The Dare Collection June 2019. Rachael Stewart
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of surrender I accepted that I’d missed seeing him.
After a mere twenty-four hours...
Dear God.
He lifted his head and pierced me with hot hazel eyes.
I’d chosen another suit with a tight but flirty skirt and I watched his hungry gaze linger on my legs before rising. ‘Morning, Neve.’
‘Did you get whatever it was taken care of?’
The light in his eyes dimmed. ‘Not all of it. But it’ll get done by hell or high water.’
My breath caught at the brusque pledge but before I could comment, he tapped my chair. ‘The others are arriving. Let’s get this show on the road, hmm?’
I wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or disappointed he’d made no reference to our night together. Once filming got under way, it was all business.
Sadly the pitches that rolled in were less than stellar.
The Auto-Waiter app programmed to mix sixty-nine different cocktails in your hotel room drew a raised eyebrow from Damian and ribald jokes from Gary I was sure would be cut during editing.
I was relieved when we broke for lunch, tucking into my sushi as Damian chatted with the producers. Afterwards, I headed to the bathroom to refresh my make-up and was at the vanity when the door opened.
Damian entered, his gaze darting to the empty cubicles before he nudged the door shut with his foot. My heart leapt into my throat when he turned the lock.
‘You can’t be in here,’ I said a little too breathlessly.
‘I can if you promise not to scream when I make you come,’ he replied, reaching for me. He parted my jacket and cupped my breasts, mercilessly teasing my nipples before he began tackling my buttons.
‘Damian—’
‘Shh.’ He pinned me against the vanity and kissed me hard and fast. ‘We can waste time arguing about this or you can shut up and let me fuck you. Which would you prefer, Neve?’
I looked into eyes blazing with desire, at the flare of colour across his cheekbones, before taking in the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
He wanted me, just as badly as I wanted him. Why deny it?
‘I want you to fuck me.’
‘Bloody good choice, darling,’ he responded gutturally.
Words ceased as he hiked up my skirt and dragged my panties down my legs. The moment I stepped out of them, he dropped to his knees and yanked one leg over his shoulder. I bit my lip to stop from making a sound as he buried his face in my pussy and drew my clit firmly into his mouth. Flicking and rolling his tongue over the nub drove me from zero to a hundred in seconds. I scrambled to stay upright as my leg gave way. Damian wrapped his hands around my thighs, supporting me easily as he continued to eat me with unapologetic alacrity.
I came in a fierce rush, my fist jammed against my mouth to smother my screams. Through the haze of my orgasm, I felt Damian rise to his feet, pull his zipper down and free his cock. I had only a moment to blindly reach for him, caress his thick length before he was knocking my hand out of the way and sliding on a condom.
Demanding hands jerked my hips to the edge of the vanity, and this time he used his mouth to smother my scream as he impaled me in one ferocious thrust. I threw my legs around his waist, eager to get him closer, deeper for the next thrust. When it came, I cried out again.
‘Christ, do you know how much I’ve been dying to fuck you again? I think I’m getting seriously addicted to you,’ he groaned against my lips.
My heart lurched, filled with a buoyant sensation that threatened to carry me away to a thrilling and dangerous place. A place with pitfalls and minefields all pointing to emotional danger.
And yet... ‘Show me,’ I whispered urgently. Recklessly. Because I was desperate to know that I wasn’t alone on this slippery slide to somewhere other than just sexual gratification.
He grunted something incoherent, curled his hands beneath my bottom and lifted me clean off the vanity. With his gaze fused with mine, Damian fucked me with raw, unfettered urgency that emptied my mind of everything but him, possessing me, turning me inside out.
Making me...different. Somehow.
‘God... Neve.’ His voice was tinged with that same bewilderment slithering through me. But that couldn’t be, because it would mean...
That single thought shattered as he slammed home one more time and held himself deep inside me. My muscles clenched around him as I felt him pulse within me.
‘Come for me, darling,’ he ordered in his perfect English accent.
I came with a long, tortured moan he devoured for endless seconds before he threw his head back and hissed his own release.
Damian’s head dropped to my shoulder and I held him to me as we caught our breaths. All too soon he pulled out, then set about adjusting my clothes before taking care of his. When he was done, he brushed a soft kiss on my lips, his gaze searching my face.
‘I missed you. Did you miss me?’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
He laughed, the sound low, pleased and pleasing. ‘I’ll see you outside in five minutes, okay?’
Still caught in a post-orgasm haze, I nodded and watched him saunter towards the door. Then I scrambled to my feet, frantically searched the floor and came up empty. God, he didn’t... ‘Damian!’
He paused with one hand on the door. ‘Yeah?’
‘Give me back my panties,’ I demanded in a fierce whisper.
He raised one haughty eyebrow. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, darling. Now shift that delicious arse or you’re going to be late.’
He stepped out with the easy confidence of a man who didn’t give a damn who saw him walk out of a ladies’ restroom.
And I knew I was in deep trouble when I turned around and caught my wide, bright smile in the mirror.
Filming wrapped up late evening on Tuesday, a high-spirited post-production meeting marking the end of the segment. When the senior producer indicated that he would love for me to return for the next season, I politely declined.
My objective had been achieved—Damian Mortimer under my sexual control.
He might be his own man in every other area of his life but with every look, every subtle touch, he was mine sexually.
But for how long...?
This project was almost over. I’d landed the deal that with careful, clever marketing would put Nevirna on the international map.
After France, there would be no valid reason to keep seeing Damian. No reason to keep him in my bed.
This time the pain in my heart was sharp. Acrid.
Altered in a way I couldn’t pinpoint exactly but felt deep inside.
* * *
The helicopter ride from Bordeaux-Merignac Airport to Damian’s chateau on the edge of the Garonne valley was swift and exhilarating. And passed in almost as much of a blur as leaving Manhattan and experiencing Damian’s incredible private jet and all the extravagance that both had to offer.
‘We’re flying over the property now,’ Damian said through the mic attached to his headphones.
The view below was breathtaking. Rolling green hills, farmland and endless copses of trees were intersected by a large winding stream. But none of it compared to the majesty of the classic rectangular French chateau standing proudly on its own hill. Set on three floors and made of stone that gleamed white gold in the bright sunshine, the frontage boasted arched windows, with two slate-roofed turrets jutting out from each corner.
‘Welcome