse against him, breathing hard, relishing the comfort of his arms, strong and safe, closing around me.

“Damien.” That’s all I can say, but it is enough.

“Yes,” he says, his voice so tender it brings tears to my eyes. “I know.”

Later, he carries me up to the house, because I am not at all convinced that I will ever have the power to walk on my own again.

I manage to stand for a shower, then dry off and settle back on the bed, naked, as Damien stays in the bathroom to shave.

I drift off, sated, only to be roused by his voice wafting over me. “Now, that is a very lovely view.”

I stretch and roll over, opening my eyes to find him naked in the doorway—and once again fully erect.

With a laugh, I prop myself up on an elbow. “You, Mr. Stark, are insatiable.”

“You make me insatiable,” he counters, coming to sit beside me on the bed. “I could spend the entire day here with you. Maybe the week, the month, the year.”

“I like it. Though we’d have to figure out how to eat.”

“Oh, I intend to eat my fill,” he says, nipping his way down my belly.

I squirm, delighted by his touch, and then I tense. I cock my head as something pokes at my memory. Something about eating … about sweetness …

About love.

I twine my fingers in his hair. “Wait—”

He lifts his head, one brow cocked.

I glance at the clock, see that it’s still early enough, and grin at my husband. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m cutting you off.”

“Oh?” His expression is vaguely amused. “And why is that?”

“I’ve nailed the first clue.” My tone is smug. I am certain that I’m right.

“Really?” He eases his way up my body until I am trapped beneath him. “Tell me.”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

He kisses my neck. “Please?”

“Not a chance, buddy. At least not until you buy me a meal.”

“A meal?”

“Lunch,” I confirm. “In Beverly Hills. And after my meal,” I add with a wide, smug grin, “I want my dessert.”

We end up having a late lunch at one of the outdoor tables at 208 Rodeo, and we split an order of sweet potato fries and a burger while we do the people-watching thing, scoping out both tourists and locals as they stroll along Rodeo Drive or wander up the stairs to Via Rodeo. Not surprisingly, there’s a significant amount of reciprocal watching, and I catch sight of more than a few people taking surreptitious snaps of us with their phones. A few even stand boldly across the street and aim powerful zoom lenses in our direction, clicking furiously as they rattle off shot after shot.

Again, I don’t care.

It’s a gorgeous day. I’m with my husband on a Valentine’s Day scavenger hunt. And I’m still basking in the glow of some outstanding morning sex.

Seriously, life is good.

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