“Who is it?” I call, just in case it is Katie.
“It’s me,” he says, and because I am already so desperate for him, the simple sound of his voice makes my body tremble and my sex clench with need.
“Come in,” I say, but it doesn’t matter. He has already turned the knob and the door is pushing inward.
“Sorry about that,” he says, still in the hallway. “There was some mix-up with the flight plan, and—”
He breaks off, sucks in air, and shuts the door fast behind him. Then he stands frozen, his eyes taking in every inch of me, the examination so slow and methodical that I almost believe that his gaze is a physical touch.
I am naked and mostly spread-eagled on the bed. The thing about jets is that seat belts are required, and though Damien and I routinely sit in the more traditional main cabin during takeoff and landing, even the stateroom’s bed has belts that can be used in the case of turbulence.
Or in the case of seduction.
It had only taken a few moments to use the straps and buckles on the far end of the bed to secure my ankles. Much trickier had been the task of securing my left hand above me. But I’d managed it. Now that arm is extended and bound, leaving me more or less immobile. Only my right hand is free, and I can tell simply from the rhythm of Damien’s breathing that he is well aware of the way the fingers of my free hand are stroking my very wet, very sensitive sex.
“Christ, Nikki.”
I just grin, feeling both desirable and very, very smug. I know damn well what he is looking at, and the surge of feminine power at having both surprised and silenced Damien Stark makes me more than a little giddy.
“Hi,” I say, my voice low and sultry. “I poured you a drink. Why don’t you get it and come over here?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m having a fine time just standing here and watching.”
“Really?” I keep my voice light, but soft. And as I speak, my fingers never leave my sex. “I’m having a nice time, too.”
“So I see.”
“Mmm.” I slide a finger deep inside myself, lifting my hips and releasing a low, desperate moan as I do. My plan may have been to get Damien worked up, but it’s working equally well on me, and I’m so damned aroused right now that it is all I can do not to take myself all the way, then watch Damien’s face as I shatter in front of him.
But no. This isn’t a solo act. I want his hands, his mouth. I want to feel him on top of me. I want his cock inside me.
I want the wildness, the release. I want to see Damien Stark’s famous control shatter, and I want to know that I am the one who did that to him.
Wife, I think.
Damn right.
I keep my eyes on his face, then withdraw my hand. Slowly, I trail my finger up my belly, then over my cleavage. When I trace a circle around my nipple, I see a muscle tighten in his cheek. But when I bring my hand to my mouth and draw my finger in between my lips, his composure breaks and he actually growls even as he crosses to me in one long stride.
I laugh, delighted, then slowly slide my finger out from between my lips. I smile up at him, my eyes wide and innocent. “Feeling a bit desperate, Mr. Stark?”
“With you, always.”
I sigh with satisfaction. I feel exactly the same way.
He is standing even with my shoulder, his hip brushing the side of the bed. Now he reaches out to trace his fingers up my bare arm until he reaches the strap that binds my wrist in place. “Interesting,” he murmurs, then steps backward, letting his fingers trail behind him as he moves, so that he is lightly stroking my ribs, my waist, my hip.