Page 15 of Possess Me

“Damien.” His name is barely a whisper.

His lips brush my ears as his eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Disobeying, Ms. Fairchild?”

I don’t answer. Not in words, anyway. But I do as he ordered, sliding my hand between my legs, feeling my own slick heat even as I feel the hard press of his cock—still in his tux—against my bare ass.

I stroke my clit, my eyes locked on Damien’s in the mirror as that sweet excitement builds. As my legs seem too shaky to support me. As my core goes hot and slick with need. I’m close, so close, but I don’t want the explosion. Not like this.

With a gasp, I close my eyes, leaning back against him. He’s so hard, and all I want is for him to tug down the damn zipper and take me right now, hard and fast and with all the heat and danger and wildness that seems to haunt this house.

“Please,” I beg, because now that the thought has entered my head, I know that’s what we have to do. What the house needs us to do. “Damien,” I beg as the fingers of one hand twist my nipple before he forces me to my knees, then bends me over the side of the bed, the ornate bedspread rough against my bare skin.

I hear the metallic zip as he frees his cock, then the pressure of his body as he bends over me, his rock-hard cock teasing my ass as he trails kisses down my spine before ordering me to prop myself up on my elbows. I do, and he takes my breasts, his hands engulfing them, not in a gentle caress but hard and wild. An anchor. A port in a storm of wild passion.

So he can find his way back.

The words fill my head even as Damien thrusts inside me—hard and fast, so that my body grates against the spread as if he’s marking me with each thrust. It’s wild and raw, and though I cry out for him to move slower, all he does is tighten the grip on the back of my neck so that I’m locked in place. His.

His hard, raw groan rocks through me when he comes, and for a moment, he lays on top of me, breathing hard. Then I feel his body tense, and with a curse, he’s up and off the bed. “Nikki,” he says, my name sounding heavy on his lips. “God, Nikki—I’m sorry.”

I sit up, not even thinking as I grab one of the pillows to cover me, when never once have I felt the need to be modest around Damien.

He drags his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know why—I didn’t mean—Fuck.” Then he’s standing in front of me, one finger gently lifting my chin. “I didn’t mean to use you like that.”

I meet his eyes. “I’m yours,” I say simply. “Whatever you need, Damien. You know that.”

He does know that—because that’s who we are to each other. It’s how we’ve always been. It’s the reason we found each other, and he knows that.

And I think the fact that he’s not saying that scares me more than any voice in a doorway or ghost in a mirror.

“Damien?”

“Maybe we should head back to the Pavilion. Order some champagne up to the room. Shame to let the penthouse go to waste.”

I think that’s a fabulous idea. But when I open my mouth, what comes out is, “No.”

He only looks at me, then nods. “The house.” He brushes my cheek. “We’ll make it ours.”

He pulls me close and kisses me again, long and deep and tasting like Damien. And this time, when we make love, it’s long and languorous and gently sweet.

After, I lay in the circle of his arms, wondering if I should tell him the truth—that I wanted hard. That I wanted wild. That I wanted—needed—to be used tonight. That I am craving a darkness wrapped in love. That I need the pain. Not the tip of a blade to my flesh, but his hand on my ass, his cock relentless. My wrists bound.

I need it tonight.

Except I’m not sure it’s me who needs it. Maybe it’s Vivien, I think, as I curl into Damien’s heat.

No, I think, as sleep tugs me under. It’s the ghosts.

I shiver. We have to figure out how to get rid of them. Because ghosts don’t simply vanish. Not in a place like this. And certainly not without a fight.

7

Moonlight streams through the window as I wake slowly, my body feeling gloriously achy, and his name on my lips … Carlton.

Carlton?

With a gasp, I sit bolt upright as I come fully awake, the remnants of a sensual dream that didn’t star Damien lingering like dust in an abandoned house—there, but impossible to truly see, much less catch.

For a moment, I stay completely still, the soft whisper of Damien’s steady breathing grounding me.