His touch takes my breath away. Our passion feeds my soulā¦
Damien Stark is back!
Lost With Me, a new full-length novel in the wildly popular Stark Saga from New York Times bestselling author J. Kenner, is available NOW!
My love for Damien fills me, and the intensity of our bond brings me to my knees. Ā There is no burden I wouldnāt bear for him, no decadent punishment to which I wonāt submit.
The dark days seemingly behind us, we have carved a life out of adversity, chiseling away pain to reveal strength and beauty. Now, all I want is to laugh with our children in the sunlight, then surrender myself to Damienās embrace in the dark.
But lingering secrets and hidden menace threaten our family. Now, Damien and I must forge a new strength from our shared passion and hope the fire between us will burn away the darkness and protect everything we hold most dear.
This sexy, emotionally charged romance continues the story of Damien Stark, the powerful billionaire whoās never had to take ānoā for an answer, and his beloved wife Nikki Fairchild Stark.
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Excerpt:
His name dies on my lips, but I hear it all the same in my head. Damien. My voice breathy. Full of need.
He eases me back so that my body is flush against his, and I close my eyes, losing myself in the way his touch makes me feel even while fighting the urge to step away. To tell him to stop. That weāre in public, and we canāt do this.
But I donāt. I stay, and as I close my eyes in acceptance of my own desires, I hear his low, soft moan of satisfaction and feel the swell of his erection against my lower back, his arousal growing with my acquiescence.
Mine, too.
Because while I may not want to be the kind of woman who gets turned on by her loverās touch in a public gallery, I canāt deny the heat building between my thighs any more than I can deny the basic truth that where Damien is concerned, there are no limits. Not because I have none, but because he knows how to take me right to the edge. To make me breathless and needy and desperate. But never to push too far.
Iād changed before meeting Jamie for lunch, and now Iām wearing a knit tank that hugs my body and a wrap style skirt that fastens with a single button at my hip. His hands are pressed against the curve of my waist, the heat of contact burning through the black knit of my top. I make a small move as if to turn around, but he tightens his grip, his utterance of noso soft that I may have only imagined it.
But I know Iām not imagining the motion of his hands as he slowly eases them up my body, making my heart beat faster with each millimeter of progress higher and higher. My breath is shallow, and I whisper his name, āDamien,ā not certain if Iām acknowledging the moment, pleading with him to stop, or begging him to continue.
His hands curve under my breasts, his palms lifting them as he presses his thumbs down until my nipples are pinched tight between his thumbs and forefingers. He increases the pressure, and I suck in air, squeezing my legs together, my clit throbbing as I bite my lower lip and fight the urge to surrender to the heat that is building inside me.
āYouāre wondering if itās pleasure sheās feeling,ā he says, and my mind has traveled so far from these walls that it takes me a moment to realize that heās referring to the woman in Blaineās painting. āPleasure or embarrassment,ā he adds as his right hand eases lower, his fingers finding the flap of material where the ends of the skirt overlap.
He slips his hand in, his palm sliding over the brushed cotton, his fingers slowly tugging the interior layer toward him. It bunches within his hand, and I bite back a gasp when his fingertips graze the bare skin of my thigh. āWas she turned on by the knowledge that so many would see her portrait?ā
His fingers slowly ease higher, closer and closer to my bare sex. I bite my lower lip and close my eyes, my entire body aching with need, craving his touch. I can imagine his hand cupping my sex, his fingers sliding inside as his lips brush my ear while he whispers to me, his sensual words making my imagination soar as my body quivers and tightens and explodes around him, and taste blood from biting down so hard to keep from crying out.
I imagine all of that. Craving it. Desperate for it.
And at the same time terrified of it.
āNot here,ā I murmur, resting my hand over my skirt. Over his hand. āNot now.ā
His fingers still, but he inches closer, his heat burning into my body, the beat of his heart reverberating through me.
āI got your note. And your present.ā His whisper rumbles through me, his words making me even more aware that Iām bare beneath this skirt. āI missed you by just ten minutes.ā
āHow did you find me?ā
āI have my ways. And Iām willing to use all my resources to get what I want.ā
Thereās a tease in his voice, and I smile in realization and amusement. Because it didnāt actually take too many resources. Just the app thatās installed on both our phones as well as our carsāand Breeās, of course, in case we need to find her and the kids.
He would have checked his phone, seen that Iād parked in Beverly Hills, and remembered that I was going to check on the girlsā cakes today. Presumably he was following my route and saw me step in here.
āDo you really think I need a tracking device to find you?ā he counters, after I tell him all that. āDonāt you know that youāre always in my heart, and how can I lose track of that?ā
I smile and sigh happily, his words delighting me. And, who knows. Maybe itās true. My husband is a remarkable man.
āI wanted to see you.ā Thereās a tone of finality in his voice. As if the details simply donāt matter. Ā As if his will alone is enough to find me.
Maybe it is.
āTo touch you.ā The fingers of his hand that still cup my breast tighten on my nipple, sending a new shock of desire running down to my core.
āI wanted to know if youāre still bare, or if youāve put on a fresh pair of panties.ā His hand stays perfectly still, but, damn me, I relax the pressure of my own hand thatās been keeping his in check.
āWe canāt.ā Itās a public gallery. Anyone could come in. But even as I think that, my eyes roam the room. The section weāre in has no windows. And the gallery is empty and echoey, with a bell over the door. Weāre alone, except for Emily. And if she came this way her heels will undoubtedly click on the floor, giving us plenty of warning.
The thoughtāthe fantasyāmakes my body tighten. āWe canāt,ā I repeat, as much to underscore the point as to remind myself of that very basic truth.
āNo?ā His mouth brushes my ear, his breath disturbing my hair and sending shivers down my spine. āWhat if I told you that Emily was busy at her computer. That sheās locked the door for lunch. That Iām certain we wonāt be seen.ā
I swallow and say nothing, afraid that if I speak, my desire will betray my common sense.
āShe wonāt want to disturb us. Not when we might be contemplating a purchase. Destroy the moment, and she could lose a sale. She knows that. Knows that a client needs to get lost in the art. In the moment.ā
His thumb has been making small circles on my breast, and my heart is beating so hard now that Iām surprised Emily canāt hear its echo on the far side of the gallery. On my legs, his fingers move subtly. Not rising, but neither are they still. Instead, his fingertips brush my bare flesh in sensual movements designed to entice and tease.
āWhat do you want, Nikki?ā His words are as tender against my flesh as his fingers. āDo you want me to move higher, millimeter by millimeter, up your wet thighs as you hold your breath in anticipation? Would you cry out if I stroked your clit, unable to hold back the explosion?
āOr maybe I shouldnāt stroke you there at all. Maybe I should slide my fingers deep inside you. Feel how slick you are, the way your body will clench around me, drawing me in as I use my thumb to tease around your clit. Never quite touching, but drawing you up and up, until you canāt take it anymore.ā
I canāt take it right now, and Iām certain he knows it. I want to tell him to stopāexcept I donāt want him to stop.
And so all I do is whisper his name. A plea. A prayer.
āDamien.ā
āThatās right, baby.ā I hear heat in his low, melodic voice, a passion now equal to my own. āWould you scream my name when you explode? Or would you be so quiet as you tremble in my arms, that Iād be the only one who knows the force of your orgasm rocking through you?
Iām trembling now, so close to the explosion heās describing that my skin seems to sizzle. The thin whisper of air from the ducts above does nothing to cool my heated flesh. I want the release, crave it, and yet I canāt quite let myself go. Not here. Not like this.
Damien knows that, of course. His real purpose isnāt to make me comeāitās to take me to the precipice. Pleasure, yes, but underscored by frustration. By need. And, ultimately by anticipation.
About J. Kenner
Kenner (aka Julie Kenner) is the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, Wall Street Journal and #1 International bestselling author of over one hundred novels, novellas and short stories in a variety of genres.
Though known primarily for her award-winning and international bestselling erotic romances (including the Stark and Most Wanted series) that have reached as high as #2 on the New York Times bestseller list, JK has been writing full time for over a decade in a variety of genres including paranormal and contemporary romance, āchicklitā suspense, urban fantasy, Ā and paranormal mommy lit.
JK has been praised by Publishers Weekly as an author with a āflair for dialogue and eccentric characterizationsā and by RT Bookclub for having ācornered the market on sinfully attractive, dominant antiheroes and the women who swoon for them.ā A six time finalist for Romance Writers of Americaās prestigious RITA award, JK took home the first RITA trophy awarded in the category of erotic romance in 2014 for her novel, Claim Me (book 2 of her Stark Trilogy) and in 2017 for Wicked Dirty in the same category. Her Demon Hunting Soccer Mom series (as Julie Kenner) is currently in development as a television show.
Her books have sold over three million copies and are published in over twenty languages.
In her previous career as an attorney, JK worked as a clerk on the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals, and practiced primarily civil, entertainment and First Amendment litigation in Los Angeles and Irvine, California, as well as in Austin, Texas. Ā She currently lives in Central Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and two rather spastic cats.
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