Claim Me: A Novel

commands a billion-dollar enterprise, and right now I am simply one more thing that he owns.
    I bite my lower lip. I am not disturbed by the thought. On the contrary, my body is tingling with awareness. To be owned by Damien Stark is heady stuff.
    “Take off your clothes.”
    I comply, shedding my jacket, then pulling the T-shirt over my head. Because we’re playing the game again, I am not wearing a bra, and when he sees that, the tiniest of smiles touches his mouth. I unzip the skirt next and let it fall around my feet. It is as if the hundreds of times he has seen me naked are forgotten. Ifeel shy and awkward. But when I see the way his eyes take me in, I feel beautiful.
    “Spread your legs,” he says, and when I do, he goes down on his knees. He holds my hips, then presses a soft kiss just above my navel, and that simple touch sends shivers running through me. My body is on fire, alight with anticipation. I reach down to bury my fingers in his hair.
    “No,” he murmurs. “Cup your breasts. There you go, baby,” he says when I comply. “Stroke your nipples. Are they hard?”
    “Yes,” I whisper.
    “Good,” he says. “I want them harder. I want them so tight that just brushing a fingertip across your nipple shoots fire all the way down to your cunt. What do you say?”
    “Yes. Yes, sir.”
    He smiles up at me, a smile of praise and promise, and then he turns back to my bare abdomen. His lips brush over me, lower and lower until he is tracing the neatly trimmed line of my pubic hair. And then lower still until his tongue laves my clitoris and I have no choice but to break Damien’s rules and grab hard to his shoulder, because if I do not, I will certainly topple over.
    His tongue is merciless. Teasing me, fucking me, hard and demanding until I explode, my body a storm of sensation.
    He is kind enough to keep me from falling, urging me down to my knees in front of him. “You taste amazing,” he says, then kisses me as if to prove the point. The kiss is deep, but all too short.
    “I’m going to fuck you, Nikki,” he says. “Right here, right now. Hard and fast, until pleasure rips through you like a cyclone. And then we’ll start again, slow and easy, letting it build and grow like a tiny seedling into a massive tree. Do you know how long that takes, Nikki? Can you imagine a pleasure that lasts for an eternity?”
    My mouth is dry, but I manage an answer. “With you, yes.”
    He chuckles. “Good answer. Now unfasten my jeans.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    I’m so turned on that my fingers actually fumble with the button fly of his jeans, but I manage, then spread the denim and stroke my fingertips over his cock, still trapped behind the cotton of his briefs.
    I hear Damien suck in air, and I relish the knowledge that as much power as he has over me, I have the same over him.
    “Good girl,” he says. “Now take it out and turn around. On your knees, Nikki.”
    “Yes, sir,” I say, but I have another plan. I slide my hand into his jeans and over the bulge of his briefs until I find his fly. He is thick and hard and as soon as I shift him, his cock bursts out as if desperate to play, too. I know I’m supposed to turn around—and I know that I’ll undoubtedly be punished, but I can’t resist the temptation.
    I lean forward and draw my tongue up the velvety length of his cock. He tastes salty and male and delicious, and when I hear him groan and say my name, my body seems to open up. I close my lips over the bulbous head, tease him with my tongue. Slowly, I take more of him into my mouth, then pull back, letting my teeth graze ever so lightly over him.
    I rest my hands on his hips, and I can feel his body start to shudder. I raise up higher on my knees for a better angle. I want to take more of him; I want to make him come.
    I am, however, thwarted in my plan, as his hands grasp me under the arms and he gently pulls me to my feet. “Minx,” he teases.
    I smile innocently.
    “Oh, no,” he says. “You are not getting off that easily.” The scarf that I had wrapped around my wrist has come loose, andnow he picks it up off the floor and knots it securely above my right hand. He gives it a tug and then leads me to the bedroom. The headboard on his bed is a solid piece of wood, and dead center is a large metal eyebolt. I’d noticed it before, but had never thought much about it. Now, he tells me to lie on my back on the bed with my hands above my head. I do, and he threads the scarf through the