Have Me, Page 3

  I want to be claimed like a bride of the honeymoons of old.

  "Claim me," I say. "Please, Damien, take me now. I need you to. I need to surrender."

  It is as if my words are an invocation; he deepens the kiss, taking as much as I can give, demanding everything I have.

  Roughly, he presses me back so that I am against the wall, then takes my leg and lifts it so that my thigh rests on his hip and I am open to him. He fingers me, and I arch back from the glorious sensation of being explored. "I love how wet you are," he murmurs, and before I can respond, he closes his hands around my waist and lifts me up and thrusts his cock deep inside me. I cry out, taking all of him and wanting more.

  He slams us backward, pressing me hard against the wall as he pounds deeper and deeper into me. I clutch his shoulders and cling tight, my body open to him, my need for him just as savage as his for me.

  This isn't about romance and wine and roses and moonlight. This is wild. This is primitive.

  This is wonderful.

  He is claiming me. Marking me.

  He is giving me what I need--everything I need--and I willingly surrender to both him and to the waves of pleasure that rise up, higher and higher as we continue to move together, the storm building inside both of us.

  "Say it," I demand as my body reaches the crest. "Oh, god, please, I need to hear you say it."

  Our bodies slam together again in one final, brilliant thrust even as the word I crave crashes over me, pushing me over the precipice and sending me hurtling toward the stars in an explosion of light and color.

  "Wife," he cries even as his own release takes him. "You are my wife, my life, my love."

  And Damien ... Damien is my husband.

  Chapter 3

  The sea is calm and I am floating, my head tilted back and my eyes open to the sky. Clouds move lazily above me, drifting upon the air as I drift upon the sea. I cannot see Damien, but I can feel him, and I know that he is near and that I am not alone.

  It is him as much as the water that buoys me, and I breathe deep, then close my eyes, warm and safe and alive.

  I do not know how long I drift, I only know that when I open my eyes, it is dark and the stars wink down at me, not soft and gentle, but with a devious malice, as if they hold a secret that I am not allowed to share.

  I tremble, suddenly aware that I can no longer see or feel him, and a bubble of panic rises in me. I tense, my breathing becomes shallow. I struggle to stay afloat, but it is no use. As if the water has claws, it pulls me under, and I start to sink, coughing and sputtering as my head dips below the surface and I struggle to rise.

  I am wild with panic, flailing and fighting, and it is only when my bare feet touch sand that I realize that the water is shallow. Relief washes over me like the tide; I am not drowning. I am only floundering, and once I find Damien, I know that I will be steady again.

  I regain my balance and press my palms to the ocean's surface, feeling it pulse beneath my skin with the motion of the waves and the pull of the tide. A current tugs at my ankles, silently urging me to let go. To melt into the water and submit to the power of the ocean.

  Damien, I think, certain that I have found him. He is the ocean. He is power and motion and grace and beauty, and the reason I cannot find him is because he is already there. Surrounding me, stroking me, urging me to come to him.

  I relax and give in to his sensual lure, letting the water tug me down, down, down, until my entire body is below the crystalline surface. I open my eyes and realize that I can see all the way to eternity. The world here beneath the waves is vibrant and alive, an explosion of colors despite the darkness of night above. I watch in awe as an orange and red coral reef rises above me. Fish dart to and fro, as if late for important engagements.

  I have forgotten to breathe, and I panic, then realize that breath is not required at all. This is where I belong. Here, in the nether land. Here, where Damien surrounds me.

  Except ...

  Except it is not Damien I feel around me. Not his comfort, nor his warmth. On the contrary, I feel cold. Lost.

  Most of all, I feel afraid.

  A little frantic, I search the ocean. I want to cry out, but the water presses against me, and I cannot. My heart pounds a fearful rhythm in my chest, and the vibrations radiate out, causing the sea to churn.

  I reach to steady myself, but there is nothing to hold. I grapple, searching for purchase and finding none. I try to cry out, to beg for Damien to hold me, but no sound comes out.

  And then I see him, and my heart twists.

  He is standing near me, his torso rising above the water while his feet are planted in the sand. I watch from my odd perspective beneath the water as the waves buffet him. He reaches out a hand. At first I think it is to steady himself, and then I realize that he is reaching for me. I slog forward, my own hand extended. I can almost touch him. Just a little bit closer ...

  My fingers brush his, and I almost weep with relief--and then he is pulled away, the current taking him, and I cry out in horror as I try to swim toward him, only to find the way blocked. The reef, the wildlife, the tide. Everything in this new universe is conspiring to keep us apart, and when they finally move away and my vision clears, he is gone. There is nothing but ocean as far as the eye can see.

  No! No, I can't have lost him!

  I open my mouth to scream, then choke as the ocean moves in to drown me. I struggle, rising, and suck in air, my ribs aching from the pounding strain of my lungs. I am still coughing out water when I see him floating facedown in front of me.

  I do not hear the scream that is ripped from my throat, but I know that I am slogging through the water, trying desperately to reach his side. I do not know how, but my arms end up around him, and then we are on the beach and I am over him, my mouth on his as I give him air--sweet, sweet air--and beg him to please, please, please come back to me.

  But he doesn't. He just lays there, cold and wet, staring up at me with eyes that should twinkle like the stars but now are as flat as stone.

  "No!" The word is ripped out of me, and I pounce on him again, unwilling to give up. Not able to even conceive that he could be gone.

  I press my lips against his again, determined to give him life. To give him mine, if it comes to that. To do anything and everything to bring him back to me, because there is no way--no way in hell--that I can go on without him.

  But there is nothing.

  Despite my fighting, my pleading, my crying--there is simply nothing.

  But I do not stop. I press on. I push. I plead. I threaten. And, goddammit, I will him to come back, and I do not stop. I cannot stop, because if I stop, then there is nothing left of the world, and I will float off into space, a shell of myself. Lost. And truly and completely alone.

  "Don't you dare," I say, the words ripped from my throat as I thrust the heels of my hands down over his heart. "Don't you dare leave me."

  A tear trickles down my nose, but I do not stop to wipe it away. It falls, landing on Damien's lips. I blink, and another tear follows the first.

  His lashes flutter. Color returns to his cheeks.

  And then his lips move in a word so broken and soft that I almost do not recognize it--"Nikki."

  He is alive. He is back.

  He is mine.

  Chapter 4

  I sit bolt upright, my skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, my breath coming hard and fast. We are on the oversized patio chaise lounge, and Damien's arm is around me. He pulls me back down to him, his voice so soft and gentle that I understand only the sentiment and not the words. It's okay. I'm here. You're safe.

  I close my eyes, letting his strength fill me. And when I have taken all I need, I turn to him. "I'm okay now," I say. "You can let go."

  He brushes my lips with a kiss. "Never."

  I burrow closer, then smile against his shoulder. That one simple word is as comforting as a down blanket in winter, and I am content the rough edges of the dream finally smoothed away by this m
an who loves me.

  "Do you want to tell me about it?"

  "No," I say, then find the words coming anyway. How he was pulled away from me. How everything in the sea seemed to conspire to keep us apart. How I found him dead in water that had been comforting only moments before, but then turned suddenly menacing.

  "I couldn't bring you back," I say, feeling the tears well again.

  "But you did," he says. He pulls me close and captures my mouth with his. The kiss starts out sweet, then turns hot and hard, demanding and possessive. "You did," he repeats once he has released me. "And you will never have cause to bring me back again, because I will never leave you. I was foolish enough to do that before, and it just about killed us both."

  I nod, then take another deep breath, steadying myself. Because I know the truth in what he is saying. Damien wouldn't leave me any more than I would leave him. And yet fear still clutches me, its sharp talons digging in and taking hold.

  Now that I have shaken off sleep, I think I understand the nature of my fears. Despite being married--despite being taken, claimed, possessed by this man that I love so dearly--I am desperately, horribly afraid of losing him, no matter how determined we are to stay together.

  I finger my wedding ring. I thought that I would have no fears once he slipped it on my finger. But even matrimony cannot erase reality, and I know that there are still things out there. Things like Damien's murder trial. Yes, the case was dismissed. But what if it hadn't been? He would have been ripped from me, forced to spend his life behind bars. And there is neither a vow nor a ring that can protect us from that.

  The trial, thank god, is in the past. But there are still horrors lurking in the world. Things that could tear him from me. Things that could crash into our lives, trying to force us apart. His father, for one, who surely isn't done trying to get a piece of Damien. Or Sofia. I can't blame her, his childhood friend, for loving Damien, but I can damn well blame her for trying to rip us apart. She's locked away now, her past and the world having taken their own toll, and while Damien receives regular reports from the doctors that say she is improving, I don't think she will ever be well enough to hold tight to sanity in a world where Damien and I are together.

  And yet at the same time, I know that Damien still loves her like a sister, even though what she did came close to destroying both of us. He declined her request to come to our wedding, and although he had sounded casual when he told me, I know that the necessity of keeping her away hurt him. I can only imagine how much it had angered her, and I stifle a shiver, more glad than I like to admit that she is far away, bound to her treatment by court order.

  As if that weren't enough, there is also my mother, the paparazzi, ex-bosses, ex-lovers, the press, competitors, and god only knows who else. It's a big world, and when you cast as long a shadow as Damien, you make a lot of enemies. And Damien's enemies are mine now, too.

  I was wrong in the dream, I realize. The ocean wasn't Damien. The ocean was the world. And the world is brutal.

  When Damien's hand closes over mine, I realize that I have been unconsciously stroking one of the long scars on my thigh. I wince, both embarrassed and disturbed. I do not cut anymore--with Damien, I don't need to. Not even when my thoughts turn dark and fear seeps into me.

  Yet here I am, groping for that pain, barely even conscious of the need to find my center, and that simple fact scares me. Because I do not understand the insecurity that has led me to touch that most horrible of souvenirs.

  I wait for Damien to comment on it, but he doesn't. Instead, he gently traces my wedding ring. After a moment, he says only, "I was wrong back in Malibu."

  I frown. "What are you talking about?"

  "I told you we didn't need the ceremony. That it was just a formality because you and I were already one. I was wrong."

  I cock my head. "We're not one?"

  He chuckles. "About that, I was right on the money. But I was wrong about not needing the ceremony."

  "You were? How?"

  "How many times have we faced the world together and survived?" he asks, and I know right now that he understands my fears. "How many times has that world tried to tear us apart? Your mother, Sofia, the past?"

  I don't answer, but it doesn't matter; he is not expecting me to.

  "Our wedding is our bond. Our promise and our proof. It's a symbol to the world around us that we'll fight and that we'll win. Most of all, that we are one."

  He spreads his fingers, his eyes locked on his own ring. "A simple silver band," he says. "But it's made of titanium, and that's about as strong as it gets." He meets my eyes, and I am awed by the ferocity reflected back at me. "There's nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart. Not anymore."

  I look down at my own ring, a platinum band accompanying a stunning diamond solitaire. "Maybe I should trade this in for titanium."

  "Not necessary," he says, as he takes my hand, holding it so that our two rings touch. "I will always give you the strength you need."

  "I know." I wish there was a way to fill the sound of my voice with everything that is inside me. I clutch tight to his hand and pull him toward me as I stretch out on the chaise. "I want you now," I say. "I want to feel my husband inside me."

  His grin is slightly wicked and slightly amused. "Convenient," he says. "Because at the moment I'm overcome by the urge to ravish my wife."

  I manage a fake yawn and pat my hand over my mouth. "So unoriginal. After all, you did that just a few hours ago."

  "And you have a better idea?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes." I shift on the chaise so that I am straddling him. "I was thinking that I should ravish my husband."

  "Were you?" He is on his back, and I am sitting just above his pubic bone. I feel his cock twitch, teasing my ass. I rise up, then scoot backward just a bit. He is fully erect now, and I hold his cock with one hand while I wiggle my hips to position myself. I keep my eyes on Damien as I do and watch the storm building. He knows what I'm up to--how could he not?--but that doesn't stop his groan of surprise and pleasure when I quickly lower my body, impaling myself on his steel-hard cock.

  "Yes," I say in answer to his question. "I was."

  My voice is breathy, and I rock a bit as I speak, using my knees to rise up and down. I ride him hard and fast, my back arched, my breath coming in ragged bursts. I do not close my eyes, and in unspoken agreement, neither does he.

  Damien Stark is as necessary to me as my blood. He is what makes me whole, what makes me alive. And as I move on him--as I feel him hard inside me, so vibrant and vital--I watch the passion burn like fire in his eyes and know with unerring certainty that it is the same for him.

  "Now." Without warning, he grasps me by the hips. I cry out as both pain and pleasure rock through me when he slams me harder against him, thrusting his cock even deeper so that I feel the shock of him through every cell, filling me until I'm right on the precipice.

  "Come with me now," he says, and the passion and need in his voice push me that rest of the way over. My sex clenches tight around him, and I cry out from the force of the explosion that rips through my body even as Damien's hips thrust up and he empties himself into me.

  I fall forward, my heart pounding and my body trembling as the final shocks of both my own orgasm and his rumble through me. "Damien," I murmur.

  "I know," he replies.

  Later, we spoon together, drifting in that place that is neither sleep nor wakefulness. He is behind me, his body tucked against mine, making me feel safe and warm. So much so that I make a soft noise of protest when he pushes himself up on an elbow.

  He chuckles in response to my protest, and I am about to voice my objections even more loudly when he begins to trail his finger lightly over my side, along the curve of my waist and hip. I sigh and snuggle backward, ensuring maximum contact. Right then, I feel so light, warm, and sated, so satisfied I think I could simply melt into the mattress. "Please tell me that I never have to move again."

  "I could tell you that." I
hear the hint of a tease in his voice. "I could probably even make it happen, though it would be an expensive proposition. Another couple has rented this bungalow, and I believe they're scheduled to arrive in just under five hours."

  I roll over in his arms. "Another--"

  "And if you never move again we'd undoubtedly miss our plane. Not to mention the honeymoon I've planned."

  I sit up, enjoying the way the cool air caresses my heated skin.

  "Well," Damien says. "I do like this view." He traces his finger lightly over my breast, and my already erect nipple becomes even tighter.

  "Honeymoon?" I repeat. "I thought this--" But I cut myself off. Of course this isn't our actual honeymoon destination. While I had been planning our wedding, Damien had been planning the honeymoon. But our decision to elope had been last-minute, and Damien had taken care of that, too. Only now do I realize that I had been assuming the two destinations were one and the same. Clearly, that assumption sat somewhere to the left of reality.

  "Okay," I say after making all the necessary mental readjustments. "Where are we going?"

  "Where? Were you not listening earlier? Honeymoon tradition. Remote location. Intense seduction." He draws a lazy pattern on my bare breasts, leaving a trail of heat and renewed desire.

  "I'm all for intense seduction," I admit. "But if you're expecting to get me out of bed, you're going at it all wrong."

  "You may have a point." There's laughter in his voice, and he's sporting a smug grin as he eases off the chaise lounge. "I can't tell you, but maybe a hint."

  I watch as he moves back inside, then returns moments later with a small jewelry box. He hands it to me, and I open it slowly, wanting to savor the surprise. Inside is a delicate bracelet with a single silver charm.

  The Eiffel Tower.

  I gasp, then throw my arms around Damien's neck. "We're really going to Paris?"

  "We really are," he says.

  I laugh, delighted. "Merci," I say, drawing on my rusty high school French. And though he knows it already, I add, "Je t'aime. Beaucoup."

  "I love you, too," he says. "So very much."

  Chapter 5

  The buttery leather of the Bombardier's passenger seat envelops me, and I breathe deep, frustrated by how antsy I am despite feeling at home in Damien's private jet. Correction, one of Damien's private jets. As best I can tell, he has a fleet of them.