Complete Me (The Stark Trilogy)

neck, the short bit of hair that brushes his collar teasing my lips. I close my hands gently and let my fingertips graze my own palms as I imagine my hands cupping his rear, not just to balance myself, but because I am compelled to touch him. And because I want to turn him on.
    I swallow, lost in the fantasy, but not yet ready to move to him and make it reality. I am enjoying the anticipation too much, not to mention the decadent pleasure of watching Damien’s body straining against that lucky, lucky denim.
    He lifts his hand, a lacy thong dangling from his finger like an enticement. “Interesting,” he says, then repeats the process, pulling out the expensive scraps of silk and satin that constitute underwear and bras in all shapes and sizes. Some barely there. Somethat create more cleavage than the law should allow. Some that would have my breasts spilling out over the tops. Some that, if the gleam in Damien’s eye is any indication, are very intriguing indeed.
    He stands, a red thong and matching red push-up bra hanging from two extended fingers. “I think perhaps it’s time to amend our deal, Ms. Fairchild. As much as I appreciate the possibilities associated with complete access, there is something to be said for the pleasure of the journey.” He extends his empty hand to me. “Come here,” he says, and I comply obediently.
    “I’ll go with you anywhere,” I whisper. “I’ll do anything for you. You know that, right?”
    With a violence I’m not expecting, he tugs me to him, capturing me within the circle of his arms. We are tight together, my breasts against his chest, my nipples hard. I feel the press of his erection hot and hard against my very scantily clad body, and that rush of tactile pleasure is accompanied by an even greater one. The pleasure of knowing that I am his and that he is mine.
    He tilts his head so that his forehead presses gently against mine, then sighs deeply. “I thought you’d gone.”
    I blink, confused, and ease backward, then wait a single heartbeat for him to lift his head and meet my eyes.
    “I woke up and you weren’t there,” he says in explanation. “I talked to Charles and he told me you’d come by. That he’d told you about the photos and videos.” He shakes his head and laughs without humor. “I thought you were so disgusted by them that you’d left me.”
    I look at him hard. “I wasn’t the one who went away,” I say, my voice level and firm. “You’re the one who left. I stayed.” I swallow and blink back tears. “I stayed because I knew you would come back to me.”
    “I will always come back,” he says, and in those simple words I hear both understanding and apology.
    I nod, then clutch his hand. “I didn’t see the photos,” I say.“But no matter what is in them, I would never have left you. I just thought you needed sleep.” I look away, not meeting his eyes. Because the words that I am biting back are just too damn selfish.
I didn’t think you needed me
.
    “I wanted you, Nikki,” he says, as if in answer to my thoughts. “I wanted to pull you close and strip you naked. I wanted to tie you up and run my fingers over every inch of you. I wanted to bury my face between your legs and bring you to the brink over and over again, never quite letting you come.”
    I swallow. I am suddenly very, very warm.
    “I wanted every sensation you experienced—every spark of pleasure, every hint of pain—to come from me. I wanted to fuck you until you begged me to stop and then I wanted to fuck you some more. Everything you felt, everything you wanted, everything you desired—I wanted it to be wrapped up in my touch, in my bed. I wanted to fuck you until there was nothing left but you and me. Until the whole goddamn world was erased.”
    “Why didn’t you?” My mouth is dry and I have to force the words out.
    He doesn’t answer.
    I take a step closer, pushing through the thick, charged air that fills the space between us. “Whatever you need from me, all you have to do is take it. You know that.”
    “I couldn’t,” he says, and his voice is harsh. “I couldn’t bear to have you in my arms when those images were in my head.”
    “I—oh.” I am not sure what to say to that, so I say nothing. Just settle my cheek against his chest and listen to his heartbeat and the steady rhythm of his breath.
    After a moment, he continues, his voice eerily steady. “Those images are like scenes from a horror movie. They show what Richter did,