Take Me. Part 5

I lick my lips. "You should probably spank me."

"I probably should," he agrees. "Would you like that?"

"Yes." My voice is nothing more than a whisper of air.

"Why?"

I close my eyes. It's a question that I expect whenever I ask for the pain, and I know that after my dreams he will be even more careful with me. I love that he understands me so well, but it means that I have to say aloud what I want from him, and that voicing of my desires is both awkward and undeniably exciting.

"Why, Nikki? I want to hear why you want the sting of my palm."

I lick my lips, forcing them to wrap around my words. "Because of the way it feels."

"Tell me."

"Tiny pinp.r.i.c.ks of pleasure," I say, my soft words becoming bolder even as they sizzle through my body, sparking like currents of electricity that fire my senses. "They melt into heat, into liquid desire. It makes me wet, Damien, you make me wet." I pause, knowing that my words have captured him. "Pleasure and pain, Damien, and you're the only one I trust to give me both."

For a long moment he is silent. Almost too long. And then I hear his intake of breath, followed by his slow, clear words. "There is no one else who has the power to tear me apart the way you do, Nikki. No one else who can reach in and squeeze my heart. You are my world, Ms. Fairchild, and I love you desperately."

"I know," I whisper.

"But, baby," he adds, with a lightness now coloring his words, "that doesn't change the fact that you were naughty."

"Was I?" I am breathing hard now, antic.i.p.ating what is to come.

"Have you seen the Internet?"

I frown. That wasn't a question I was expecting. "Um, no."

"Your party is all over Twitter," he says, and I cringe. That I should have expected. "I imagine it'll be on TMZ by morning. The gentleman who was, shall we say, in your face looked quite energetic."

"I think he probably works out," I say dryly.

"You realize this puts me in a bit of a predicament."

I'm trying very hard not to smile. "Does it?"

"I'm just not sure how to punish you now. Considering your ... eagerness ... I'm beginning to think that spanking isn't quite the punishment it ought to be."

"Damien!" I'm laughing-but I'm also a little worried. Damien is nothing if not creative.

He chuckles, and it's obvious the b.a.s.t.a.r.d is enjoying himself.

"Maybe I should just hang up?" he says.

"No."

"No, what?" he asks, and I hear the tightening in his voice. Whatever playfulness has been between us, it's fading under the slow burn of something else. Something hot. Something dangerous.

"No, sir," I say. My breath stutters in my chest, and I know that I am already wet. I've been wet since the moment I heard his voice. "Please, sir. Please don't hang up."

"I'll stay on the line, but only if you obey. Bend my rules, and I hang up."

"Yes, sir."

"Take your skirt off. And your panties."

I unb.u.t.ton the skirt and s.h.i.+mmy out of it. I toss it onto the floor of the limo and drop my panties on top.

"Okay."

"Are you sitting back down?"

"Yes."

"Are you wet?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to punish you, Nikki, just like you want. I'm going to make you come. I'm going to make you explode."

I close my eyes and lean my head back, lost in the power of his words.

"But it won't be fast." He pauses, then, "Tell me how wet you are."

"Very."

"No, not like that. I want you to touch yourself. Just one finger. Imagine it's mine."

"I am."

"Now slide it down the juncture of your thigh," he orders. "Let me feel how silky your skin is. How soft. How tempting."

I do what he says, trembling as much from the gentle touch as from the fantasy that it's Damien's.

"Don't touch your c.l.i.t," he says, and though I desperately want to, I obey. "Now tell me."

"Like I said, I'm very wet."

He chuckles. "I'm very glad to hear it. Tell me, what's in the goodie bag?"

"I don't know. Hang on."

I tug the bag over and peek inside. "A mask, a vibrator, some sort of oil, handcuffs, a video."

"Oil?"

"Yeah." I pull out the small bottle and read the label. "Arousal oil."

"Interesting. Open it."

"I-okay." I break the seal and unscrew the cap. Immediately, I can smell the spices. "It's a bit minty. There aren't instructions."

"Dab a little on your finger," he says. "Then stroke it onto your c.l.i.t."

"Are you kidding?"

"Should I hang up?"

"Right. Okay. No problem." I'm not at all sure what this stuff is, but I figure if it's in a bag from Jamie, it must be fun. I put a drop on my finger and ease my finger over my c.l.i.t. I'm so sensitive that even that tiny sensation makes me s.h.i.+ver.

"Well?" Damien asks.

I c.o.c.k my head, expecting some sort of new sensation. "Nothing."

"Hmm. All right, then, we'll move on. Does the vibrator have batteries?"

I test it out, and find that it purrs nicely in my hand. "It does," I say, and immediately cringe. I sound far too eager, and I know from Damien's chuckle that he both heard and understood.

"And the mask," he says. "Go ahead and put that on."

"All right." I slip it over my eyes, and the world goes dark. "Okay, I-holy f.u.c.k." The oil that I thought did nothing is now doing considerably more than nothing. "That oil, it's ... well, it's very wow."

"Tell me."

"It's like mint, I guess. Like if you sucked on one of those really strong mints and then went down on me. Oh, wow. It feels amazing, sensitive-oh, G.o.d, Damien, please."

"Please, what?"

"Everything. Anything." I squirm, wanting simply to relieve this growing pressure, this demanding sensation. "Please, sir, can I touch myself?"

"Oh, yeah. We're going to use the vibrator. Your fingers. I'm going to tell you how to touch yourself, baby. And you're going to let me hear you come."

I am awash with grat.i.tude. I've been holding the phone, but now I put it on speaker and set it beside me, peeking out from under the blindfold just long enough to make sure I push the right b.u.t.tons.

"Slide your hand up your thigh," he says, "then gently stroke your c.l.i.t. Are you doing it?"

"Yes." I can barely speak.

"Can you turn on the vibrator?"

"I-I think so."

"f.u.c.k yourself with it, baby. I want it inside you. I want you imagining it's me. Holding you, f.u.c.king you, burying myself deep in you."

Oh my G.o.d. I fumble, turned on, frantic, weak with longing. I switch to my right hand, and stroke my c.l.i.t with my left. The oil is amazing, and ... "I'm close," I say. "G.o.d, Damien, I'm so close."

"I know, baby. Come the rest of the way for me. Let me hear it."

"I-" But I can't talk anymore. I've done as he asked with the vibrator, and it fills me, the dual sensation of the vibration and my finger stroking my c.l.i.t coupled with my fantasy of Damien, and his voice on the phone telling me to "Come for me, baby, come for me," is too overwhelming. I let my head fall back, and grind my hips, lost to everything now but the need for release that is close, so close, so very close, and then- I explode, and as I do, I cry out Damien's name.

"That's it, baby," he says. "That's it. Keep touching yourself. Don't stop. Don't stop, baby, you can come again."

I've turned off the vibrator and tossed it onto the seat, but I do as he says and stroke myself. I'm so desperately wet. Wet and wide open and wis.h.i.+ng that Damien were right here.

I still have the mask on, but I can hear the mechanical sound of the privacy screen starting to descend.

What the f.u.c.k?

"Damien!"

"I hear it, too. It's just the privacy screen. Don't stop. Don't put your legs together. Stay like that, baby. Open and wide."

"Are you crazy? Edward."

"I believe we agreed that you needed to be punished."

"No." I pull my legs tight together and rip off the mask even as I slide sideways, out of the line of sight of the driver.

And when I do, I realize that it isn't Edward behind the wheel, it's Damien.

He turns to glance, and I take deep, gasping breaths as I try to reconcile fear and relief and anger.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d," I finally say, though that hardly covers it.

"Slide back to the middle."

"And if I don't?"

"Suit yourself." He starts to raise the privacy screen.

"Fine." I'm p.i.s.sed, but I'm not stupid. And, yeah, I'm still turned on.

As he drops the screen, I slide back to center.

"Spread your legs," he says, and as I do, he adjusts his mirror. "Now, that really is a beautiful view." There is awe in his voice, and it makes me feel beautiful. Despite being exposed, despite the scars on my thighs. Damien makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, and that is just one of the things that makes me love him.

"Wider," he says. I comply, and I hear Damien's sharp intake of breath. He may be playing with me, but there's no denying that he's turned on, too.

"Are you excited, Ms. Fairchild?"

"Yes," I admit. "Except for that one moment of terror, yes."

"You should know me better. And you should listen better."

"Listen?" And then it hits me. "The bag. How would you know about the goodie bag if you weren't in the car?"

"Exactly. I gave you that clue. It's not my fault if you were too distracted to pay attention."