Play My Game

I murmur his name, and am rewarded by his soft “Shhh. Just relax.” Easier said than done, but I close my eyes and let the sensation of Damien’s expert touch take over, taking me all the way to the edge until, finally, he pushes me over and I explode in his arms as the sun sets on our first Valentine’s Day.

I’m curled up in bed, wearing nothing but Damien’s Wimbledon T-shirt, one leg tossed negligently across his thigh as I lick a chocolate ice cream–covered spoon.

Beside me, Damien has his laptop open and is scouring the internet as the kitten attacks our toes with military-like determination. “Still nothing,” Damien says, squirming a bit under Sunshine’s assault.

“Then it worked. You didn’t pay, and they didn’t release the photos or the tape.”

“Looks that way,” Damien says, though he doesn’t look as happy about it as I feel.

“You still want to know who’s behind it.”

“Very much,” he says.

“You’ll find them. Ryan’s on it, right?”

“He is. And eventually we’ll find them.”

“Damn right, you will,” I say. “So worry about it tomorrow. I don’t want those stupid threats touching any more of our day than they already have.”

“Touché, Mrs. Stark.” He sets the laptop aside, and grabs the red ribbon. He holds on to one end and tosses the ribbon toward the cat, who is immediately fascinated. She stares at the wiggling end of the ribbon, her eyes wide and her orange fur spiked out in attack mode. Damien and I both hold our breath, swallowing laughter as her little butt wiggles, her tail spiky. Finally—after much observation—she pounces, attacking the end of the ribbon with all the panache of a jaguar going after its prey.

I laugh, delighted, and she abandons the ribbon just long enough to flop onto her back and wiggle.

Damien reaches down and scratches her belly and is rewarded by the kitten grabbing hold and gnawing his hand. He grins at me, and my heart melts a little.

“I could have sworn you told me you didn’t want us to turn domestic,” I tease.

“Is that what this is?” he asks, taking the ribbon and wiggling it again. “Domesticity?”

I offer him a spoonful of ice cream. “Yeah. I think it is.”

He licks the spoon, then takes my finger and dips it into the ice cream. Then he offers my finger to the kitten, who runs her rough little tongue over it, making me laugh again. “In that case,” Damien says, “I’ve changed my mind. I like domesticity very much.”

“I like it, too,” I say, snuggling closer. “And I love you.”

He brushes a soft kiss across my lips and we lay together as the kitten climbs over us to find a spot on the pillow. And as the little ball of fluff settles in and starts to purr, I sigh with satisfaction.

This is us.

This is our life.

And it is exceptional.





About the Author


J. Kenner is the New York Times bestselling author of the Stark trilogy, including Release Me, Claim Me, and Complete Me, and the tie-in novellas Take Me, Have Me, and Play My Game, and the Most Wanted series, comprised of Wanted, Heated, and Ignited. She spent more than ten years as a litigator in Southern California and central Texas, using her rare free time to indulge in her passion of writing. She lives in Texas with her husband and daughters.

www.jkenner.com

www.facebook.com/jkennerbooks

@juliekenner





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Our attraction was unmistakable, almost beyond control, but as much as I ached to be his, I feared the pressures of his demands. Submitting to Damien meant I had to bare the darkest truth about my past – and risk breaking us apart.


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For me, it is fiercely, blindingly, real.


Damien Stark’s need is palpable – his need for pleasure, his need for control, his need for me. Beautiful and brilliant yet tortured at his core, he is in every way my match.


I have agreed to be his alone, and now I want him to be fully mine. I want us to possess each other beyond the sweetest edge of our ecstasy, into the deepest desires of our souls. To let the fire that burns between us consume us both.


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