Release Me: A Novel Part 8

"Spread your legs and gather your skirt up around your waist." His voice surrounds me. His tone is low, commanding, and achingly sensual. "Lean back against the seat and close your eyes. Now leave one hand on the seat, but put the other just above your knee."

I do. My skin feels feverish.

"Move your thumb," he says. "Move it slowly, back and forth. Gentle, baby. So gently. Are you doing it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are your eyes closed?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's me you feel. My hand on your leg. My finger stroking your skin. It's soft, and you look so beautiful spread out wide for me. Do you want me, Nikki?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

My s.e.x tightens at the growl of demand in his voice. There's something delicious about surrendering to him.

"Yes, sir."

"I want to touch your b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Nikki. I want to touch your nipples. I want to lower my mouth and suck until you come without me even touching your c.l.i.t. Do you want that, Nikki?"

G.o.d, yes. "Only if you touch me there later, sir."

His low laugh sends ripples of awareness through me.

My c.l.i.t is pulsing. I desperately want to touch myself but that's not the game. Not yet.

"I'm hard, Nikki. You're torturing me, you know that?"

"I hope so, sir, because you're sure as h.e.l.l torturing me."

"Unzip your dress," he says. "Then take the hand that's on the seat and lift it to your mouth. Suck on your forefinger, baby. That's right," he says when I groan a little as I close my eyes and draw in my own finger. "That's good. Use your tongue. Suck hard, baby." I can hear the tension in his voice, and my body quakes. I'm so wet, and the leather seat is getting slippery.

"Slide your hand into your bodice and touch your nipple. Is it hard?"

"Yes."

"Stroke it," he says. "Just a tease. So light, like a b.u.t.terfly kiss. Do you feel it, baby? Is it making you wetter?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"Now move the hand on your leg. Slowly-I want it to build. Do you feel it? That soft stroke?"

"Yes." I imagine that my fingers are his. That he's burning a trail up my hot, trembling body.

"That's me. My hands. I'm right there. My hands on you. On both your legs. Can you feel me, stroking the inside of your thighs, teasing you, making you hotter and wetter?"

I take my other hand off my breast and put it on my other leg. Slowly, sensuously, I stroke the inside of my thighs with soft, delicate touches. This is forbidden territory-this is where my secrets are. But not now. Right now, nothing is off-limits, and everything is safe.

I can lose myself in his voice. I can close my eyes and imagine Damien kneeling before me. Damien's eyes watching me. Damien's hands all over me. "Oh, G.o.d, yes."

"Spread your legs more," he says. "I want you wide open, your c.u.n.t hot and dripping for me. Do you want to touch yourself, Nikki?"

"Yes," I whisper. I feel my cheeks warm from the admission, though how I can feel a blush when my skin is already on fire is beyond me.

"Not yet," he says. I can hear the amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice. He knows he's tormenting me, and he's loving it.

"You're a s.a.d.i.s.t, Mr. Stark."

"And you comply so willingly, Ms. Fairchild. What does that make you?"

A m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t. A tremor runs through my body, tied to the erotic sweetness of my touch. "Turned on," I admit.

"We are deliciously compatible."

"When telecommunications are involved," I say without thinking.

"Always. Don't argue, Ms. Fairchild, or the game stops now. And that really would be a shame."

I say nothing.

"Good," he says. "I like you compliant. I like you spread wide and ready for me. I like you wet for me," he adds, as I just about melt into the upholstery. "Put your hands on the seat on either side of your hips. Have you done it?"

"I have."

The silence is ominous.

"I mean, yes, sir."

My hands are pressed to the leather. My s.e.x is throbbing. Demanding. I squirm on the seat, but that only makes me needier.

My fingers twitch. I'm desperate to come. I swear if he doesn't let me touch myself soon, I'll- Well, why not? He wouldn't even know.

"No touching, Nikki. Not yet."

"How did you-oh, G.o.d, are there cameras in here?" The idea is mortifying ... and embarra.s.singly t.i.tillating.

"No," he says firmly. "Though at the moment I wish there were. Let's just call it a lucky guess."

That d.a.m.ned blush heats up again, and I squirm some more, trying to find a satisfaction that's staying painfully, frustratingly just out of reach.

"You're keeping me from an excellent Scotch and some very tasty appetizers, you know."

"I'm not the least bit sorry," I retort. "But if you're in a hurry, I know how we can finish this off real quick."

"Is that what you want? This to be over?"

"I-no," I admit. It's torture, but it's d.a.m.n sweet torture.

"Did you notice the bar when you got into the limo?"

"Yes."

"I want you to move long enough to open the ice bucket and take out an ice cube. Then back here, spread wide and open for me."

"Yes, sir."

I ease out of my seat, cheating a little because I squeeze my thighs together as I do. The pressure is delicious, taking me just that much further. But frustrating, too, as I'm more aroused than I can ever remember being, and no closer to release. For that matter, I'm not sure what's coming next. Ice cubes ...?

I smile, realizing that if nothing else I trust Damien Stark to make this interesting.

"Are you settled again?"

"Yes."

"Which hand has the ice cube?"

"My right one."

"Pull down the left strap of your dress until your breast is free. Close your eyes and trace the cube around your areola. Don't touch your nipple, not yet. That's it. I can imagine your skin, soft and perfect and puckered from the cold. I'm hard, baby, I want to touch you."

"You are touching me," I whisper.

"Yes." The desire in his voice matches my own.

"Move your left hand to your thigh," he says, and I silently cheer. Had he planned this all along, or have I scored some points in his game? I tilt my head back, my hot fingers stroking my inner thigh, easing higher to where the flesh isn't smooth like Damien imagines, but instead bears the scars of my secrets.

At my breast, the ice cube melts against my flaming skin. "I'm imagining you licking the droplets off," I say. "Your tongue flicking over my hard nipple. Teasing me until you can't stand it, and then you nip it, your teeth grazing before you suck, hard, so hard until it's like a hot wire runs through me all the way to my c.l.i.t."

"Jesus," he says, sounding winded. "Whose game is this?"

"I like to win," I say, but I have to struggle to speak. My hand has moved higher, and my fingers are gently stroking the soft skin where my thigh meets my s.e.x. "Damien," I say. "Please." The ice cube has melted away.

"One finger. I'm taking one finger and sliding it over your c.u.n.t. Your wet, dripping c.u.n.t. You're throbbing, you want me so badly."

"Yes," I whisper.

"Are you wet?"

"I'm drenched."

"I want to be inside you," he says, and before he gives me permission, I slide two fingers deep inside. My body immediately contracts, drawing me in further. I'm hot and slippery, and drunk with pleasure. The heel of my hand rubs against my c.l.i.t, and I can't help it-I moan. And now Stark knows my secret.

"You broke the rules," he says.

I arch back, I'm so close, but I don't dare stroke myself. Not after hearing the command in his voice. "Rules are made to be broken." I can barely croak out the words.

"Of course they are. If you're willing to accept the punishment. Shall I punish you, Nikki? Shall I bend you over and spank your a.s.s?"

"I-" I quiver, his words making me even hotter. I've never played those kinds of games, but right now the thought of being so vulnerable to Damien Stark sets me on fire.

"Or maybe I should make you pull your hands away. Leave you hungry. Leave you wanting."

"Please no," I say.

"I should," he says. "I should leave you hanging."

I don't mean to, but I whimper a little. Why? If I want to get off, I can just get off. My fingers work just fine, and I'm so close. So very close ...

But no. This is a game all right, and I'm playing with a partner. I don't just want to come. I want to come because Damien took me there.

He chuckles, fully aware of the torment he's inflicting. "Beg," he says.

"Please."

"Please, what?"

"Please, sir."

"Is that the best you can do?"

"I want to come, Damien. I want to come with your voice taking me there, and I'm so close right now I think if this limo goes over a pothole it might just send me shooting to the moon." I have lost all shame, all propriety. And I don't even care. All I want to do is explode, knowing that it's Damien hearing my screams on the other end of the phone line.

"Are you touching yourself?" There's still an edge to his voice, but it's raw now. Needy.

"Yes."

"I want to taste you. Lick your fingers," he says, and I comply, imagining my slick, wet fingers are his lips. "Tell me."

"Slick," I say. "Sweet. But, Damien, I want-"

"Hush, baby, I know. And I'm touching you now. I'm kneeling right in front of you, and you're wide open to me. You're wet and delicious, and my tongue is all over you, touching and tasting. Can you feel me flicking my tongue over your hard c.l.i.t?"

"Yes," I say as my finger strokes my swollen, demanding c.l.i.t.

"You taste so good, and I'm so hard. I want to be inside you, but I can't get enough of the taste of you."

"Don't stop." I'm arching up, an o.r.g.a.s.m rising up around me like the overture of a grand opera.

"Never," he says. "But I need you to come for me now, baby. We're close now, and it's time. I'm touching you, I'm taking you over. Now, Nikki. Come for me now."

I do.

So help me, it's as if his voice takes me over the edge and I shatter like starlight against a black velvet sky, pinpoints of light bursting through me, so powerful and intense and meltingly hot.

"Oh, yes, baby," he says, his voice strained, easing me down. "That's it."