Cherish Me Page 3

  “You know that’s not what I do.”

  “Isn’t it?” He shrugged. “You’ve put on so many hats in your life, I get confused.” He chuckled. “Like you said, Stark International is a well-oiled machine now. And I can’t help but wonder if you’re not looking for that next great adventure.”

  Chapter Three

  Damien put a hand on the mattress to steady himself as he bent over to kiss both of his little girls on the forehead. They’d been given the guest room across the hall from his and Nikki’s room, and they were currently snuggled together in the middle of the king size bed, their sweet little faces lost in sleep.

  “Sleep well, my sweet girls,” he whispered. He gently stroked the soft hair on their heads before returning to the doorway. He paused for one more look at his children, warm and safe in the glow of the nightlight. Safe, yes. But they hadn’t always been, and that unshakeable reality ate at him. A constant prick in his life since the day Anne had been taken. He’d learned to live with it. To accept the reality that the world could be a dangerous place, and in many ways, his own choices had made it even more dangerous for the people he loved. Sometimes money could move mountains, solve problems, provide a new and better life.

  And sometimes it put a target on your back.

  With a sigh he shut the door, then moved quietly across the hall, his thoughts spinning. He’d never feared the loss of what he’d built. He’d started with nothing, and though he’d worked his ass off and sacrificed so much to build Stark International, if it was all ripped from him, he knew he would be fine. He could rebuild. Again and again if necessary. The Stark conglomerate wasn’t what defined him. It was his confidence. The knowledge that he could do what needed to be done, and that he would not only survive but thrive.

  Not arrogance, just reality.

  But there was another reality, too. One he’d had to face the hard way. The cold, hard truth that although he’d built himself into a man the world thought of as a force to be reckoned with, someone had still taken Anne.

  It had been the hardest lesson of his life, that realization that even though he’d scraped and clawed and fought his way to the top, at the end of the day that didn’t mean shit. No matter how hard he worked and how much money he spent, he would always be vulnerable.

  More importantly, so would the people he loved.

  It had taken some doing to come to terms with that, but he had. Things were better now. Stark Security was off the ground and doing incredibly well. His family was whole and healthy.

  Sunlight had pierced the dark cloud of worry that had hung over their family.

  And still he had that itch to do more. Not to build, but to fight.

  Dallas was right—he wanted to put a bubble around the people he loved. And since he couldn’t do that, he’d started Stark Security. Because what Damien feared more than anything was losing Nikki and the girls. That would destroy him.

  In front of him, the door opened and Nikki smiled. “There you are. I was beginning to think they woke up and conned you into reading a story.”

  She stepped toward him, but he didn’t let her enter. Instead, he pushed her out into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. “Our room,” he said, noticing the way her eyes sparked with awareness. “Now.”

  She pulled off her T-shirt the moment she was through the door, her hands reaching for the button on her jeans.

  “Later,” he growled, a wildness rising up inside him as he kicked the door closed behind them and slammed her up against it. She gasped, but didn’t protest. She knew what he needed. To claim—to take.

  She knew, yes, but the true miracle was that she needed it, too. His hands closed over her breasts with as much ferocity as he claimed her mouth. She opened to him, giving as much as he was taking, and he slid one hand down her belly, his fingers sliding over her waxed pussy, then finding her hot core. He cupped her, his fingers inside her, and she moaned against his mouth, surrendering to him with an abandon that equaled his own ferocity. Yes. The word echoed in his mind. Yes, yes, yes.

  “More,” he demanded, then spun her around, stumbling backward until they both tumbled onto the bed. He wanted her naked and at his mercy. He craved the sensation of touching her while she was helpless. Of sinking deep inside of her. Of giving her pleasure and, in the giving, losing himself in the passion that he had only ever felt with her. His Nikki. His wife.

  Hell, his life.

  “Off,” he demanded, even as he fumbled at her pants. She lowered her hands to help him, but he pushed them back. “No. Hold on to the headboard.”

  She met his eyes, and he saw the heat of anticipation burning there. “Yes, sir,” she said, and his cock hardened in response. He felt raw. Needy. He knew what he wanted to burn out of his system. He knew that the conversation with Dallas was driving much of this craving.

  He knew, but it didn’t matter. Because she was at the heart of it. And for Damien, in the end, everything was about Nikki. About their life together. About her belonging to him just as much as he belonged to her.

  And now—well, goddammit, now he needed her. Needed her to make him both feel and forget.

  “Whatever you need,” she whispered, and he laughed.

  “How is it you know me so well?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” She smiled as her fingers tightened around the columns that ran vertically along the headboard. “Right now, though, I don’t want answers. Just you. Please, Damien,” she begged as he tugged her pants the rest of the way off, taking her panties along with them. She spread her legs, and as she once more begged for him to take her, he bent lower, closing his mouth over her sex, tasting her sweet pussy. Christ, he could eat her all night. The taste of her. The way her hips moved as she ground against him, seeking him. Seeking more.

  And, oh, dear God, the way she moaned his name.

  He was hard. So fucking hard.

  He couldn’t wait much longer, and yet ...

  With determination, he pulled back, then stripped, tossing his clothes on the floor, but he kept the belt. With quick, efficient movements, he strapped her arms above her head, her wrists bound to the headboard. Her body arched up, and her lips parted. Her eyes were closed, and she murmured, “Yes, Damien, oh, God, yes, please.”

  He couldn’t ignore it. He had to have her. Had to satisfy himself and her.

  He sat back, letting his eyes roam over her, visually consuming her. The heat and power and fragility of this woman he loved.

  She was his reason for working, for breathing. She was his everything, even before he knew her, this need of her—this vision of the woman who would become his own—had been the force driving him forward. He had to claim her. Needed to know that he still could. That no matter what, that thing that they were to each other was still there, driving him through every moment of every day.

  “That’s it, baby,” he said as he stroked her clit, her hips bucking in a silent demand for more. She struggled against the bonds, then looked at him, her expression pleading. “Please. Inside me. I need you inside me.”

  He slid his fingers deep, knowing that wasn’t what she meant even though she bucked against him, fucking his fingers and taking him deeper and deeper. He teased her walls, finding that singular spot that made her cry out and hook her ankles around him, as if she could pull him inside her.

  “More,” she begged. “Please, Damien. I want your cock inside me.”

  “Do you?” he teased, then eased his fingers out to ease his body over hers, his weight supported by his hands so they were touching only in one place, the gentle caress of his cock against her belly. “Tell me why.”

  “I want you. I want to feel you inside me. I want you to own me.”

  “And?”

  “And, oh, God, please. And I want to own you, too.”

  “You already do, baby.” He moved down her body, his mouth teasing every inch of her, assaulting her breasts, tasting her belly. Licking her pussy.

  And then, as she continued to ple
ad and beg, he bent her knees up, held her in place, and lost himself in the sweetness.

  He thrust deep inside her, one hand tight on her hips, the other beneath her, a finger teasing her ass. He slipped it inside, and she cried out as he filled her so completely. Her body rocked, and she struggled against her bonds.

  He watched as ecstasy played out on her face. As her nipples tightened. As her core pulsed against him with the building power of her orgasm. And as for him? He was right there with her, his body on the verge of exploding until finally—fabulously—he felt the power of sweet, sweet release, and he emptied himself into his wife, claiming her. Marking her.

  Loving her.

  “Yes,” she cried as her own climax followed, and her pussy milked the final edge off his own orgasm. He cried out, then collapsed onto her, her legs tightening around him as if to never let him go.

  “I love you,” she whispered, the words like a benediction.

  “I know,” he murmured. “You’re my proof of miracles.”

  “And you, Mr. Stark, are mine.”

  Chapter Four

  I tug at the belt, both enjoying the sensation of being bound and disturbed that something is troubling my husband. “Are you going to untie me?” I ask as he lazily runs his fingertips up and down my bare torso.

  “I’m not sure,” he says, cupping my breast and then gently kissing my already tight nipple. “I like you this way.” His hand slides down, easing between my legs before his fingers slip into me, and I arch up with pleasure, my body still sensitive and hyper-aware.

  “I like it, too,” I manage. “But I still think you should untie me.”

  “Why? What do you intend to do once you’re free?”

  “I’ll roll you onto your back, then straddle you. Then I’ll lean forward and kiss my way up your chest. I’ll brush my lips over your ear. And then, my darling husband, I’ll whisper that I know what’s bothering you.”

  To his credit, Damien doesn’t even flinch. My husband has worked too long in the world of high power and high finance to show a reaction he wants to keep hidden. But I know him better than anyone, and I see the hint of a shadow in his eyes. “You want to talk about it?” I ask gently.

  “I love you,” he says, making me laugh.

  “You say that like a curse.”

  “Never.” He kisses me hard to prove the point, then unfastens the belt. “But even after all this time, sometimes it still surprises me how well you see me. No one else ever has.”

  I lower my arms, then do as I said, easing him onto his back as I climb on top of him. “Then let me tell you,” I say. “It didn’t even really start with the kidnapping, though that’s what set everything in motion.”

  He says nothing, but I feel the tension in his body and know that I’m right.

  “It really started in Paris,” I say.

  His forehead creases. “In Paris?”

  “With Antonio.” I’d been attacked near our hotel. Antonio Sanchez had been coming to talk to Damien, and it was just fate that he’d been close enough to step in and rescue me. “Now he’s part of Stark Security,” I add. “So are you, of course. The most important part since you founded it. But Antonio and all the others are on the ground doing the dirty work. And I know the way you think.”

  “Do you?” His voice is flat, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking right then, which sort of ruins my point. But I press on anyway.

  “He’s doing that kind of thing every day now. And you just asked Dallas to join up, too. Did he agree?”

  “I think he’s tempted.”

  I nod slowly. “And are you tempted?”

  He lifts his hands to my shoulders and lightly runs his palms down my bare arms. “Would it bother you if I was?”

  “I—” I hesitate because I don’t want to be the little wife who ties him down. But he needs to know the truth. I kept my fears from him once before and promised I never would again. So I draw a breath and start again. “You could do it. You’ve got the skills.”

  That’s true. A former professional athlete, Damien is in excellent shape. His marksmanship is solid, too. He’d always been a good shot, but once he became more visible to the public, he started going to a range regularly. After the kidnapping, regularly was upgraded to frequently, and I usually join him, too.

  “I hear a but,” he says.

  “I’d be scared,” I admit. “I’m terrified of losing you.”

  “Oh, baby.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears prick my eyes, and I know I’m being selfish. He wants to get more involved, and here I am pulling him back. More, I wish I hadn’t even started this conversation. Because I’m certain that his attitude will change when he hears my news. For a while, at least.

  The truth is that Damien is a man of action, but he’s climbed the mountains he’s made so many times that it feels rote. How can I possibly discourage him when he has something to prove?

  I don’t know. But I have to try. Because it’s cold terror I feel when I think of him like that, doing the stuff that the Stark Security agents in the field do.

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” he says. “That’s not really who I am. I might be a warrior, but it’s more of the corporate variety, I’m afraid.”

  “Damien…” I feel my heart squeeze and wish I’d said nothing.

  “Baby, it’s okay. And I can still protect you and the girls, even if it’s in my own unique way.”

  “Of course you can,” I begin, surprised when he reaches for the bedside table. He has to shift to reach the drawer’s handle, and I slide off of him so that he can tug it open. A moment later, he rolls back to face me, a small box in his hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Open it.”

  I do, finding a lovely platinum-set watch. “It’s beautiful. But—”

  I start to ask why I need a watch when I rely on my phone these days, but he interrupts me. “It’s a tracker. And not clunky and unattractive like those plastic gizmos. This one is art.”

  “It is,” I agree. “It’s lovely.”

  “I have one for the girls, too. Theirs have plastic bands and animals on the watch face. Mine’s more like yours.” He raises his arm, and I realize I hadn’t even noticed the new watch.

  I put mine on then lift my wrist for a better look. “How does it work?”

  “A phone app. I can find your location, and I can read your pulse.”

  “Proof of life,” I say, then swallow.

  “Or a reflection of fear.” He opens his phone, taps something, and almost instantaneously, I feel an electronic ting against my skin. “It’s not meant to communicate, though I suppose I could ping Morse Code. But by tapping you know that I’m tracking you. That I’m coming for you.”

  “This is amazing.”

  “It’s Noah’s design,” he adds, referring to one of Dallas’s former associates who now heads up Stark Applied Technology.

  “Can I signal back to you? Turning the crown or something?”

  “Pressing the crown, actually. Like an SOS. But not yet. That’s the next step. You’re wearing the first beta release. I already put the app on your phone. You’re all set up to check on me or send me a love tap.”

  “I like the sound of that,” I say, then lean over to press a kiss on his cheek. “I love it,” I say. “And I love you.”

  I consider giving him my present now, but I want to stick to my plan and wait. I want to be in the hotel bar, his arm around me. Just a casual evening. Just a casual present of my own.

  Now, though…

  I take his hand and twine my fingers through his. “I know you’re frustrated that you can’t make everything right in the world. But I’ve told you before, when you feel that way, you come to me. Control me, Mr. Stark.”

  I see the heat—and the love—flair in his eyes. “Tell me why.”

  It’s a command, and I feel the force of it reverberate all through me, settling sweetly between my thighs. “Because I’ll always give you whatever you need,” I
promise. “I’ll always submit to whatever you want. And you know the third reason, too.”

  His brow rises. “Do I?”

  I take his hand, then nod as I slide it between my legs. I’m already wet, my body thrumming with desire. “It’s because I like it, too.”

  Chapter Five

  The boutique hotel I found for our night on the town is called All Play & No Work, and it’s tucked into a sweet Columbus Circle location atop a ground floor retail space and two floors of offices. The building’s fourth floor serves as the lobby of the hotel, complete with an open reception area and a dark, atmospheric bar tucked away behind an ornate set of oak doors.

  The entire hotel boasts only twelve rooms, all suites, with four on each of the three floors. The top level features an outdoor bar, a small gym, and a rooftop pool.

  “If it’s as charming as the pictures, this is going to be a wonderful getaway,” Damien says, closing the brochure I’d handed him once our driver had reached the city.

  “Oh, it will be.” I shoot him a sideways grin. “I’m ashamed of you, Mr. Stark. You usually pay more attention to what you read.”

  He eyes my bare thigh. I’m wearing leather boots and a light sweater, but I’ve paired them with a soft suede skirt that’s slit high enough that I’d have a talk with Abby, my partner, if she ever wore something similar to an office presentation.

  For my purposes today, though, I think it’s just right.

  “I was a bit distracted,” he says dryly. “What did I miss?”

  “It’s one of Jackson’s designs.”

  “Is it?” He studies the brochure some more. “You’re right. I should have recognized his style. His building, too?”

  I shake my head. “No. Just architectural and construction services. Sylvia said the owner bought the building to use the ground floor retail space. Reginald Aubert.”

  “I know that name. The son of Jerome Aubert,” he says, referring to the world-famous jeweler whose name, in the right circles, anyway, is at least as familiar as Cartier. “Reginald hasn’t reached his father’s level yet, but I hear he’s trying. And that he’s pretty skilled himself.”