He sits beside me on the bed, still in jeans and T-shirt. He trails his index finger up my stomach to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Slowly, he circles one, then the other. "Should I make you beg for it?" he teases.

"I will," I say, utterly shameless.

His expression is devious. "I want you hot, I want you desperate."

I swallow. "I already am."

"We'll see," he says. Then he reaches for the robe and pulls off the sash. Without his eyes ever leaving mine, he puts it over my eyes.

"Damien?"

"Shhh."

He ties it behind my head. I think of the word-sunset-but I keep it to myself. I want this. I want to feel, and how much more will I be able to if I can't see?

The bed shifts, and I realize he's no longer beside me. I bite my lower lip, but I refuse to call out. He's playing a delicious game with me, and I fully intend to hold my own. He's taken me full circle, I realize, from fear and shame, to excitement and arousal. I don't think anyone but Damien could do that, and whatever he has planned for me now, I trust him.

I jump as something cold and wet hits my breast.

"Ice," I whisper.

"Mmm." But he doesn't speak, because he's licking the water off, his mouth hot against my nipple. He traces the cube down my belly, and my muscles jump and twitch from the cold and from excitement. His mouth follows, his tongue, his lips. He leaves a hot trail down my body. I tug against the sash that binds my wrists, wanting to touch him, wanting to rip off the blindfold. And yet I don't want to, either. There's something exciting about being so totally at his mercy. Of seeing just where this will lead.

My legs are spread wide, and I can feel the cool night air against my soaking wet s.e.x. I shift my hips, partly to try to quell the growing need and partly as an invitation. Either that or a demand. I want him in me, and I want it now.

"Getting anxious, Ms. Fairchild?"

"You're a cruel man, Mr. Stark."

His laugh suggests that I don't yet know just how cruel, and then I feel the bed shift again. One finger stays on my belly, but I don't feel the rest of him. And then-oh, G.o.d, yes-I feel his warm breath against my s.e.x followed by the brush of his cheek against my inner thigh.

I almost come right then, and my hips buck up involuntarily.

"Please," I whisper. "I'll beg. Damien, I'll beg."

"I know you will, baby." His mouth is right there, and then I feel the sharp flick of his tongue and I cry out from the almost painful pleasure that shoots through me. "But you're not ready yet, not quite yet."

"I think you're wrong about that," I grump and draw another laugh.

It's stifled, though, by his mouth on my inner thigh. I squeeze my eyes closed tight behind the sash as he brushes his lips over my scars, kissing his way down my leg, worshipping me with his mouth. I feel his tongue dart out and tease the back of my knee, and I learn in that moment just how sensitive that part of a body can be.

I'm still twitching from the electrical sensations that buzz over my body when he reaches my feet.

"You have lovely toes, Ms. Fairchild," he says. "I don't have a foot fetish, but if I did ..." He trails off, and his mouth closes over my big toe. He sucks on it, gently at first, and then harder until I'm squirming again, feeling the corresponding tug all the way in my c.u.n.t. I'm throbbing, but I know better than to beg. Damien's not done with me yet.

He moves his attention to my other foot and licks each of my toes gently. Then he kisses his way back up my leg. By the time he reaches the soft skin between my thigh and my v.u.l.v.a, I am completely lost in a haze of pleasure.

At least, I think I am. When he closes his mouth over me and grazes my c.l.i.t lightly with his teeth, I am wildly, hotly, intensely proven wrong. There are still heights, and Damien is taking me there.

He has an expert tongue, and it swirls over my c.l.i.t, soft and gentle, but with a building intensity. My eyes are squeezed shut behind the blindfold, my breath coming in short gasps. I twist against the bindings that hold me. I am lost, I am nothing but pleasure. A vibrant white scream of pleasure concentrated between my thighs.

And then-oh, yes, oh, my-the world seems to explode, and I'm bucking against him, and still he's sucking and pulling and tonguing me and I'm climbing higher and higher until finally, finally, the world settles back around me and my chest is rising and falling with the power of the explosion.

"Now," Damien whispers, and I realize he's above me. His mouth closes over mine, slick with the scent of me. The thick head of his p.e.n.i.s is pressed against me, and he thrusts inside. "Oh, baby," he says. His hand slips down between our bodies, and I feel his thumb on my sensitive c.l.i.t. My body trembles again, and I gasp as my muscles clench, drawing him in even more. "There you go, that's right. Are you sore?"

I manage to croak out a no.

"Good," he says, and I feel him withdraw just a little, then slam back into me. He said he was going to f.u.c.k me hard, and he is, and I'm lifting my hips to meet him, because I want him deeper now, deeper and harder. I want all of him, and, dammit, I want to see him.

"Damien," I say. "Damien, the blindfold."

I'm afraid he's going to ignore me, but then his fingers brush my temple and he pulls it off. He's above me, his face hard but his eyes showing nothing but pleasure. His mouth curves into a gentle smile, and then he kisses the corner of my mouth. The frenzied f.u.c.k slows to a sweet, sensual rhythm that is all the more devastating because he's drawing it out, making it last. It can last forever as far as I'm concerned.

And then I see the tension building in his body, his muscles tightening, his body stiffening against mine. He closes his eyes and I watch as he arches back, and then I feel the sweet pressure as he explodes inside me.

"Christ, Nikki," he says as he collapses against me.

I want to press my body against him, but I'm still trapped. "Damien," I whisper. "Untie me."

He rolls over and smiles at me, warm and languid. At some point he put on a condom, and he takes it off and drops it in a small trash bin by the bed. Then he moves quickly to undo the drapes. I didn't get to enjoy watching him strip, but I'm very happy with the view now. He may not have played tennis professionally for years, but the man still has an athlete's body, long and lean and so d.a.m.n s.e.xy.

"Come here," he says roughly once I'm untied. He pulls me close to spoon against him, my back against his chest, my a.s.s against his magnificent c.o.c.k. His fingers stroke the outside of my thigh, and his lips graze my shoulder. "I liked taking you tied up," he says. "We may have to try more of that."

"More?"

"Have you ever heard of Kinbaku?"

"No."

His hand slides over my thigh to rest on my s.e.x. His fingers stroke my hair lightly. "It's ropes," he says. "But they're for restraint as much as for pleasure." His fingers ease between my thighs, and I gasp, amazed that I already want him again so desperately. He rubs his finger over my c.l.i.t and whispers, "It's all about the placement of the ropes."

"Oh." My voice is breathy.

"Would you like that?"

"I-I don't know." I swallow. "I liked this," I admit.

His fingers slide easily inside me and I moan. "Yes," he says. "I could tell."

He's teasing me for being aroused, but I can feel his c.o.c.k twitching against my rear. He's getting hard again, and I wriggle my b.u.t.t a little, hoping to speed up that process.

"My, my, Ms. Fairchild. You are a naughty girl."

"Very," I say. "f.u.c.k me again, Mr. Stark."

He bites my earlobe, just hard enough that I squeal. "On your knees."

I look back at him. "What?"

"On your knees."

I obey.

"Spread your legs."

I do. I've never had s.e.x like this-who am I kidding, I've never had s.e.x like anything I've done with Damien. I feel exposed. And, yeah, I like the feeling.

He is behind me, and he runs his palms over my a.s.s, then bends to kiss my cheek. "Sweet," he says. He slides his fingers between my legs, stroking my s.e.x, the sensation of his touch beyond delicious.

He brings his hand up, and I feel his thumb at my a.n.u.s. I bite my lower lip. "No," I whisper.

"No?" he repeats, increasing the pressure and sending a shock of amazing sensations through me. "Not sunset?"

I gasp, and he laughs. "No," he repeats. "You're right. Not now. Not yet." He slides his finger between my a.s.s cheeks, and I draw in air, overwhelmed by the sensations. "But soon, Nikki," he says. "Because there is no part of you that isn't mine." Swiftly, he thrusts two fingers into my v.a.g.i.n.a even as the pad of his thumb presses against my a.s.s. My muscles contract, wanting to draw him in, and there's no denying the intensity of my arousal. Even if I admit it only to myself, I want to experience everything with Damien. Every last thing.

"Put your arms down," he says, "so you're resting on your elbows. That's right."

I'm on the mattress, my head low, my a.s.s high. Yeah, exposed is right. But I don't have time to think about my position, because Damien's touch grows more intense. He's leaning over me, one hand stroking my nipple as the other plays with my c.u.n.t, dipping in and out, in and out. "You make me so hard," he says.

I hear the rip of a condom packet, and then, a moment later, the pressure of his c.o.c.k against me. This time, he does f.u.c.k me hard and, dammit, I don't want it to end. The pressure of his thrusts moves us across the bed, and I reach out, grabbing hold of the iron bedframe to hold myself in position, meeting him thrust for thrust, losing myself in the sensation and the sound of our bodies meeting.

I feel when he gets close, and as he does, his hand returns to my c.l.i.t, stroking and teasing and bringing me closer and closer. "Come with me," he demands. "I'm coming, baby, I want you to come with me, too." He explodes inside me, and that's all it takes to bring me over the edge with him, the universe showering stars down on the two of us.

Spent, we collapse together on the bed, a tangle of arms and legs.

When my body is functioning again, I prop myself up on an elbow and brush his cheek. He looks rumpled and s.e.xy and very well-f.u.c.ked, and I get a nice little knot of satisfaction in my belly.

He looks at me and smiles.

I grin flirtatiously. "That was nice," I say. "Can we do it again?"

21.

"Nice?" he repeats. I can tell he's trying to sound offended, but the crinkling around his eyes gives away his mirth. "That wasn't just nice. That was rocket ship to the moon. That was f.u.c.king amazing. Guinness World Records quality. h.e.l.l, that f.u.c.k was a thousand times better than those shoes you were wearing the night we met."

"I wasn't sure you remembered."

He runs his fingers through my hair and sighs. "I remember everything about you."

Considering how well he knew the details of my education, he may not be exaggerating. "You didn't remember the pageant."

"The Dallas Convention Center. You wore a fire engine red ball gown and a turquoise bathing suit. You were also about ten pounds lighter, and you were eyeing the mini-cheesecakes with the kind of l.u.s.t that makes a man hard."

I laugh. "Yeah, I probably was."

He strokes my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and my hips. "The curves are an improvement."

"I think so, too. But my mother about had a heart attack when I told her I wasn't going to count carbs or calories anymore." I grin at him. "I can't believe you really remember all of that."

"You were the only contestant who seemed alive to me, and that was despite the fact that everything you were doing was a lie. Or maybe because of it."

"A lie?" I prop myself up on my elbow, fascinated. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I told you at the time. You didn't want to be there. You felt like a kindred spirit."

"You were right. That was my last pageant. After that one, I finally managed to get free." I frown. "Kindred spirit? You said that because you wanted out of tennis, didn't you?"

His expression darkens. "h.e.l.l yes."

I hope he can't see my sadness. I remember the emcee introducing him at the pageant, announcing that Damien Stark had just won the US Open. He had so much talent, and the joy had been ripped away from him. I'm certain there's more to it than the story he told me, and I wonder if he'll ever tell me the full truth.

He strokes my cheek, and I smile. "We both got out," I say, forcing myself away from melancholy. "And now we're both free to explore other options."

His expression turns devious as his hand creeps down. "Let me show you what I want to explore."

I gasp as he slides his fingers inside me.

"Too sore?"

I am, but I don't want to admit it. "No," I whisper.

"I'm very glad to hear it." He lays me back, then eases his body on top of mine. His weight feels delicious, the pressure safe. Like he's holding me close and protecting me. His mouth brushes mine in a flurry of soft kisses that start at my lips and then trail down my neck before he eases back up to press a kiss to my ear. "I thought we'd try something new," he says. "Or, rather, something old."

"Old?"

"Plain, old-fashioned missionary position. Spread your legs, baby," he says, then groans in satisfaction when I do. The wide head of his c.o.c.k presses against me, but he doesn't enter. Instead he moves just slightly, teasing us both.

My breath comes in fluttering gasps, and just as I'm about to break down and beg, he thrusts inside me. I gasp, arching back, grimacing from both pain and pleasure.

"I think someone broke the rules," he murmurs as he finds his rhythm and eases in and out of me. "I think you lied when you said you weren't sore."

I grin up at him, mischievous. "Maybe I did. Maybe it was worth it."

"I'll go nice and easy," he says, and he does, moving so slow and deep that it's almost like torture as the crescendo builds, higher and higher until I finally explode in his arms, limp and open to him. His o.r.g.a.s.m follows quickly, and he clutches me, slamming hard into me, then collapsing against me.

"There's something to be said for traditional," I murmur, and beside me, Damien laughs.

For a few minutes, we just lay in the dark listening to the ocean. Then Damien takes my hand. "Let's get cleaned up and eat."

I'm not about to argue with either of those, so I slide back into the robe and follow the stunning view of a naked Damien past the fireplace to the rest of the third floor. It's also been finished out, and there's a tricked-out, restaurant-sized kitchen-"just a small one for parties"-a still unfurnished bedroom, and the most amazing bathroom I've ever seen. It's at least twice the size of Jamie's condo. The ceiling is over thirteen feet high, and it's made entirely of gla.s.s. Right now, it's a dark void, but if Damien were to turn off the lights, I imagine that the stars would twinkle above us.