Stark Ever After Novella 4
Perfect for readers of Fifty Shades of Grey and Bared to You, this steamy novella from J. Kenner, bestselling author of Release Me, features powerful billionaire Damien Stark and his wife, Nikki Fairchild, on their impromptu getaway to Las Vegas– and there’s no better place to turn up the heat than in Sin City.
I’ve never felt as close to anyone as I have with Damien Stark. I know every line of his body, every secret within his soul. There’s nothing I crave more than his touch, and with his kiss, he seals his claim.
Las Vegas is the perfect place for us, where we can indulge every desire and fantasy. But when someone from my past resurfaces, I can’t ignore my instinct that I have to make things right.
With Damien by my side, I feel safe no matter the danger. Our passion protects us, drives us, makes us whole. His pleasure is an exquisite game, and one that I’ll play forever.
Seduce Me is intended for mature audiences.
Seduce Me is Story # 3.4 in the Stark Saga - Damien & Nikki series.
Seduce Me - Buy Now
About this StoryPublication Date 10/13/2015 Story Type Novella Primary Characters Damien Stark Nichole "Nikki" Fairchild (Stark) Secondary Characters Jamie Archer Ryan Hunter Series Stark Saga - Damien & Nikki Place in Series Story #3.4 Genre Contemporary Romance
I scowl at my calendar for today and wonder how I am possibly going to be able to cram everything into one workday. I have three meetings, half a dozen phone calls to return, a lunch appointment, and plans to meet my best friend, Jamie, for drinks at seven. And somewhere in there I have to schedule time to actually get work done.
Frankly, I’m not sure if it’s possible without the aid of time travel devices or, at the very least, a part-time assistant.
I’m tapping the end of my pencil against the overfull sheet—because despite owning my own web- and mobile-app development company, I print my schedule every morning—when Damien approaches.
I know that he is there even though he has yet to say a word. Perhaps I heard his bare feet on the wooden floor. Perhaps the air shifted as he passed. Or perhaps he is simply Damien Stark, and I could no more fail to notice his presence than I could miss a tidal wave.
But more likely, I think it is because he has so thoroughly claimed me that there is never a moment when I am not blissfully and totally aware of him.
I am in the library on the mezzanine of the exceptional Malibu house that was still under construction when I first started dating Damien. Now it is our home, and every space within these walls is precious to me. I’m at the desk near the section where Damien has shelved his sci-fi/fantasy collection, tattered paperbacks tucked in alongside pristine, signed first editions. A few feet away, in one of the comfy leather chairs, the newest addition to our household is curled up into a tiny ball of orange fluff.
This is Damien’s favorite place to work, and that’s part of why I come here almost every morning—I like to feel close to him.
Right now, I feel very close indeed.
“You’re amazing, you know.” I speak without turning around, then smile when I hear his soft chuckle behind me.
“Because I can sneak up on you?” This time I do hear his footsteps as he moves even closer.
“I knew you were there. By definition, that isn’t sneaking. Or, at least, it’s not successful sneaking.”
“You make a good point, Mrs. Stark.” His hands press gently on my shoulders, and I close my eyes, just soaking up the feel of him. It’s more potent than coffee, and if I could bottle this sensation, I’d be richer than my husband.
I haven’t yet turned to look at him, but I don’t need to. I long ago memorized every delicious inch of him. His lush, raven-black hair, so familiar to my fingers. His perfectly sculpted face, softened by the slightest shadow of beard stubble. His lean, well-muscled athlete’s body that looks equally exceptional in jeans or a tux. And, of course, his dual-colored eyes that can look right to my core and see all my secrets.
It is not yet seven on a Friday morning and though I’m still in my typical morning uniform of a T-shirt and baggy shorts, I know that he is already dressed. I inhale, confirming that assumption. I smell the soap from his shower. The hint of musk from the cologne I bought him in Paris on our honeymoon, just a few months ago.
“So tell me, why am I amazing?”
“To properly answer that, I’d need PowerPoint, a projector, and at least two days.” I tilt my head back so that I can grin at him, and my heart skitters when I see his face, even more perfect than the picture I keep tucked away in my mind. “But in this particular instance, I was referring to your time management skills.” Damien accomplishes more in a day than most people do in a year. Frankly, I think it’s highly likely that superpowers are involved.
“By human standards. For you, it’s probably a cakewalk. But I’m going to have to do some juggling.”
I stand as I push the chair away from the desk, then turn and lean back so that I’m half-sitting on it, my rear pressed against the edge. Damien’s attention is entirely on my face, and there is such a look of hunger in his eyes that I have to smile. “Careful, or you’ll be late for work.”
“I find that’s one of the perks of running my own company. There’s no one to slap my hand when I break the rules.”
I hear the thread of playfulness in his voice and match it. “Do you break the rules often, Mr. Stark?”
He lifts his hand, then brushes my hair away from my neck, so that his fingertips stroke my tender skin, tracing down along my collarbone. “As often as possible,” he says.
I try very hard to continue breathing normally as his fingers drift lower, over the swell of my breast to linger on my nipple, now pebble-hard beneath the threadbare cotton of my favorite University of Texas T-shirt. He flicks it lightly, causing me to gasp. Causing a hell of a lot more than that, actually, as every nerve ending in my body suddenly seems to be connected to my breast by some sensual network that his touch has illuminated.
I say nothing, biting my lower lip against the instinct to cry out his name in demand and longing. He meets my eyes, his crinkling at the corners as his mouth curves up into a grin. He understands perfectly what I am not saying—what he is doing to me. He holds my gaze, his clever fingers traveling lower and lower until he slides his hand between my legs, cupping me intimately and making me moan. “What do you say?” he murmurs. “Want to break some rules with me?”
“Desperately,” I admit.
He makes a low noise of approval, then eases closer, taking his hand away so that I can feel the length of his erection hard between my legs. He pulls me fully upright, his hands now cupping my rear as he grinds against me, a slow sensual movement like a sexy dance in a dimly lit nightclub.
I tilt my head back and he bends to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth, that simple contact as wildly erotic as the deepest kiss, the hardest fuck. And though the brush of his lips against my skin is feather soft, I feel the hard, demanding weight of it between my legs, and I press my hips tighter against his in silent, desperate demand.
He brushes his lips over my cheek to my ear, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure through me.
“I appreciate the sentiment, Mrs. Stark,” he whispers. “But we’ll have to wait to be naughty.”
It takes a moment for my sex-fogged mind to process his words, and when I do, I turn my head to look at him, and see both heat and laughter on his face. I pull back, narrowing my eyes. “Will we?”
“The helicopter will be here soon. I have a meeting in San Diego at eight.”
“You, Damien Stark, are a very cruel man.”
“I can be.” He steps back, fully breaking the contact between us and leaving me feeling soft and needy and very, very turned on. “But isn’t it nice to know that your schedule is more flexible than you thought?”
I cock my head. “You’re not off the hook, mister. There will be blowback.”
“I look forward to your most creative punishment. Tonight, perhaps?” he says, and the eagerness in his voice makes me laugh out loud.
I’m about to tell him that he has no idea how creative I can be when my cellphone chirps in time with his. It’s the automatic signal that is sent when someone uses a code to operate the gated entry to the property. Damien pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen. “Jamie.”
“Really?” Jamie Archer is my best friend, and I have no problem with her popping by unexpectedly. I’m just not sure why she would, particularly this early. After all, she lives in Studio City, which is almost an hour away. More in morning rush hour, which in Los Angeles lasts from dawn until about lunch. Texting is more Jamie’s speed, and so by the time she lets herself in the front door and is calling my name, my imagination has run wild with all sorts of horrible scenarios.
“What’s wrong?” I call.
“Nothing. I’ve got news.”
I glance at Damien, relieved. “Then meet me in the kitchen. I’ll be right there.”
The house actually has two kitchens, but I have never used the one on the first floor, which is huge and tricked out with so many amazing gadgets it would make Gordon Ramsay proud, not to mention easily serve up an intimate dinner party for two or three hundred.
I much prefer the normal-sized kitchen on the third floor. It was designed to be a space for caterers, as it is connected to the open area intended for entertaining. But it has become the kitchen that Damien and I use regularly.
From the mezzanine, I take the stairs that lead to an alcove near the kitchen. Damien and I arrive in the breakfast nook right as Jamie is helping herself to a cup of coffee.
“Okay,” she says, “this is seriously awesome.”
“The coffee?” I ask, and my best friend rolls her eyes.
“Gloria Myers. Do you remember me mentioning her?”
I scour my memory, but nothing comes to mind.
“She’s the head of programming for the network affiliate in Dallas that offered me a job. You guys were on your honeymoon.”
“Right,” I say. “I remember.” Jamie and I are both from Dallas. I came to LA to reinvent myself. She came to take the acting world by storm. It hadn’t worked out quite the way she planned, however, and at one point Jamie had seriously considered returning to Texas to work as an on-air reporter while she got her shit together. She’d ended up staying, though, not in small part because her new boyfriend, Ryan Hunter, is doing a damn fine job of keeping her grounded.
“What about her?” Damien prompts.
“Gloria wants me to cover a tech convention in Vegas.” Jamie bounces a little. “Just a couple of interviews, really. But it’s a good break and a foot in the door. I told them months ago I wanted to be their West Coast correspondent, and I guess now they’re taking me seriously.”
“That’s fabulous.” I hurry over and give her a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
“It rocks, yeah. But the best part is that it’s only a few hours of work tomorrow morning. If we go soon, we’ll have two nights and almost two full days.”
“We?” I repeat.
Damien is much quicker on the uptake. “So you came to whisk my wife away to Vegas? I don’t know, Jamie. Sounds like a bad precedent to me.” He is speaking in his corporate boardroom voice, but I can hear the tease underneath.
“On the contrary,” I say, “I think it’s an excellent plan.” I smile sweetly. “We can consider it your punishment.”
“Oh, please,” Jamie says. “Punishment? What? You two haven’t heard of sexting?” She bats her eyes innocently. “That’s what I intend to do with Ryan. It’ll make the return home all the more delicious.”
Damien puts on a mock scowl. “Is that why our corporate text rates are so high lately?” Not only is Ryan Jamie’s boyfriend, he’s also the chief of security for Stark International.
Jamie waves his words away. “Well?” she demands of me. “Are we on? If we leave now we’ll hit Vegas early afternoon and have plenty of time to play. You should check out the convention, Nik. Mostly gamer related, but still right up your alley. And it’s at the Starfire Resort and Casino,” she adds with a meaningful look at Damien. The Starfire is a Stark International hotel. “Which means I figure you and I can snag one hell of a nice upgrade. So what do you say?” she asks me. “You can clear your schedule, right?”
I glance at Damien with a very smug grin. “Yeah,” I tell Jamie. “As it turns out, I absolutely can.”