"Just this." I kiss him, hard, and ease backward until my shoulders press against the rough brick of the building. "Turn it on," I demand.

"Oh, baby," he says, but he complies.

I take his hand and slide it up under my skirt, putting his fingers right on me. I'm desperately wet.

"G.o.d, Nikki, let's get to the car."

"No," I say and unzip his fly. I have my hand inside his jeans, and his c.o.c.k is steel against my palm. "Now. Please."

He growls, and I know he's fighting for control.

"Now," I repeat. "Leave the thing on. And don't take it out."

That pushes him over the edge and he shifts his jeans to free himself, then slams me harder against the wall. I gasp and curl one leg up around him. "Please," I say. "Please, Damien. f.u.c.k antic.i.p.ation. I want you now."

I take his c.o.c.k and guide the head between my legs. My skirt falls over us, the soft feel of the hem moving against us adding to the frenzy. I'm vibrating inside, and that sensation coupled with his deep, penetrating thrusts is enough to send me over the edge in no time at all, Damien right there with me.

"Holy h.e.l.l," he whispers, clutching me tight. "That was quite a trip."

"Got your vibe on?"

"You're quite the minx."

"I guess so," I say. "I seem to remember someone saying he doesn't have s.e.x in public."

"That's my rule," he admits. "Anyone who works so very hard to make me break it deserves an equally inventive punishment."

I swallow, my nipples tightening again from his tone. It's low and commanding and I have no doubt that it will be sweet punishment indeed.

"Come on, Ms. Fairchild. I think it's time to get you home."

26.

By the time we pull up to my apartment, I am once again liquid with desire. Damien has allowed me to remove the magical vibrating egg, but he makes me sit with my legs spread wide beneath my skirt. That position combined with the thrum of the engine is erotic in and of itself. Knowing that he has a special punishment in store for me is enough to make me almost come every time he taps the brakes or revs the engine.

He parallel-parks expertly and kills the engine. He doesn't, however, get out. I eye him, my teeth sc.r.a.ping over my lower lip. "Are you going to come in?" I'm suddenly afraid that the punishment he has in mind is to not touch me at all.

A predatory spark flares in his eyes. "Oh, I'm coming in, all right."

I exhale in relief, then suck in sharply with confusion as he reaches behind his seat to retrieve a thin leather case, like a briefcase, only smaller. He smiles enigmatically, then exits the car with the case. He's at my side before I can figure out how to work the locking mechanism. He pulls open the door, then takes my hand and helps me out. It's all very proper and polite-and that's making me even more nervous.

What does he have in store for me? What is in that d.a.m.n case?

My fingers shake as I insert my key in the lock. Damien's proximity and promises have done quite a number on me. I think I'm more aware of my body than I've ever been, and every part of me is taut and tense with excitement, nervousness, and antic.i.p.ation.

Once we're inside, I stand awkwardly in the room, not quite sure what to do now. It's a strange feeling considering all we've done together, not to mention the fact that he's already seen the apartment. But I feel like a teenager inviting a boy home for the first time.

Jamie is still at the spa, so we have the place to ourselves. Damien shares none of my hesitations; he strides right to the dining table and puts the case down. I look at it, expecting him to open it. He doesn't. He just stands there watching me, his inspection so intense that I feel the urge to fidget.

I don't, though. Instead I stand perfectly still, my chin tilted slightly up. This is part of the game, and right now my role is to wait.

Damien strokes his chin, his head tilted sideways in the manner of a museum patron inspecting a cla.s.sic work of art. His words, however, lack the sophistication of a museum excursion.

"Take off your skirt." The force and command in his voice is undeniable.

I look down; I don't want him to see my smile.

The skirt has an elastic waistband, and I ease it over my hips, then let it drop to pool around my feet. I step out of it, but I keep my sandals on. Damien hasn't told me to remove those.

"Now the shirt."

I pull the loose blouse over my head and toss it on the table. I'm naked now, illuminated only by the glow of the nightlight burning by the bathroom door.

Damien doesn't shift position at all, but I hear the slow sound of him drawing a breath. And though it may be my imagination, it seems to me that the air between us is heating up. I know that I'm suddenly very, very warm.

"Kick off your shoes, then spread your legs."

I do, then stand still with my legs parted as he walks slowly around me as if I'm some slave girl for sale on a dais. He makes two circles around me, and on the second he pauses behind me. He slides his hand between my legs and cups me from behind. His fingertip brushes my c.l.i.t, and my flesh quivers in his hand. I bite my lower lip and close my eyes to keep from moaning. It takes every ounce of my willpower for me to remain still.

"Do you want more?" he asks, his finger slowly caressing my s.e.x.

"Yes." The word comes out raw and strangled.

Slowly, he pulls his hand away and circles back to face me. "Go to your room and get on the bed." He leans in close, and his lips brush my ear as he speaks. "No touching. I need your promise, Nikki. And this time I need you to keep it."

I nod. "Okay."

He looks at me, then slowly lifts an eyebrow.

"I mean, yes, sir." I want to ask him when he's coming to the bedroom, too, but I know better. I go, I lie down, and I wait, expecting him to enter with that mysterious case.

I am crazy with need, with longing, with that d.a.m.ned antic.i.p.ation. I'm flushed and hot and swollen. My b.r.e.a.s.t.s and my c.l.i.t are so sensitive that I think I'll come if the air conditioner kicks on. I want to touch myself with wild desperation, but I remember Damien's words, and I keep my legs spread and my arms wide, afraid that if I don't lay like that I'll be tempted to squeeze my legs together in an attempt to find satisfaction.

The position doesn't help my distress, though. It only makes me hotter. There's something so exciting about being wide open for Damien. My nipples are tight and hard, almost painful. I long to feel his teeth graze them, to feel his hand stroke me, his c.o.c.k inside me.

Where the h.e.l.l is he?

And then I hear the television snap on.

I groan aloud, and even though he's all the way in the next room, I'm positive that Damien has heard me-and that he's smiling.

I'm alone, h.o.r.n.y as h.e.l.l, and not allowed to do anything about it. He's out there, undoubtedly feeling smug, flipping channels at random.

This, of course, is my punishment, and by the time he turns the television off half an hour later, I am about out of my mind with the need to be f.u.c.ked.

Just when I'm starting to fear that he's going to leave, he appears in my doorway and leans casually against the frame. "I like looking at you," he says.

"I like you touching me better." I'm actually pouting. He's reduced me that far. "That wasn't nice."

He laughs. "Sweetheart, that was nothing."

My pulse picks up again as he bends down and picks up the case. It was out of my field of vision by his feet, but now he brings it and sets it on the bed and opens it. The top opens toward me, so that I can't see the contents. His mouth curves down as if he's considering a variety of options, then he pulls out a jewelry case and sets it on the bed.

I frown, wondering what that could be about.

The next item doesn't make me wonder-I get what it's for right away. It's a whip. The kind with several thin bits of leather attached to a thicker handle.

"A cat-o'-nine-tails," Damien says helpfully.

"Um, uh-huh." I bite my lower lip. The rational part of me is thinking ouch. My s.e.x, however, is throbbing with antic.i.p.ation.

He sets the whip down and opens the jewelry box. Inside are two silver rings, each with two small metal b.a.l.l.s on them. They are connected by a serpentine chain. He picks one of the rings up and pulls it apart so that the two b.a.l.l.s separate, leaving a gap in the ring. He slides one side of the jewelry box into that gap and then releases the b.a.l.l.s. They spring back, clamping to the cardboard.

My brow furrows. I don't get it.

I can tell that Damien sees my confusion, but he says nothing. He just smiles and puts the rings and their chain on the bedside table. He closes the case and puts it on the floor, then he picks up the cat-o'-nine-tails and runs the thin strands of leather through his fingers. After a moment, he sets it beside me, then reaches down to cup my swollen s.e.x. I arch up, silently begging for his fingers inside me, stroking me.

"You've been very naughty. I don't think I should make you come."

"I really think you're wrong about that," I manage, and am rewarded with his laugh.

"Close your eyes. Can you keep them closed, or should I blindfold you?"

"I'll keep them closed."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation. I've already learned that the punishment for breaking a promise isn't really punishment at all. Even so, I'll try to keep my word.

I feel him moving near me, then he tells me to lift my hips. I do, and he slides a pillow under me.

"Keep your legs spread," he says. "Yes, like that. Oh, baby, you're so beautiful. Beautiful and open for me."

He touches me gently, a finger tracing just below my belly b.u.t.ton. My skin tightens, and I arch up with desire. Then his touch disappears and I feel the soft flutter of leather across my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, my belly. The cat-o'-nine-tails. He's trailing it over me. And then, snap, he's flicked it softly over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

I cry out, surprised as much by the impact as I am by my reaction to it. A slight sting, yes, but then a sweet, spreading heat. Pleasure mixed with pain.

"Did you like that?" His palm cups my breast, kneading it, making it grow heavier and so unbearably sensitive.

I drag my teeth across my lower lip, but I can't lie. It's against the rules. More, I don't want to. I am in thrall to this man, and every touch is like a gift. "Yes," I say. "I liked it."

"I told you there might be pain, but only to bring you pleasure."

"I remember. I-I want more."

"Nikki, oh, f.u.c.k, Nikki. Do you know what you do to me?"

"If it's anything like what you do to me, I think I have some idea."

His low laughter is raw, but dies when he closes his mouth on my breast. His teeth graze my nipple as he bites and sucks until my breast is nothing more than a live wire topped by a hard, thrumming pearl. And then his mouth is gone and there's something cold and-"Oh!"-tight and hard.

My eyes flick open.

"No," he says, and I close them again.

The initial stab of pain fades quickly, leaving a low, thick pressure. A tight awareness and an undercurrent of deep, flowing pleasure. A moment later, I feel that same sharp stab of exquisite pain on my other breast.

"Your nipples are so sensitive," he whispers as his hand slips down to explore my s.e.x. "Oh, yes," he says. "This time I don't think I have to ask if you like it."

I don't remember ever feeling so aware of my body. Even the air is erotic, its whisper touch making me quake.

I gasp as the pressure to both my b.r.e.a.s.t.s increases. Slightly at first and then with more force. He's tugging on the chain that connects the two rings, pulling me up, the weight of my own body making the tug on my nipples even more exquisite. Not painful, but tight and aroused and ready.

"Damien." His name is a demand and he answers by closing his mouth over mine. The kiss is hard and needful, and I thrust my tongue in his mouth, desperately trying to claim this moment. He matches me, but all too soon pulls away and then gently eases me back onto the bed. "Keep your eyes closed."

I feel the soft caress of the leather as he trails the whip gently over my belly, then over my legs. I start to squirm, then freeze under his sharp command that I keep still.

Then it's trailing between my legs. My muscles spasm in antic.i.p.ation and then there it is-snap, a light spank on my v.u.l.v.a. I gasp. Never would I have thought I'd feel such exquisite pleasure from getting smacked in such an intimate place, but maybe it makes sense. I imagine Damien pounding into me, f.u.c.king me hard. Yeah, maybe it makes a lot of sense.

I wait, my body raw and open. Wanting and needing. But there is no second strike.

"Again," I beg. "Damien, please."

His moan of pleasure tells me everything-he'd been waiting to see if I liked this new play. And I do. So help me, I really do.

Once again the strips of leather land lightly against my sensitive skin. I arch up, my c.l.i.t feels huge and swollen, and as he smacks me once more, I fear that if one of those straps lands directly on it I'll explode from the combination of pleasure and pain.

"Damien," I say, and that's all it takes. The sensation changes, and it's not the leather on my s.e.x, but his mouth. His hands are on my thighs, and his tongue is inside me, and I can hear his low, hard moans. I'm close, so close, my hips twisting and bucking shamelessly against his face, the sc.r.a.pe of his beard stubble tickling my sensitive skin.

I'm there-right on the edge, when he eases away from me. I cry out in protest, but my cry changes to a gasp as Damien thrusts inside me. I open my eyes and see him above me. He's looking right at me, his expression one of such intensity that I can't resist drawing my arm around his neck and bringing his mouth to mine.

We kiss, as deep and as hard as he's f.u.c.king me, and I'm already so close that I come in just seconds, in what has got to be the most ma.s.sive o.r.g.a.s.m of my life. He's not far behind me, and when he's spent, he eases next to me on the mattress, our bodies still connected. I see the whip where he laid it on the pillow. I look at it and smile. "I think I'm going to like being a bad girl."

He chuckles. "I know you are." After a few minutes, he sits up, then gently takes the rings off my nipples. Immediately, I feel the warm rush of blood. Dear G.o.d, I could f.u.c.k him again right now.

He kisses the tip of my nose. "A lovely thought, but I need to make a run to the office."

"How do you do that? How do you read my mind?"

A smile is his only answer, but it doesn't matter. I already know how, and it doesn't scare me: Damien Stark can see beneath my mask.