“Easy,” he says. “Slow and easy. God, Nikki, you feel so good.” He’s inside me now, moving in a gentle rhythm. The sensation of being completely filled with him is overwhelming, and I think I could come just from the feel of him inside me like this.
“Touch my clit,” I say because he’s taken his hand away. He complies, stroking in easy circles that match the rhythm of his thrusts, and Damien and I are more connected than we’ve ever been. He moves slowly, careful not to hurt me. His arm is around my hip, his hand stroking my clit, and my climax is building with his.
“I’m close, Nikki,” he whispers. “Baby, I’m going to come.”
His release is fast and hard, and as he comes inside me his hand presses against my clit, the extra pressure taking me over the brink as well. We collapse together, and he kisses my shoulder, my back, holding me close until our breathing slows. “You’re mine,” he says.
“I know,” I reply, and I mean it completely.
I don’t know what kind of favors Damien had to call in, but he gets me an appointment that evening at one of the best salons in Beverly Hills, and so I end up at dinner that night sporting a darling new haircut. Shoulder-length curls that bounce when I walk now that they’re not weighed down by the length of all that hair.
I’m showered and shaved and sweet-smelling again. The dinner was to die for, and the chocolate torte is almost as good as an orgasm.
Best of all, I have Damien beside me.
Life is good again.
I take a sip of my white chocolate martini and then kiss the tip of his nose. “Ladies’ room,” I say. “I won’t be long.” I start to slide out, but he holds me back, then kisses me so hard and deep I almost melt into the booth.
“Hurry. I want to go home. I have plans for you.”
“Get the check,” I say.
“Are you finished with dessert?”
I let my gaze glide slowly over him. “Finished? I haven’t even started.”
I’m rewarded by the heat in his eyes, and I flash a coy smile before turning away and heading toward the back of the restaurant, letting my hips swing just a little as I move. My grin dies, however, when I hit the narrow hallway and see Carl coming.
“Well, if it isn’t Nikki Fairchild. Hello, princess. You still fucking Damien Stark? Guess what? So am I.”
I’d intended to brush right past him, but that stops me. “What are you talking about?”
“Skeletons,” he says. “The kind that live in closets.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” But I feel cold anyway.
“I’m just thinking about how high and mighty our Mr. Stark is. You land pretty hard when you fall from the stratosphere.”
“Dammit, Carl, what are you telling me?”
“You? Not a goddamn thing. But tell loverboy I’ll be in touch.”
He walks away from me. I decide to skip the ladies’ room and return to Damien. I give him a rundown of the conversation and watch his face grow hard.
“Do you know what he’s going on about?” I ask, thinking about the abuse that he still hasn’t told me about.
“No,” he says. His voice sounds calm, natural. But there’s a shadow in his eyes. That same coldness settles around me, and I’m afraid that he’s going to shut down and push me out. But then he draws in a breath and pulls me close. “Probably some shit to do with my father,” he says. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want either my father or Carl Rosenfeld to ruin our evening.”
He pulls me close and kisses me hard, and I nod agreement. Right now, I don’t want either of those men between us, either.
Back at the Malibu house, we make love slowly and sweetly, and I lose myself in Damien’s touch, letting him erase all my fears and worries. In the shower, he soaps me down, gently stroking the cloth over all of me, then rinsing us both off until we feel clean and new. He wraps me in a towel and leads me back to the bed, then slides under the sheets with me.