Delight Me, Page 2J. Kenner
His grin is slow and very sexy. “In that case, let’s go take a look at your proposal. And then, my dear Mrs. Stark, I want my payment in full.”
True to his word, Damien helps me tweak and revise my proposal. It’s a longer process than it needs to be, because he pauses between suggestions, standing behind me so that he can see the computer screen and cupping my neck as he reads, the heat of his palm distracting me and shooting all the way down to fire between my legs. Sometimes, he slides his hand down over my shoulder to cup my breast, and I find myself biting my lower lip and moaning, filled with a delicious, needy anticipation.
But I’m a strong woman, and I’m willing to wait for what I want—and what I want is both of us desperate and needy. Not to mention a kick-ass proposal, of course.
We end up working late into the evening, but we don’t finish, and though Damien pulls me close to him once we are both naked in bed, when I shift against him with undeniable purpose, he only holds me close, but makes no move for anything more than this delicious, provocative, unsatisfying touching.
“Damien,” I murmur, wanting more.
“Oh, no,” he says. “I wouldn’t dream of asking for payment until the work is done.”
I roll over, then straddle him, my sex hot and needy against the lean, hard muscles of his lower abdomen. “I don’t mind making an advance payment,” I murmur breathily. I shift, then bite my lower lip in response to a trill of sweet pleasure that courses through me.
I’m wildly turned on, and I know that he is too. I can tell from the way his breath is coming as uneven as mine. From the way his dual-colored eyes seem to draw me in, pulling me deeper and deeper into a wild, demanding neediness.
Most of all, I can tell by the fact that with each subtle shift of my body my ass brushes up against his rock hard erection. And with each infinitesimal touch, I see the heat building in his eyes.
“You should at least get a down payment,” I murmur. “Seems like a dubious business practice to provide a service entirely on faith.”
“It’s not just faith,” he says. “I’m an excellent judge of character, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re an excellent credit risk.”
I narrow my eyes, then bend lower, sliding my ass down to tease his cock even as my lips brush light over his chest. I feel more than hear his murmur of amusement.
“Nice try, Mrs. Stark,” he says. “But I assure you, your credit is just fine here.” And with that note of finality, he grabs me under the arms and tugs me forward, then rolls over so that once again I am on the mattress instead of on top of him. He kisses me soundly, with just enough of a tease to make my pulse skitter and my body fire.
“Tomorrow,” he says firmly. “Tomorrow we’ll finish the proposal. And then I promise I’ll take my payment in full,” he adds, drawing his finger down between my breasts and down, down, down to my pubic bone, and then lower still until his finger flicks lightly over my clit before he pulls his hand away with a teasing, knowing smile.
I glare at him, but my heart isn’t in it. Because if I know one thing for certain, it’s that Damien is always true to his word—and if he promises I’m going to like it, then I don’t doubt at all that whatever he has planned is going to be spectacular.
I tap my foot nervously as Damien flips through the pages of my revised proposal, a half-eaten plate of pancakes beside him. I’m sitting across the kitchen table from him, trying to gauge his reaction by his face. But Damien is an expert in the boardroom and at the poker table, and I haven’t got a clue what he’s thinking.
The kitchen is on the third floor of the Malibu house. Originally designed for caterers to use when we entertain, it has morphed into the heart of our home. It’s in here where Damien makes breakfast—because if I’m in charge of breakfast we have cereal or bagels. It’s here where we share coffee in the afternoons. And it’s where I chat with friends while I put together a tray to take outside by the pool.
I don’t think I’ve ever once used the commercial kitchen that’s down on the first floor. But this little area is cozy and comfortable, and it’s one of my favorite places in the house.
Or it usually is. Right now, it’s an unsettling room. I don’t like waiting—I never have. And though I know that Damien is going to make my proposal better, my fear is that he’s going to tell me that I’ve entirely missed the boat. That I don’t understand my business or my market and that I’m in way over my head.
Honestly, it’s not an unreasonable fear. I’d always planned to start my own business, but I was thrust into doing it much faster than I’d intended after I lost my last job because of the scandal that arose when the tabloids learned that Damien paid a million dollars for a nude portrait of me.
So, yeah, I’m nervous. Not about what Damien will think of the proposal, but that he’ll say I’m not ready.
All I can do is wait, though I admit I’m not doing it very patiently. I tap my foot and sip my coffee, the dryness in my mouth making it bitter.
I reach for the creamer, then stir some in, the spoon clacking against the sides of my favorite coffee mug. That, at least, gets a reaction. He looks at me, and one brow rises very slowly. “Distracted, Ms. Fairchild?”
I make a face and point to the pages. “Finish,” I order, lifting the mug. “Or are you just torturing me?” I add before taking a sip.
“Oh, torture is definitely on the agenda,” he says, with so much heat that I almost choke on my coffee as my mind fills with all sorts of decadent images. “But the good news is that I’m done,” he adds as he puts the last page of the proposal face down on the table.
“And you did an amazing job.”
The relief that sweeps through me is like a physical thing. “Really?” I hear the lingering worry in my words.
“Cross my heart,” he says, and I slowly smile as I let myself believe him.
He holds out his hand. “Come here.”
I don’t hesitate, and he settles me on his lap, his arm around my waist and his body shifted slightly to the side so that we can both see the pages. “Your intro is dead on,” he says. “In fact, the entire overview is perfect. But I have a few suggestions for when you get to your timeline and the description of the various phases of implementation.”
I nod, shifting into work mode even though that’s not easy when I can feel the hard muscles of his thighs beneath my legs and rear. And when his arm around my waist is so distracting.
“You see this?” he asks, pointing to a chart I’d inserted, and it takes all my concentration to focus on my projections and not on the way his breath is teasing the back of my neck.
He finishes his comments, wrapping up with, “None of that is absolutely necessary, though. This is quality work even without those tweaks. But I want you to feel like you got what you bargained for, especially now that I’m going to demand payment.”
“Are you?” My body tightens in that familiar way in response to the heat in his voice. I shift in his lap so that I can see him better, and an additional punch of arousal cuts through me when I see the hungry way he’s looking at me.
“I considered waiting until this evening,” he says. “Taking you out. Undressing you in the limo. But now that I have you here…”
I have to swallow the knot of anticipation in my throat. “Don’t you have to get to work?”
He flashes a smug smile. “Interestingly enough, I can be late. What with being the boss and all.”
His words are cavalier, but Damien is never cavalier about work, so I know that means he has no meetings today.
I smile. “That’s good news. As it happens, I don’t have anything pressing at my office, either.” I’m sitting with one hand on the table, and I shift the other from my knee to his crotch, then bat my eyes innocently. “And I’m the kind of women who likes to pay her debts right away. I don’t like leaving a balance outstanding.”
His cock stiffens under my hand, and I fee
l the rhythm of his breath change. Slowly, his hand that is supporting my back moves beneath my T-shirt. His palm is warm against my skin, and I close my eyes as sparks of awareness crackle like electricity over my skin. I’m not wearing a bra, and my nipples tighten against the thin cotton.
For that matter, I’m not wearing any underwear at all. I’d simply pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and this old college Tee when I’d padded in here for breakfast. Now I squirm a little on Damien’s lap, a silent demand that he do something about the heat pooling between my legs.
“Shhh, baby. Be still for me,” he murmurs as one hand strokes gentle circles on my back, and his other hand settles on my thigh. He trails his fingertips higher and higher until he reaches the hem of the shorts. Then he simply traces the hem until I’m so turned on and desperate that I have to bite my lip to keep myself from demanding that he slip his hand inside the shorts. That he stroke me.
That he make me come.
But I don’t want to beg. On the contrary, I want to submit.
This is payment, after all. And I’m willing to let Damien take any price he wishes. Especially if part of that price is driving me insane with desire.
“I like this,” Damien says, as he slides his hand up inside my shorts and finds me slick and ready.
“Do you?” I ask, I press my hand more firmly over his erection. “Because so do I.”
“Naughty,” he counters, then surprises me by easing his hand out of my shorts, then slipping his arm under my legs so that he can scoop me up in a fireman carry. I squeal with surprise, then suck in a breath in anticipation as he puts me down on the kitchen table and orders me to lie back.
I comply, my body trembling as I imagine what’s coming. The passion in his touch. The fire in his caress. And all the wicked possibilities.
He’s positioned me so that my rear is at the edge of the table, and my feet are on the chair in which he was just sitting. His eyes meet mine, and then slowly—so painfully slowly, he lets his gaze roam over me. A heated inspection that leaves my body tingling in its wake. My swollen lips. My erect nipples, tender against the cotton of my Tee. My abdomen, the muscles quivering as his gaze moves lower and lower with all the sweet intensity of a caress.
He hasn’t moved. He certainly hasn’t touched me. I’m still fully clothed. But the moment that his eyes dip between my legs, my core tightens and my clit throbs.
“Damien,” I murmur. “Please.” I want his touch. His hands. His kisses.
“Oh, yes, baby,” he says, pushing the chair away as he eases in between my legs. “It is definitely time for you to pay up…”
The edge of the table presses into my thighs, and the surface is hard beneath my back. In truth, there’s not a damn thing comfortable about being splayed out on hard, wooden tabletop. In reality, though, I’m perfectly positioned to reach heaven. And right now, I’m pretty sure that my husband holds the key to those pearly gates.
“That’s it, baby,” he says, gently urging my legs apart as he drops to his knees. I lift my head, but he makes a tsk noise and nods. The instruction is clear—I’m to lie flat on my back. I consider keeping my eyes open just because I can, but I’m not interested in a view of the ceiling. I’d much rather look at the image of Damien in my mind. And not just an image, but a movie. One in which my fingers aren’t flat against the tabletop, but twined in his raven-black hair. An erotic film, where his lips brush the soft skin just above my knee, making me moan as his kisses travel higher and higher.
The pictures in my mind become more vivid as Damien does exactly that, and my body tightens as I feel the delicious scrape of his beard stubble against my inner thigh. I bite back a sigh of pleasure as I imagine the way he looks on his knees with his head between my legs, his lips slowly tracing a path higher and higher until he is so, so close. And, frankly, so am I.
“Damien,” I whisper, my voice full of want. His mouth is still on my inner thigh, his cheek brushing intimately against me as his hands grip my legs to hold me steady. He’s teasing me, I know. Driving me purposefully crazy. And when I raise my hands to my breasts because I’m craving more, his lips break contact and he says one simple, clear word—“No.”
“Please,” I protest. “Damien, please.”
“Please?” he repeats, his voice teasing. “But, baby, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”
I whimper and his soft chuckle washes over me. “Hands at your sides,” he orders. “I’m the only one who gets the pleasure of touching you right now.”
I start to reply, but he takes my hips and pulls me further toward him, the motion so startling it steals my words. I’m balanced precariously now, open and vulnerable and so damned turned on.
And, of course, Damien comes to my rescue. Still on his knees, he sinks back down, then rests my legs over his shoulders. Once again, I can see nothing, but I don’t need to. Right now, all I want to do is feel — and, oh my God, there is so very much to feel. My entire body is alive with a fire sparked by Damien—a fire that continues to rage and crackle through me as he pushes aside the crotch of my sleep shorts and closes his mouth over my clit.
I’m fully clothed—more or less—and yet right now I feel naked and hot before him. Like a meal laid out for his pleasure, and I can’t deny that the thought is as erotic as his touch.
I’m his to take however, whenever he wants, and the fact that he’s taking me here on the breakfast table is as much a turn-on as all the times he’s made love to me with flowers and candles. Or, for that matter, with silk ropes and blindfolds.
I squirm against his mouth, wanting not just more but everything. I’m lost, swept away by the moment, lost in the intense passion of my love for my husband. And what makes it even better is that I know he is, too. I am his, yes, and that simple fact arouses both of us. But Damien is equally mine, and I revel in the deep, hot feminine power that comes from loving a man like Damien Stark.
Slowly, his hands slide up over my sleep shorts, then under the hem of my Tee. His mouth is still working its magic, and my sex clenches in anticipation of what is to come, and a small storm of electrical shocks make me tremble with the precursor of what will surely be an astounding orgasm. But then he gently tugs his mouth away, allowing the cool air to caress my bare sex. I sigh, regretting the loss of his mouth and tongue against my sensitive skin, but at the same time, I’m anticipating what is to come. Damien. All of him, hard and hot and deep inside me. So wild he scoots me across the table and the dishes clatter off and onto the floor.
“Yes,” I murmur. I’m so ready, and I close my eyes as he stands and leans forward so that his hands cup my breasts as he lightly kisses me.
“Did you like that?” he asks, and something in his voice makes me open my eyes.
“Yes,” I say honestly, but the word comes out as a question. And Damien, damn him, just grins.
“I’m glad. We’ll finish later.”
“Later?” The sensual cloud I’d been floating on dissipates, slamming me back down onto the hard kitchen table. I prop myself up on my elbows and glare at him. “What the fuck?”
He just laughs. Bastard.
“Partial payment, sweetheart. I’ll collect the rest later.”
“Oh, really?” I sit all the way up, sliding back so that I’m firmly seated on the tabletop. “And if I decide to welch? Because I’m perfectly ready to provide payment in full right here, right now. Later, I might not be so inclined.”
“Really?” He slides his hand under my hair, then presses it to the back of my neck. An instant later his breath is hot against my ear. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to provide additional enticements and incentives.” His tongue teases the curve of my ear, and I moan in both longing and frustration, my sex tightening almost painfully. “And sweetheart,” he adds, “no fair getting yourself off. I’ll take care of you when I pay up.”
“When will that be?” I demand, unable to keep the pout out of my voice.
“Soon. And I promise, i
t’ll be worth it.”
Then he kisses me lightly on the cheek and heads off toward the bedroom, leaving me desperately frustrated and more than a little bit curious about what he has planned.
It takes me a moment to get my bearings, and even when I do, it feels as though I am moving through a sensual fog. I’m so aroused that even the brush of air against my skin sends electrical sizzles coursing through me, firing at my nipples, my sex. Making my body ache with an unfulfilled need.
He’s the source of my discontent. The reason behind my sensual longing.
He is the catalyst that ignited this fire in my body, a burning need that only Damien can quench.
But he, of course, is gone.
Frustrated, I slide off the table. I know that he has something spectacular planned. This is Damien, after all, and when doesn’t he have something amazing in the works? That’s doubly true on a day like today, when it’s so very obvious that he’s up to something—and when he’s purposefully denying us.
Fueled by both curiosity and sexual frustration, I pass through the kitchen and follow his path to the bedroom. Our deal was that he would help me make the proposal I’ve drafted rock solid, so that I have the absolute best chance at landing a contract with the company I’ll be meeting in Brussels in two days at the trade show I’m scheduled to attend.
In exchange for Damien’s services, I agreed to pay in the currency he most desired. Namely, me. And that, frankly, was a deal I’d been more than happy to negotiate.
I expected to lose myself in Damien’s arms. To feel the sting of his hand on my ass, the bite of his teeth on my lips, my nipples. I had gone into the bargain with my body primed for the ultimate satisfaction. Instead, he’s giving me the ultimate frustration.
And while I know that my prize will come—pun very much intended—today I am a woman on the edge. Damien has been teasing me since the afternoon of our party when we made this wretched agreement. And I have been walking a sensual tightrope for far too long—when all I really want to do is plunge into the abyss, knowing that Damien will be there to put me back together when I break.