“No.”
I don’t understand at first, but then his hand slides under my skirt again and he tugs the crotch aside as I straddle him. His cock is right there pressing against me, and I’m so turned on I don’t want to wait. I lower myself, biting my lower lip as he fills me, then gasping as his finger inside my panties shifts just enough so he can tease my clit as I ride him.
“Hurry, baby,” he murmurs. “We’re almost there.”
My head is fuzzy with lust, but I realize he means the Tower—not our orgasms.
With his other hand he cups my breast, and as I ride him faster and harder, his fingers tighten on my nipple, hard now under my thin bra and T-shirt. Tighter and tighter, and I moan and squirm and gasp as a delicious pressure builds inside me. And when I explode—when a wild, relentless orgasm rocks through me like a cresting, pounding wave—Damien releases my nipple and I feel a wild whipping heat crack through my body, tracing a line of indescribable intensity from my nipple to my clit, and deep, deep inside me.
“Damien,” I beg. “Now. Please, now.” Because we’ve arrived, and Edward is shutting off the engine, and any minute now he’s going to open the limo door that’s just a few feet from us. But no way am I getting off my husband until I’ve taken him all the way.
And just as that determined thought cuts through me, Damien clutches my hips, thrusts down even harder so that he fills me completely, leans his head back, and explodes.
For a moment, we stay like that, me straddling him and us both breathing hard. Then I hear Edward’s footsteps and I scramble off, adjusting my skirt, and knowing full well that my panties are soaked through.
And by the time Edward opens the door, my clothes are back to normal and Damien’s jeans are buttoned.
Damien grins at me, then ushers me out of the limo in front of him. I comply, though I don’t look Edward in the eye. And it’s not until we’re in our private elevator that I finally relax, my nerves kicking in as I collapse against the side of the car, my body shaking with laughter.
“I swear I hadn’t planned a repeat performance,” I say as we step into the elevator.
“Complaining, Mrs. Stark?”
“On the contrary,” I say as we begin to rise. “I was going to comment how very much I love limousines. They’re very . . . invigorating. I’m hardly tired at all anymore.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I was wiped,” I admit. “Those kids exhausted me. I expected it from Ronnie. But I had no idea a baby could wear me out. Did you see how fast that kid can move?”
The elevator arrives, the doors opening on our foyer. I step out, and immediately kick off my shoes.
“He’s got good genes,” Damian says. “He’ll be a little athlete, that one.”
“I think Jackson’s hoping for a little architect,” I counter.
“I have every confidence in Jeffery. He can be both.”
“Absolutely,” I agree as I head toward the living room.
Damien takes my arm and tugs me back toward him. “Might be nice to have one around here.” His voice is low. Almost tentative. And Damien is never tentative.
Something raw shifts in my chest, and I’m really not sure if it’s a good or a bad feeling. “I thought you said you weren’t drunk.”
“I’m very sober.” He holds my head with one hand and traces my lower lip with the index finger of the other. “They have good kids,” he says softly. “We would, too.”
“We would, yes.” My voice is shaky. “But I just got invited to submit that proposal. My business is just getting off the ground.”
“I know,” he says.
“I don’t want to put all that aside.” My insides are tight, and my voice is rising in pitch. “And I haven’t got a clue about how to be a mom. You know that.”
“Hey,” he says gently. “Calm down. I didn’t say we should have kids tomorrow. Just some day. We’ve always said we’ll have them some day.”
I nod, a little relieved. A little embarrassed that I overreacted. “Sorry. I just—”
“Of course, I am getting older,” he interrupts with a definite tease in his voice.
I smirk. “Yeah, you’re looking pretty decrepit these days. Is that your way of reminding me you have a birthday coming up?”
“Are you saying you need reminding?”
“Never.” I sidle up closer, shaking off the lingering panic, then smile up at him. “So tell me, Birthday Boy. What would you like?”
“So many choices.” He trails a fingertip down my arm. “Maybe a birthday strip tease?”
I raise my brow. “Interesting choice. I’ll see if I can’t hire someone.”
“I’d rather have one from my wife.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Maybe you should practice so it’s perfect.”
“Should I?”
He bends down so that his lips graze my ear. “Dance for me, baby. Right now.”
“Is that what you want?” I ask. “To watch me dance? Because I have something else in mind.”