Enchant Me, Page 3

“I’m sorry to say they’re both dead. Killed in a car wreck many years ago. But I was quite close with both of them. If they were aware of the abuse, I think they would have started counseling for Sofia much earlier.”

  I sigh, hating that there are no easy answers or obvious suspects. Hell, hating the whole thing. And most of all, hating the fact that Evelyn has been drawn into it as well, and on this of all days.

  “I hate it, too,” she says when I say as much. “But tonight, I’ll be married to the man I love, just like you. So you go on now, Texas. We both know that yours needs you.”

  She’s right, of course. And though Damien said he was going to go see to Frank, I’m confident that wasn’t his actual destination. So I kiss Evelyn on the cheek, then hurry downstairs, certain that I know exactly where he’ll be.

  3

  Pow! Blam, pow! Damien’s fists landed hard on the bag, one jab, then another and another. His shoulders and upper arms burned from the force of his punches, his knuckles raw and battered. He should have worn gloves or taped his hands. Damien knew that.

  But he’d wear his Brioni suit like armor when he walked Evelyn down the aisle, so maybe no one would notice. He’d be Damien Stark, a man who exuded power. Who faced adversity head-on. And who was about to formally welcome a woman he’d known since childhood into his family.

  Yeah. He could hide the pain, the frustration, the goddamn demons. Not a soul in those crisp white chairs would see through his disguise.

  Except for Nikki.

  She saw him clearer than anyone. She’d see. She’d know.

  He hit the bag harder. A quick one-two punch. Was that why he was doing it? So she would see his pain? So that she’d pull him close and insist on holding him even though he’d pushed her away. Because, dammit, he needed her.

  He always needed her.

  But not like this, he thought as he brutalized the bag, his breath coming hard as his heart rate increased. Not tumbled sideways into memories he’d believed were finally—finally—buried. Memories that used to fill him with hate and regret. The same damn memories that once made him tighten his grip on his world, molding it to his own making in business, but leaving him cold and alone, even when he was surrounded by people who admired him. Who professed to love him, to want him.

  Memories that had made him doubt if he’d ever truly love or be loved. Ever have a real family or a life punctuated by joy rather than pain and fear and self-recrimination and the constant struggle to hold tighter and do more just to prove that he could. Because if he couldn’t—if that control slipped through his fingers—then he was nothing more than that scared, broken, manipulated boy he’d tried so hard to leave behind.

  He’d put on a good show, that was for damn sure. But he’d never truly believed he could be anything else. Not really. Not until Nikki.

  She was his heart, his soul, his love. And together they’d managed to build the life he’d always craved but never quite imagined. They’d fought for this life, this home, their children. And yet over and over, the horrors of the past had encroached. And despite all his control, all his billions, he couldn’t keep the goddamn gates closed.

  Blam, pow!

  Another jab, followed by a left hook as he danced around the bag, his bare chest now beaded with sweat. His suit was hanging neatly over the pommel horse. The benefit of having a full gym on the far north side of the house. He was stripped down to boxer briefs and sweating as much as he ever had after a match at Wimbledon. He wanted the ache. Wanted to push himself.

  Himself? Hell, he wanted to push the images out of his head. The ones in that goddamn text, and the ones that lived in his memory.

  With a gasp, he landed two more punches, then danced back, breathing hard.

  “Sofia,” he whispered. “God knows I loved you, but will you ever stop haunting me?”

  The words were choked out with a sob, and he hunched over, his hands going to his knees as he sucked in oxygen.

  He was a fool. A goddamn idiot. Because he’d truly thought he was past all this. That his decision so many years ago to release the original photos himself and suffer whatever the press threw at him would be the end of it. And for a while, it was. For years, the vultures had backed off the subject. They’d respected his privacy, more or less. They’d celebrated the adoption and birth of his children. They’d sympathized when Anne was kidnapped, and rejoiced when Nikki’s pregnancy with Bradley was announced. The gossip hounds, it seemed, had been tamed.

  Except how can you truly tame a wild beast? They fed on scandal and gossip, and while the text Charles had sent Damien as he’d reached the gym confirmed that his attorneys were already on the ball, he also knew that Charles and his team weren’t infallible.

  Not that it mattered. It wasn’t the possibility that the video would go public that was eating at him. Not really. Just as it wasn’t the fact that he hadn’t known the video still existed. It hadn’t surfaced, and so he’d foolishly let himself believe it was gone. That Richter had erased it or destroyed it. And that, finally, Damien could close that chapter of his life and start a new one with Nikki.

  Now, somebody had yanked that door wide open again.

  He landed another five punches in quick succession, then stood up straight, realizing he wasn’t alone. He closed his eyes, his body already burning with awareness of her. “I didn’t want you to follow me here,” he whispered, not sure if he was speaking the truth or a lie.

  “The hell you didn’t.” Her voice was soft but strong, and her tone was level, without the slightest hint of recrimination. “You need me, Damien. And you’re a fool if you think I don’t need you, too.”

  He drew in a breath, trying to quell the fury that had been fueling him. “I always need you.” The words couldn’t be more true if he tried. He turned to face her, then wished he hadn’t when he saw both the love and the worry in her eyes. “But not like this, Nikki,” he said. “Not right now. Not in the middle of a goddamn celebration.”

  “Bullshit. Seriously, Damien, for a man who is so smart, how can you not get it through your head that I understand you. I know you. And you know me. Do you think this is easy on me? No—,” she said, holding up a hand as he started to speak. “I don’t mean that it was hard to see the video. Of course it was, but not because it changes what you are to me. It was hard because the people in that video were children. Because you were one of those kids. And because Richter was a vile and disgusting human and you were at his mercy. That gets inside me, Damien. It makes me feel angry and helpless, and—”

  “Helpless?”

  “Why not?” She took a step closer. “Aren’t I? After everything we’ve been through, everything we know about each other, it’s not me you come to but the gym? The goddamn gym, Damien? Would you let me get away with that? Going to the blade instead of to you?”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Yes, it is.” She moved closer still, until he could smell the lavender scent of her body wash and see the beat of her pulse in her neck. Her eyes flashed as she grabbed the waistband of his briefs and tugged him closer.

  “Do you remember after we got Anne back? The way you pulled away from me? I thought I’d lost you until that night on the tennis court. More important, I thought that after that night, we were past this, you thinking you have to protect me. You not understanding that I need you, too.”

  She was crying now, tears escaping to trickle down her cheeks. “Dammit, Damien. You know how much I need you right now, just like you need me. And you do. I know you do, but, dammit, you’re torturing us both.”

  She said the last with a frustrated shove to his chest, but he caught her by the wrists, then yanked her toward him, hating her words, but knowing they were true. He’d done the exact thing he’d chastised her over when she’d cut after Anne’s kidnapping. She’d gone to the blade instead of going to him.

  And here he was, pummeling a bag instead of going to her, even though he knew—they both knew—that the only way to find his way again was thr
ough Nikki. He needed that control. Needed to feel something good and right. Needed to have her surrender because she wanted him and needed him as much as he needed her.

  “Baby,” he said, but it was the only word he could manage before he had to claim her. His mouth closed over hers in a wild, violent kiss, all teeth and tongue and need and desperation. He wanted to get lost in the feel of her, the scent of her. She was his everything. His love, his life.

  Most of all, she was his way back home. A tether to keep him grounded. A rope, to pull him out of this dark, black pit.

  He kissed her deeper, his hand sliding between them to cup her sex through the thin athletic shorts she’d pulled on this morning. He slid his palm up her thigh, relishing the soft moan as his thumb stroked her tender skin. He deepened the kiss, lifting his hand in time with the way his tongue was fucking her mouth. Aching for the moment when his finger grazed her soft folds, slippery with desire.

  He thrust his fingers inside her, then groaned as her body tightened around him. She moaned with pleasure, her body arching back as she silently begged him to go harder, deeper. He complied, wanting to make her wild. Wanting to watch her face as she came, knowing he took her there.

  But he wanted so much more right now. Hell, he wanted everything. Wanted to take her. To claim her. Even more, he wanted her desperate for him. Wild and needy, unsatisfied until he decided it was time to let her come. He needed that, craved it. To experience the power and control she so willingly gave him, even when the rest of the world seemed steadfast in its attempt to defy him.

  He pulled away, taking a step back and breaking contact. She whimpered in protest, her own hand slipping under the band of those shorts to continue what he’d started. Her eyes fluttered closed, her head tilting back. Her nipples were tight against her tee, tempting him, and she was biting her lower lip as her hand moved beneath the material of her shorts. He heard her soft moan as he stepped closer, craving the feel of her skin against his, her mouth pliant beneath his.

  But he didn’t touch her. That wasn’t the game. Not yet. Instead, he spoke one word, clear and firm. “No.”

  Her eyes opened, and she met his gaze, but she didn’t stop. On the contrary, her eyes locked firmly on his as her hand continued to tease her pussy, her other easing up underneath her tee to play with her nipple.

  “Baby, you’re being very, very bad.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “I know.”

  Enough of that. He moved forward, grabbing her waistband and tugging her toward him before claiming both her hands. He lifted them above her head, his own hand capturing both her wrists. She looked at him defiantly, her brows rising. “Something you want, Mr. Stark?”

  Hell, yes, there was. He wanted her. To have her. To tame her. To see her naked and on her knees, her gorgeous mouth around his cock as he held her by the hair while she took him right to the edge.

  A nice fantasy, but it ended abruptly when she pulled free of his hand. She danced backward, away from him. Her skin flushed, her breath coming in gasps. And he knew her well enough to know that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. “Take off your clothes.”

  She didn’t comply. Instead, she cupped her breasts over the tee, tilted her head to the side, and simply said, “No.”

  His eyes widened, though he wasn’t sure if he was amused or frustrated. Either way, he was painfully turned on, and his wife was playing games. “Nikki…”

  “You think it’s that easy?” She bit her lower lip as she stepped toward him. “Just tell me to strip, and I will?” She put her hands on his shoulders then rose on her toes so she could whisper in his ear. “Make me. Sir.”

  His cock tightened, and he almost groaned aloud. He knew what she was doing—playing a control game. Manipulating him into taking what he needed. Into working through today’s frustrations on her. He understood all of that, and oh, God, he loved her for it. More than that, he needed exactly what she was offering. The fact that she knew it too—that they both understood each other so well—was both a miracle and the biggest turn-on of his life.

  He stepped closer, then took the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head before tossing it onto the floor. He put his hands on her shoulders, then trailed them down, teasing the swell of her breasts before closing his hands over them. “Close your eyes,” he ordered, pinching her nipples as she did, then reveling in her breathy gasp and the way she arched back, as if giving even more of herself to him.

  Need curled through him, his mind clear but his body firing with lust, with a desire to toss aside the teasing and the game playing and simply take. He wanted to, damn him. To use her. To have her. And the miracle was that she would not only let him, she wanted it, too.

  Tempting. So damn tempting.

  But he wanted something else more. Wanted to watch as she submitted to him. Wanted to see the flush on her skin as her desire built. Wanted to go slowly, taking and teasing until neither one of them could stand it any longer.

  He dropped to his knees, his hands sliding down to her hips. He hooked his fingers in the elastic band of her shorts, then tugged them down. They were the kind with panties built in, and once they were gone, she was naked in front of him and so damn beautiful.

  He cupped her ass, then pressed his lips above her navel, teasing her with kisses, lower and lower until his tongue found her clit. He sucked and teased until her hands clenched in his hair and she was grinding against him. Then he pulled back, tilted his head, and met her eyes. “You defied me.”

  Her hand slid down her belly until her fingers reached her pussy. “Yes, Sir.”

  He took her hand away and stood, his eyes never leaving hers. “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  Dear God, he was hard. “Nikki…”

  “Because you like it when I’m bad.” She leaned forward, then reached out to cup his cock, now straining against his briefs. “I’d say you like it a lot.”

  She was twisting their game, defying him more than she usually did, and Christ if that wasn’t exactly what he craved today.

  “The defiance?” he murmured, moving closer and slipping two fingers into her soaked pussy. “Hell, no. What I like is the punishment.” He tugged, his fingers still inside her as he urged her toward him. She gasped and stumbled forward, her body clenching around him when his palm barely brushed her clit.

  “You’re being exceptionally naughty,” he said.

  “Am I?” He could hear her effort at control, her attempt to keep her voice level. Her skin was so flushed she looked on fire, and the fact that it was him she burned for was the biggest turn-on of all.

  “I don’t know, Sir,” she continued with the kind of sexy smile that went right to his cock. “If I’m being bad, I guess you’ll just have to punish me.”

  4

  You’ll just have to punish me…

  My words linger in the air, my entire body on fire and ready … and not at all certain what Damien intends to do.

  “With me,” he says, extending his hand, his voice rigid with command. I take it, and he leads me to the pommel horse. His suit hangs over it, and he picks it up in a bundle, moving it quickly to the mat. “Bend over,” he orders, “arms around the handles.”

  I do as he says, and he steps behind me, his hands stroking the curve of my ass. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, sliding his hands lower until he reaches the back of my knees, then sliding his palms up until he encounters the raised flesh of the scars on my inner thighs. “So, so beautiful,” he murmurs, as I close my eyes and lose myself in the feel of him, this man I trust more than anyone.

  “But you’ve been naughty, baby, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Just saying the words send shivers of awareness coursing through me.

  “Maybe I should spank you.” As he speaks, he’s rubbing slow, gentle circles on my ass. “What do you think?”

  I think that I’m a hairsbreadth from coming right then, but all I say is, “Whatever you think best, Sir.”

  I
hear him suck in air. “Good girl,” he says as his hand breaks contact, only to land again a moment later, a harsh smack on my tender ass. I cry out, relishing the sting, that enticing combination of pleasure and pain, then moan aloud when his palm once again gently rubs my ass, as if soothing away the sting.

  He bends over me, and I feel his cock pressing against my rear, obviously free from his briefs. “I think you need another, baby. But first I want you to spread your legs.”

  I do, and I feel his cock slide against my pussy, teasing me with the promise of pleasure to follow the pain. I whimper, rocking my hips, rubbing myself along his cock.

  “Definitely a bad girl,” he teases. “Naked and wanting to get fucked, and any knowing all too well that anyone could just walk right in here.”

  For a moment, I freeze, because he’s right. The gym door doesn’t have a lock—there’s no point. But I relax almost immediately. No one on staff will come in when the door is closed, and Damien knows that as well as I do. But I can’t deny that the fantasy makes me even more wet.

  “It turns you on, doesn’t it, baby? The thought of getting caught?”

  “Yes,” I admit, as he leans back, then rubs my other ass cheek before landing another smack that has me gasping from the sweet sting of pleasure.

  “That’s it, baby.”

  “Please,” I beg. “Damien, please.”

  “Please, what?”

  “Please touch me. Please fuck me.”

  “Like this?” he asks, slipping his fingers between my legs. I’m so wet, he easily slides three inside me, and I writhe shamelessly, wanting him deeper and harder.

  “Yes,” I murmur. “Oh, God, yes.”

  “Or maybe like this,” he whispers, then eases his fingers out of me, grazing them along my perineum to my ass, then teasing the sensitive area with his fingertip. “Should I take you like this? Hard and fast?”

  “Oh, God, Damien. Yes.”

  “Mmm,” he says, then bends over. “Soon, but not here. Turn around, baby.”