Indulge Me Read online

  She nodded, whispered, “Yes, sir,” and hurried away.

  He took his time following her, stopping first by the locked trunk in which they kept the kind of toys the kids really didn’t need to see.

  He opened the padlock and pulled out a few favorites, thinking that they’d do very nicely. He put them in a black velvet bag, then moved to the bedroom, pausing for just a moment to enjoy the view. His wife, gorgeous and naked and ready for him. Her skin glowing in the lamplight of the curtained room.

  His body tightened all over again at the thought of taking her like that, right now.

  With long strides, he moved into the room, pleased when she didn’t turn to look despite the way her body stiffened. He knew she wanted to watch him, wanted to speak. And yet she stayed quiet, willing to submit because he’d told her to.

  They called it their game, but it was as real as it got. The game represented the connection between them. The trust. The love. So much more, in fact, that he had to take another moment to simply revel in the power that was them.

  He saw her squirm, and he chuckled. “Am I torturing you, Ms. Fairchild?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “But it’s the kind of torture I like.”

  He moved closer, running his hand over the swell of her ass. “Good. So do I.”

  He put the bag on the pillow where she could easily see it, then pulled out a flail. “Should I whip that sweet ass, then soothe it with kisses?”

  “Yes, sir. Yes, please.” He heard the breathy arousal that colored her voice, and it made his blood burn with need. But not now. Not yet.

  Instead, he pulled out a blindfold and watched the quickening pulse in her neck as he gently placed it over her eyes, tightening the strap on the back of her head, then trailing his fingers over her hair, her neck, then down her back until he reached her rear. With one finger, he explored further still, slipping between her cheeks until his finger teased the tight muscles of her ass.

  She drew in a breath, and he whispered and increased the pressure. “Should I plug you? Fuck you here?” He moved away long enough to pull out a glass butt plug. “Open your mouth,” he demanded, then slipped it between her lips, wetting the glass before pressing the tip where his finger had been. Not entering her, but giving her the promise of that pleasure.

  “Tell me you’d like this,” he said as her breathing changed, her little moans and sighs making his cock throb painfully.

  “Yes,” she said, and he slid his hand down to palm her sex, finding her wet and ready.

  “Yes,” he acknowledged with a grin. “You would. But not now, baby.”

  “I—” she began, then stopped, obviously fearing she’d be breaking the rules.

  He pulled out a coil of black bondage ropes, then wrapped one end loosely around her wrist so that she’d recognize this new delight despite the blindfold. “Perhaps I should tie you to the bed. Take away your power to respond, make you unable to move to dilute any pleasure I choose to give you. Would that excite you? Flip you onto your back and stretch your arms tight above your head. Your knees wide so that there’s no hiding how much you want it. Your ankles bound.”

  She whimpered but said nothing, just drew in a sharp, needy breath when his fingers slid inside her. She was so wet, so ready, and his cock was so damn hard. This was punishing them both, but what sweet punishment it was. “You want this,” he murmured, thrusting harder as her hips moved involuntarily, her body craving to be filled.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…because I like the way it makes me feel.”

  “In that case, maybe I should just find some random man in the bar to come wield a flail. Would that make you wet?”

  Her body went tight with distaste. “No, sir.”

  “No? The pain centers you, doesn’t it? Pleases you? Arouses you? Why is it that you give the flail to me and not him, this imaginary man in the bar?”

  “Because I love you, and I want you.” Her words were firm, and he knew without a doubt they were true.

  “And? You have to tell me the rest of it. The core of it.”

  Her breath was shaky. “Because I know it pleases you, too. Arouses you to control me, to take command of my pleasure.”

  “It does. And that is a lot to hand over to me. Why bestow such a precious gift on me? Why give me all that power?”

  “Because I trust you.” The words were simple, almost as if she was mentally saying, duh. But it was important that she say it. That she believe and truly feel it. Because that was the core of what he needed her to understand.

  He lowered his voice, changing his tone. Leaving behind the seduction, but keeping the firmness. The hint of command and control. “Do you trust the universe, Nikki?”

  Her brow furrowed, and she turned her head, as if she was trying to see him despite the blindfold. “No,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”

  He moved around the bed, running his finger lightly over her skin as he bent over, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “Then don’t give it your power.”

  “I—I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “You will.” He allowed himself a grin, thinking how much he was going to enjoy the days to come. “Tomorrow, school begins.”

  Chapter Five

  I’m humming as I work in the kitchen, alternating between flipping eggs and peeking through the giant window to watch the gulls playing in the distant surf. It’s just past eight, and the sand sparkles in the sunlight.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Damien says as he comes in from the patio. He’s in running shorts and a navy blue T-shirt, and looks unfairly yummy for someone who rolled out of bed and went for a jog. After so many years of marriage, though, I’ve come to terms with the inequity of it all. He awakes with all the vim, vigor, and sex appeal of a Roman god, while I get up looking like I pulled two shifts at an all-night diner.

  But when you get right down to it, I got the better end of the deal. Or, at least, I got the better view.

  “Not a good mood,” I tell him, sliding the eggs onto plates before sliding myself into his arms. “A fabulous mood. After last night, how could I help but be?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He reaches around me and snags a piece of bacon off the serving tray, dodging my quick slap to his hand.

  “Good, because that’s how I meant it. Although I may take it back if you’re going to overstep your bounds by stealing bacon.”

  “Consider it an advance against future bacon to come.” His gaze shifts up toward the large clock mounted on the wall, and I watch as his mouth curves into a frown. “No time for a walk on the beach with my wife.”

  “No, but you could walk with me to get the kids.” I add bacon to his plate and slide it onto the breakfast bar, along with a fork, half an avocado, and a slice of buttered toast. “I figured I’d watch all four kids today in payment for Syl and Jackson giving us last night.”

  “I’d take you up on that,” he says, moving around the island to sit on a stool, “except—”

  “You have plenty of time to run with me to get the kids and still get a shower in,” I assure him as I fix my own plate. He has a chopper coming in forty minutes to ferry him to the Santa Monica airport where Grayson’s waiting to take Damien to Paris.

  “Except…” he continues, drawing out the word, “neither one of us needs to go get the girls. Jackson texted earlier that they all went down to the snorkel pond.” One of the features of the island is a natural lagoon that is protected by a rocky barrier the government built back when the island was used for military training. The so-called pond doesn’t get any deeper than four feet and attracts quite a bit of sea life, making it a favorite place for little kids to splash in their floaties and masks.

  He turns his attention to his breakfast as I try to process his words. “Not that I don’t want the kids spending time with their aunt, uncle, and cousins, but why on earth didn’t they wait for me?”

  “Probably because you won’t
be joining them.” He stabs a chunk of avocado. “You’re coming with me to Paris.”

  “I—what? No, I’m not. We talked about this a dozen times. Abby and I are going to San Diego the day after tomorrow to meet a potential client, and you said you’d be so busy dealing with those prototypes that it was all you could do to squeeze in the meeting with Antonio.”

  “That was before.” There’s a firmness in his voice that I recognize. His corporate warrior voice.

  I cross my arms. “Before what?”

  “Before I decided that we’d make it work.”

  “You decided?”

  He’s just taken the last bite of his breakfast, so his acknowledgement is a silent nod.

  “Well, you can undecide. I’m not packed, and I’m not going to leave Abby in a lurch.”

  “Abby can handle it. You made her your partner for a reason. And I already talked to her. You don’t even need to pack. Anything you need, we can get in Paris.”

  “Damien, I’m not—”

  “Are you arguing with me? Because it sounds like you’re arguing with me.” His voice is still firm. No nonsense. But this time it’s not a corporate warrior tone. It’s much more personal than that. It’s low and sensual and full of the promise of pleasure…or the threat of pain.

  You will do what I say. Without question. Always.

  It’s the voice from last night, and I feel my body responding. My sex clenches in anticipation. My nipples tighten with arousal. I’m like Pavlov’s fucking dog, and I shake my head, more in denial of my own traitorous body than in argument. But of course Damien doesn’t know that.

  “Yes,” he says, striding around the island, his bare feet not detracting in the least from his commanding appearance. He twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. “What did we talk about last night? Or do I need to turn you over my knee to help you remember?”

  Once again, my body responds to his words. It’s as if I’m a desiccated sponge and every forceful word is a drop of water bringing me back to life.

  Honestly, I’m tempted to push back just for the pleasure of his punishment.

  And, yes, I know that all of this is part of his plan to help me chase away my lingering fears, and I’m still dubious that it will work. Right now, though, I don’t care about plans or fears. All I care about is desire. Because right now, I can’t deny my body’s reaction. And massive fail or not, I’m certain I’m going to enjoy this experiment.

  “All right,” I say with a decisive nod. “But we should say goodbye to the girls.”

  He meets my eyes. “No.”

  I suck a breath in through my nose, hating the thought of not seeing them. Afraid that if I don’t, fate will conspire against me, and I might never see them again. “Yes,” I counter. “We can stop by the pond on the way to the helipad. I can’t just leave. I haven’t been away from them since the kidnapping.”

  He steps forward and takes my hands. “Sweetheart, I know.”

  Chapter Six

  Since I hadn’t intended to go to Paris, my wardrobe is entirely too casual. Loose cotton dresses, baggy shorts, flip-flops. In the past, I kept a nice dress or two for when we visited one of the resort’s featured restaurants. But I’d recently taken them back to Malibu, intending to trade them out. Naturally, I haven’t gotten around to that yet.

  I settle on twill pants and a plain white T-shirt with cute sandals, which should be comfortable on the plane. Apparently we’re going shopping when we get there. I’ll restock my closet Parisian-style.

  I give Damien a shout from the bathroom to let him know I’m almost ready, then pause in front of the mirror to check my makeup and run a brush through my hair.

  I’m debating a ponytail when he walks in. He stops in the doorway, looks me up and down, then frowns.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I thought you said you were ready.”

  I study his face, confused, but he looks perfectly serious. “I—um, I figured this would be fine for traveling. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s my fault,” he says, as if he’s just remembered something. “I neglected to set out your outfit.” He moves through the large bathroom to the equally large closet. When he returns, he’s holding my trench coat.

  It’s neither cold nor rainy, and I’m still ridiculously confused.

  “This,” he says. “Wear this.”

  I start to point out that there’s no need, when I realize what he means. He wants me to wear the coat. Only the coat.

  I open my mouth to protest, then see the subtle shake of his head even as I hear the echo of his earlier words. You’ll do what I say, Nikki. Without question. Without argument.

  That’s the game, after all.

  So I shrug casually, as if this is nothing, then pull off my shirt. I toss it negligently across the padded stool in front of my dressing table. I follow with my bra, then my sandals, then pull my pants and underwear off together.

  I walk slowly to him, enjoying his reaction, as well as the way his obvious desire lights a spark inside me. I take the coat with a smirk, then put it on. The silk lining glides smoothly over my skin, the sensation all the more erotic since this garment isn’t meant to be worn next to bare flesh. I button the coat, but with only four buttons it gapes a bit more than I’d like. I cinch the sash firmly around my waist and feel slightly less exposed. Very slightly.

  Then I stand in front of my husband, my arms to my sides, as if offering myself up for auction.

  “Good,” he says. “And you can wear the sandals.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’ll stay this way all the way to Paris.”

  His words freeze me. I don’t know what I’d been thinking—that this was a game to be played before we left the island?—but what he’s suggesting had never even entered my mind.

  “Damien, no—”

  “Don’t argue,” he says, then glances at his watch. “There’s no time to punish you now…”

  “But—” I cut myself off. “Sir, may I speak freely?”

  “You may.”

  “We’ll be traveling almost a full day. The chopper to the Santa Monica airport. Refueling on the East Coast. All the way over the Atlantic.”

  “You’re afraid someone will realize. Worse, that they’ll see.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “All right,” he says, and I sag with relief. “Embrace that fear.”

  I freeze. “What—”

  “Without question. Without argument.” He turns to head out of the bathroom, pausing to look back at me. “Get your purse. We need to get to the helipad. And Nikki,” he adds, with just the hint of a smile, “while we’re traveling—while you’re afraid of what people might think or see—I want you to remember that seeing you face your fears pleases me.”

  I meet his eyes, roll my shoulders back, and nod.

  * * * *

  I’ve not flown much in the chopper, and after going from the island back to the mainland, I can unequivocally state that I prefer traveling with wings, not blades. The noise was intense, but not as much as the vibration. And while the sensation of helicopter motion combined with my hyper-aroused state was rather scintillating, there was no way to enjoy the sensations. Not with the pilot sitting just a few feet away from me and Damien.

  The real downside, though, became evident when we boarded the Bombardier, the jet Damien uses primarily for intercontinental travel. I was drunk on sexual anticipation, my body hyper-aware of everything. And yet I had to board that plane, chat with Grayson, and then catch up with Katie, who’s been the primary attendant with the Stark fleet for as long as I’ve known Damien.

  “They know,” I whisper to Damien now that we’re buckled in for take-off, each with a glass of wine.

  “They might,” he says. “But they’ll never be certain.”

  I grin at him, amused. The man has a point.

  “I want to call the kids as soon as we’re in the air.”

  “No,” he says.

  “Excus
e me?”

  “Are you afraid something’s happened to them?”

  “No,” I say, because even though that was my reason for calling—to make sure all is well—I also know that it must be. Sylvia or Jackson would have called immediately if anything had happened, and if they contacted Damien, he would have told me. Even while playing this game, he wouldn’t withhold information about our babies.

  “I just—I hate leaving without saying goodbye.”

  “I know,” he says gently. “I wouldn’t whisk their mommy away with no word. I went by the pond on my run this morning and told them that Daddy’s taking Mommy on a secret trip, gave them both kisses from you, and told them they had to help keep the secret.”

  I relax. I should have known Damien would anticipate my worries.

  Take-off is uneventful, and as soon as Grayson’s voice comes over the loudspeaker to let us know we’ve reached cruising altitude, I unbuckle and stand, my hand held out to Damien.

  His brows raise. “Going somewhere?”

  “The state room?” I mean it as a statement, but it comes out as a question.

  “Maybe later,” he says. “Right now, I think you should sit down.” He nods at the adjustable couch that lines the copilot side of the jet. Each of the four segments extend, pulling out into four narrow beds divided by hidden arm rests that convert to bed rails, or into one full size bed if the rails are retracted.

  In other words, it’s large enough to comfortably do anything Damien has in mind.

  Without thinking, I take a step backward. Damien’s brows rise, and I freeze. “Objections, Ms. Fairchild?”

  I lick my lips, thinking. I know that Katie won’t come in. There’s a door between the passenger area and the galley where the crew stays. Still, it’s a lot like having sex in the den while the kids are playing in their room.

  I sigh and start to sit. Damien takes my elbow to prevent it. “It’s warm in here. I don’t think you need the coat.”

  My heart pounds, and I shake my head without thinking.

  “Yes,” he says. That’s all he says.

  I take off the coat, ignoring his tiny smile of triumph, and toss it onto one of the two armchairs on the opposite side of the cabin.