I glance at it, but it’s not a number I recognize, and I’m really not in the mood to chat with a telemarketer.
I let it go to voicemail.
A moment later, a text flashes on my screen from that same number:
Answer your phone —D
I lick my lips and snuggle back against the pillows. Well, okay, then.
I wait. And then I wait a little longer.
And then—just when I’ve decided that he’s intentionally tormenting me—my phone rings again.
“Mr. Stark,” I say. “How did you get this number?”
“I have a knack for getting the things I want, Ms. Fairchild.” The words are simple, but they are spoken in such a low, sensual tone that their effect on me is anything but. Quite the contrary, actually, and I close my eyes and just let the pleasure of his voice curl through me.
“Do you?” I ask, then lick my lips. “What is it you want?”
“I think we already covered that, Ms. Fairchild. What was it you said I wanted?”
I lick my lips, surprised that I find myself a little bit shy. This is Damien, after all.
Not now, though. Not tonight.
Right. I draw in a breath. “You said you want to fuck me.”
“Very good. What else?”
“And so much more,” I say dutifully.
His low chuckle rumbles through me. “Someone was paying attention.”
“It was a very intriguing conversation,” I admit. “So what is the so much more?”
“Where to begin? I want to touch you,” he says. “Run my fingers over every inch of you, and then do the same with my tongue. I want to suck on your nipples until they’re almost too sensitive to be touched, and then I want to do the same to your clit while I hold you fast in place. You’ll want to squirm, to move, but you’ll be trapped, a slave to every manner of pleasure that I can imagine, and all of it aimed at my ultimate goal of making you come.”
I bite back a moan as I squirm on the bed, every inch of my skin on fire from his words.
He pauses, and the silence brings a sense of loss as potent as if he had taken his hand from my body. I don’t admit that, though. Right now, I’m not ready to admit anything. Instead, I feign nonchalance. “Oh,” I say, “is that all?”
He bursts out laughing. “Oh, no, Ms. Fairchild. I’m not buying it at all.”
“Buying what?”
But all he says is “Mmm.”
I shift on the bed, wanting his voice again. Just wanting more. “Mr. Stark?”
“I’m here. What are you wearing?”
“The same thing I was in the bar. A skirt. A blouse.”
“Are you wearing a bra?”
“Yes.”
“Underwear?”
I lick my lips. “No.”
“No? How very naughty of you, Ms. Fairchild.”
“Maybe I like to be naughty.”
He makes a rough sound in the back of his throat. “Do you? I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
I hold the phone tighter, wondering just what that will entail.
“How naughty would you like to be tonight?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“There are rules,” he says, reminding me of our first night when he sent me home in a limo with a cellphone. “And the first one is that you don’t lie to me. Do you understand?”
I hesitate just a beat. “Yes,” I say. And then because I do know some of the rules of this game, I add, “Yes, sir.”
I can almost hear the smile of approval in his next words. “Now, answer the question. How naughty do you want to be tonight?”
“Very,” I say. And then, because I’m feeling bold, “I want to get you hard.”
“Baby, I’m already there. Put the phone on speaker and set it beside you. I want you to have both your hands free. Have you done it?”
“Yes,” I say, glancing to where I’ve placed the phone just below the pillow.
“Now unbutton your shirt, just let it lay open on your skin. Are you doing it?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl. Now I want you to stroke your exposed skin. Slowly, up and down, from your waist to your breasts. Gently,” he clarifies. “Just let your nails trail over your skin.”
The sensation is incredible, and I close my eyes and enjoy this sweet caress.
“How does it feel?”
“Amazing,” I say. “Like it should tickle, but it doesn’t. Like I’m coming alive.”
“Tell me where you feel it.” His voice is husky, raw with need.
“Everywhere.”
“Are your nipples hard? Straining against your bra?”
“Yes.”
“Is your cunt wet? Are you throbbing, wanting to be touched? To be fucked?”
I don’t answer. I can only manage a whimper.
“Tell me, baby.”
“Yes. God, yes.”
“Pull the cups down on your bra. I want your nipples free. Then tease them with your fingernails, too. Just the same, very lightly.”
I do, and I feel the pathways of pleasure opening up all through me.
“Now harder. Pinch yourself. Imagine it’s my mouth on your breast. My tongue teasing you. My teeth scraping, biting.”
It is all I can do not to cry out from the pleasure.
“You like that.” It’s a statement, not a question, but I still admit what he already knows.
“Very much.”
“Suck on your finger. Harder, baby. Use your tongue. Imagine it’s my cock. Christ, baby, I’m so hard.”
I groan, but I don’t stop sucking, and I can feel the pull all the way through me, all the way to where my muscles clench in demand, needing to be filled, to be fucked.