But I don’t bother to finish the question, because he has finished and I know what he was doing. He was binding my hands as he has done my legs so that I am fully strapped down, bound to this long, leather bench in the back of a limo.
“Do you want it, Nikki? Do you want me to fuck you?”
“You know that I do.” I keep my voice calm even though I want to scream—Yes, yes, goddammit, yes.
He cocks his head. “What was that?” he asks, and I almost cry with frustration.
“Yes,” I say. “Please, sir.”
His smile is slow and a little too self-satisfied. He moves toward me and I see that he has a small pair of bandage scissors in his hand. He slides a blade under the lace of my thong, snips twice, then rips the material free.
I arch and shudder, my body begging as much as my words. “Please, Damien. Please, please fuck me.”
“Believe me, Ms. Fairchild, there’s nothing I’m looking forward to more. But no. I don’t think so. Not yet.”
I actually whimper.
He bends forward to whisper in my ear. “What if I told you to touch yourself? Ah, but you can’t do that, either.”
I tug at the belt that is binding my hands, but I’m not going anywhere. I can shift right and left a little, but for the most part, where he bound me is where I’ll stay.
He reaches down and plucks up the hem of my shirt, managing the maneuver without actually touching my skin, despite the way my back arches up, as if my body is determined to try even though my mind knows it’s futile. After a moment, he has my shirt pulled up, exposing the lacy bra and the serpentine chain that stretches between my very erect nipples. He runs his finger over the chain, then gives it a gentle tug, causing me to arch up as hot threads of electricity sizzle through my body, racing from my breast to my throbbing cunt.
“Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “I love how hot you get, how your body responds. Do you know what it does to me, knowing that you’ve given yourself over so fully to me? No barriers, no inhibitions. Just mine. To touch, to tempt, to tease.”
“Anything you want, Mr. Stark.” My voice is raw with passion. “Anything you need.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” he says, as he moves away from me to sit on the bench that runs the length of the limo, perpendicular to this long backseat across which I am strapped. “Right now, I just want to look at you. The flush on your skin. Your cunt, swollen and wet and begging for me. Your hard nipples and the rise and fall of your chest as you try to control your breathing. It makes me hard, Nikki, so goddamn hard to see you like this, laid out and wanting, and knowing that I am the one who brought you there.”
I can only moan. Words are impossible, the power of speech obliterated by the violence of the emotions raging through me.
He leans over and punches the intercom button, then asks the driver how close we are to the hotel. We’re just a few blocks away, and I don’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated when Damien tells the driver to circle the block until he says otherwise.
Then he clicks off, smiles at me, and pours himself a shot of whiskey over ice. His eyes never leave my face as he tilts the glass back and takes a long, deep swallow before moving back to my side, the glass still in his hand.
“Open,” he says.
I open my mouth, and he takes out a cube of ice, holding it between two fingers and his thumb. He brushes it gently over my lips, and I open wider, reaching out with my tongue to taste the smooth liquor. It’s gone too soon, though. Because he eases down until he is holding the ice cube over my belly, and three fat drops fall from the cube to land upon my overheated flesh. The sensation is electrifying, and I arch up, gasping. Wanting. The droplets swirl on my skin with the motion, leaving a cool trail down to my pubic bone. My skin quivers, my need like a palpable thing.