I look at him, at this man who commands an empire. But right now the power and the fame and the money mean nothing. He is just a man. My man. And in that moment I must acknowledge the truth that has gone unspoken and unexamined for so long—I am falling in love with Damien Stark.
The thought doesn’t scare me. On the contrary, it makes me smile.
He matches my grin, then brushes his fingertip over my lower lip. I open my mouth, drawing him in, tasting the chlorine and the soft comfort of Damien’s skin. “What are you thinking about?”
“You,” I admit. “Always you.”
“What about me?”
I allow my smile to widen. “Close your eyes, Mr. Stark, and I’ll show you.”
His brow lifts, but he complies, and I move closer, then stroke my fingers over his slick, wet chest.
“I’m going to make love to you, Damien.” My words are so full of emotion they feel too big for my throat. “I’m going to take your mind off everything that’s bothering you. And a lot more effectively than swimming laps.” It’s late—after three—and I’m tired. I’m a bit sore, too, but it doesn’t matter, because I need this moment with Damien. I need to take care of him now, to stroke and soothe him.
I need it—and I desperately hope that he needs me, too.