Claim Me: A Novel

expect the desire I see there, but I am done in by the rest of it. By the raw emotion. By the desperate longing that he isn’t even endeavoring to hide.
    “Nikki,” he says, and with one quick motion he grabs hold of the cord and pulls me to him. I stumble, then find myself pressed against him, my hot flesh against the cool cotton of his shirt. I have no time to think about the feel of him, though, because his mouth closes over mine in a kiss that is more of an assaultthan a seduction. He is claiming, demanding. I can taste nothing but Damien, feel nothing but Damien. At this moment, he is my entire world, and I know with unerring certainty that in that moment there is no world for him beyond the two of us, either.
    “I want to go slow,” he says when he finally breaks the kiss. “I want to make you moan with anticipation and writhe with need of me. I want you so ready that you beg for me.”
    I swallow. I want this, too.
    “But, dammit, Nikki, I can’t wait.”
    “Then don’t,” I say, and my voice is hoarse, the words barely able to scrape past the desire.
    “God, what you do to me.” The words seem wrenched from him, and he closes his mouth over mine almost before he’s finished speaking. At the same time, he scoops me up, one arm around my back and the other under my knees. I curl close to him, relishing the feel of his arms around me, but wanting more. So much more.
    He carries me up the stairs, then sets me on my feet in front of the now-closed doors that lead to the balcony. I have barely got my balance when his mouth catches mine again in a bruising kiss and we stumble together backward. The bed is right there, barring our path even while keeping us from falling to the ground in a claiming, grasping flurry of lips and hands.
    The mattress brushes against the back of my thighs, but before I can even think to sit, Damien breaks our kiss. “No,” he says, and then turns me around. “Bend over,” he says. “Hands on the bed.”
    I comply, the cord dangling from my neck like an ornamental leash. I wriggle my ass as coquettishly as I can manage in such a position. “For someone who says he can’t wait you’re taking an awfully long time.”
    “Perhaps I’m waiting for an apology. It’s not kind to reminda man that heaven is ending in mere hours,” he teases sternly. “A young woman with your meticulous upbringing should have more tact than to bring up such a sore subject several times over the course of one evening. Whatever happened to etiquette and decorum?”
    “That’s a very good question, Mr. Stark. Perhaps I’m not as polite and refined as you think I am.”
    “Perhaps not,” he says as his fingers trail over my back. “I don’t like being reminded that the end is near. It was quite unkind of you to mention it so boldly.”
    “Quite unkind,” I agree. “Rude, even. Definitely thoughtless. And certainly not worthy of the Emily Post seal of approval.”
    He doesn’t answer. I’m pretty sure his silence is masking a laugh.
    I manage another flirty ass-wiggle. “Maybe you should punish me.”
    I immediately know that I’ve said the wrong thing. He is still silent, but now the quiet feels dark and heavy instead of playful and light.
    “Should I?” he finally says, his voice low and controlled. “Do you think I didn’t see the way you dug your nails into your thighs in the car on the way to the restaurant? We were only talking about the paparazzi then. It was worse when they accosted us. You kept control, Nikki, but you had to fight for it.”
    I close my eyes, not wanting to remember.
    “Nikki, look at me.” His voice is a tight command, and though my instinct is to tease him, I know better.
    I don’t alter my body’s position, but turn my head to the right. He steps sideways into my line of sight, and I force myself to meet his eyes. There’s fire there, but there’s worry, too. I should have expected it. It is one thing when he initiates, surprising me with a sting to my bottom to complement the ache between my thighs.
    But when I ask for the pain, he hesitates. It is his way of protecting me, but right then, it isn’t protection I want. It’s the sensual thrill of his palm against my ass.
    “Nikki,” he says. That’s it. Just my name. But I hear the question in his voice.
    I start to answer, but the words don’t come as easily as I had hoped. Because the truth is that I know now that I haven’t left the cutting as far behind as I had thought. True,