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 plead 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.