“Your breasts. Your nipples. The insides of your thighs. I want you wet for me, baby. A little drunk and a whole lot wet.”
“Damien.” I barely breathe his name. His words have gone to my head like the wine he wants me to drink—like the margaritas I already have drunk. My teeth graze over my lower lip, and I realize that I’m making small, gyrating movements with my hips, the pressure of the seam of my jeans against my throbbing sex taking me so very, very close.
“Do you understand?” he asks.
“Mmm.”
“And when you get my text that I’m pulling in to the garage, I want you to go in the bedroom and lie facedown on the bed. Then spread your legs. I’ll be there soon, and when I step into the bedroom the first thing I want to see is you wide open and wet for me. I’ve missed you today, Nikki,” he adds, his voice a low, demanding growl. “I need to touch you. I want my hand on your cunt when you come, and I want to hold you tight as you tremble in my arms. Mostly, I want to hear you scream my name.”
I can’t help myself—I moan aloud.
“What?” Jamie calls from her bedroom. Her voice fills the apartment. And completely erases the sensual haze to which I have succumbed.
I sit up, my head throbbing with both the motion and the realization that I was very close to getting off with my best friend in the next room.
“Nothing,” I shout to her. “I’m just talking to Damien.”
“Sorry, what?” she says, poking her head out of the door. “I’m off the phone. Ready to start the movie again?”
“I—” I hesitate, drawing in a deep breath. I’m still limp and tingly simply from Damien’s words, and I want nothing more than his touch. But I’ve seen so little of Jamie lately, and now we’re in the middle of a girls’ night and—
I draw in a breath. “Hang on,” I tell Jamie. “I’m on the phone.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She disappears into the kitchen.
“You still there?” I say into the phone.
“Always.”
“Listen, what you just said, it sounds wonderful—”
“I’m very glad you think so.”
“But I can’t. Not tonight.”
There is silence.
“Damien? You there?”
“I’m here.” I can tell nothing from his tone.
“It’s just that Jamie and I are doing a girls’ night, and—”
“It’s okay,” he says, and this time I hear the emotion in his voice. There is regret, yes. But I think there is also understanding. “I’m disappointed.”
“Me, too,” I say. “You going to survive without me?” I add, trying to add some lightness.
“It will be hard,” he says, “but it’s probably for the best.”
“Thanks a lot,” I say, and laugh.
“I have a stack of reports I need to get through this weekend. If I can get through them tonight, then Saturday and Sunday are yours.”
“In that case, I have no guilt whatsoever. Go forth and review, buy, trade, or barter. Whatever it is you do to keep the Damien Stark universe from collapsing.”
“I’ll get right on that,” he says evenly. “And I’ll see you tomorrow. You can tell me all about your first day then.”
“Okay.”
“Until then,” he whispers, “think of me, touching you.”
“I always do,” I say, before we end the call.
I’m grinning as I toss my phone down beside me on the bed, and when I turn and see Jamie come back from the kitchen with a bag of chips and a bowl of salsa, I can’t help but smile even wider. “How can you even think about eating more? I’m stuffed.”
“Like anyone could be too full for chips.” She crawls back onto the bed and nods at the phone. “Did he want you to come over tonight?”
“He wanted me at the apartment when he got home from the desert,” I say. And, yeah, I’m still smiling. I may not be going, but the thought is still nice.
“Seriously?” Jamie leans over and feels my forehead.
I shrug away. “What are you doing?”
“Checking for fever. Are you ill? I thought that all Damien had to do was crook his finger and you’d come.”
“I told him we were hanging out tonight,” I say. And then, because I just can’t resist, I add, “And for the record, you’re right. He crooks his finger, and I most definitely come.”
Jamie rocks with laughter, and after another slug of margarita, I join in. We settle back against the pillows and watch as Alan Rickman joins the party. Soon Bruce is kicking butt and taking names and we’re glued to the screen. Since this is Jamie’s favorite classic action flick, I’ve seen it at least a dozen times, but I still jump when Rickman kills the boss.
Naturally, that’s when my phone rings again.
It’s Ollie.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Are you with Stark?”
It’s an innocent enough question, I suppose, but I stiffen anyway. “No. Why?”
He sighs, and I realize he heard the terseness in my voice. “I just didn’t want to interrupt. Swear to God.”
“Sorry. No, I’m at home.”