Complete Me (The Stark Trilogy)

caress upon my nipple. Anything to relieve the growing, heavy pressure.
    Of course he denies me. Instead, he moves his still-hovering hand slowly down the length of my body—my breasts, my belly, my very aching cunt, then all the way down my legs until even my toes are wiggling in a futile attempt to draw him closer. It doesn’t work. He never touches, just skims along over a pocket of air that is burning hotter and hotter, as if I am trapped beneath an electric blanket with no way to throw it off and cool down.
    Not even the air-conditioning is blowing between my legs. The only sensation is the tiny brush of material over my sexbrought on by the motion of the limo and by my own pulse, which is pounding so hard that it is making my clothing quiver with each beat of my heart.
    His voice is little more than a murmur. “So tell me, Nikki, can you imagine the touch of my fingertip upon the inside of your thigh? The way your body would tighten in response to a touch that is neither a caress nor a tickle?”
    “I—yes.”
    My words are so low that I doubt he has heard me. It doesn’t matter, though. He continues on. “A sensual dance, like the brush of a feather over your panties. A hooked fingertip to tug them aside. And then what, Nikki? What kind of touch do you want then?”
    I don’t answer, because he has moved—not between my legs to where my sex now throbs in response to both his sensual tone and the erotic nature of the words themselves, but higher, so that his hip is near my chest and his hands are cleverly twining my wrists with the nylon webbing of the farthest seat belt.
    “Damien, what—”
    But I don’t bother to finish the question, because he has finished and I know what he was doing. He was binding my hands as he has done my legs so that I am fully strapped down, bound to this long, leather bench in the back of a limo.
    “Do you want it, Nikki? Do you want me to fuck you?”
    “You know that I do.” I keep my voice calm even though I want to scream—
Yes, yes, goddammit, yes
.
    He cocks his head. “What was that?” he asks, and I almost cry with frustration.
    “Yes,” I say. “Please, sir.”
    His smile is slow and a little too self-satisfied. He moves toward me and I see that he has a small pair of bandage scissors in his hand. He slides a blade under the lace of my thong, snips twice, then rips the material free.
    I arch and shudder, my body begging as much as my words. “Please, Damien. Please, please fuck me.”
    “Believe me, Ms. Fairchild, there’s nothing I’m looking forward to more. But no. I don’t think so. Not yet.”
    I actually whimper.
    He bends forward to whisper in my ear. “What if I told you to touch yourself? Ah, but you can’t do that, either.”
    I tug at the belt that is binding my hands, but I’m not going anywhere. I can shift right and left a little, but for the most part, where he bound me is where I’ll stay.
    He reaches down and plucks up the hem of my shirt, managing the maneuver without actually touching my skin, despite the way my back arches up, as if my body is determined to try even though my mind knows it’s futile. After a moment, he has my shirt pulled up, exposing the lacy bra and the serpentine chain that stretches between my very erect nipples. He runs his finger over the chain, then gives it a gentle tug, causing me to arch up as hot threads of electricity sizzle through my body, racing from my breasts to my throbbing cunt.
    “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “I love how hot you get, how your body responds. Do you know what it does to me, knowing that you’ve given yourself over so fully to me? No barriers, no inhibitions. Just mine. To touch, to tempt, to tease.”
    “Anything you want, Mr. Stark.” My voice is raw with passion. “Anything you need.”
    “I’m very glad to hear it,” he says, as he moves away from me to sit on the bench that runs the length of the limo, perpendicular to this long backseat across which I am strapped. “Right now, I just want to look at you. The flush on your skin. Your cunt, swollen and wet and begging for me. Your hard nipples and the rise and fall of your chest as you try to control your breathing. It makes me hard, Nikki, so goddamn hard to see you like this, laidout and wanting, and knowing that I am the one who brought you there.”
    I can only moan. Words are impossible, the power of speech obliterated by the violence of the emotions raging through me.
    He leans over and punches the intercom