“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 bastard 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 unbutton the skirt and shimmy 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 clit,” 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 clit.”
“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 clit. I’m so sensitive that even that tiny sensation makes me shiver.
“Well?” Damien asks.
I cock 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 fuck.” 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, God, 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 gratitude. 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 buttons.
“Slide your hand up your thigh,” he says, “then gently stroke your clit. Are you doing it?”
“Yes.” I can barely speak.
“Can you turn on the vibrator?”
“I—I think so.”
“Fuck yourself with it, baby. I want it inside you. I want you imagining it’s me. Holding you, fucking you, burying myself deep in you.”
Oh my God . I fumble, turned on, frantic, weak with longing. I switch to my right hand, and stroke my clit with my left. The oil is amazing, and . . . “I’m close,” I say. “God, 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 clit 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.”