Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2) novel Chapter 13

Dominic’s lips are against my ear, and his hand is on my hip. I can feel the warmth of his body passing across the inches of empty space between us.

I swallow. Can he feel that I don’t have underwear on? That I obeyed his commands?

“Being early is being on time,” I say, impressed with how steady my voice is.

Who is this woman, with her straight back and unwavering charm? I don’t know her, but I love her.

Without touching me again, Dominic leads me to the far corner of the bar counter. We sit as the bartender places a glass of dark liquor and a glass of bubbly before us. Dominic must have placed the order before I even arrived.

Okay, why is that hot? I sit down, acutely aware of how nervous I am. Dominic sits next to me, raising his glass to his full lips.

Which Dominic am I getting tonight? The confident CEO of a multimillion-dollar conglomerate? The soft-spoken, sensitive father with a broken heart? Or the insatiable sex god I’ve recently come to know and crave?

Based on his criteria for my wardrobe this evening, I’m guessing it’s the latter.

“How was your day?” he asks, his lips twitching with a smile as he watches me. “Did you keep yourself entertained?”

Nodding, I reach for my glass of champagne and take a slow sip. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time, that kissable smirk still plastered across his mouth. “I made do.”

“That’s good to hear,” he says, his tone low.

“And how about you? Did the amazing Mr. Aspen lock down any deals today?” I bat my eyelashes for effect, and he laughs. God, that laugh. I’ve missed it more than I thought possible.

This feels a little surreal right now—us flirting like this when he’s barely spoken to me since I walked into his penthouse. Just days ago, all hope seemed lost. Maybe rules on heartbreak and betrayal don’t apply when you’re on a different continent. Who the hell knows. I feel so out of my element and consumed, but there’s one thing I’m certain of—Dominic is staring at me.

As his dark blue eyes roam over me, examining every curve hidden by my dress, warmth spreads across my chest and neck. I return the favor, enjoying his look for the day—a slightly stubbled jawline, a navy-blue suit jacket, and a matching tie now pulled loose from his throat. He takes off his jacket, folds it, and sets it on the bar. I would be lying if I pretended I didn’t want to kiss every inch of him—starting with his full mouth, and then down the thick column of his throat.

I don’t have long to fantasize about touching him because he beats me to it.

I almost don’t feel the brush of his fingers on my knee, his touch is so soft at first. But then more firmly, his hand presses against my leg, his thumb rubbing pulsing circles into my skin. I don’t break his searing eye contact, afraid that I’ll lose him to some passing thought or whim if I let go of him now. And there’s no way in hell I want that hand pulling away.

He does move his hand, though, but not away from me. Instead, his fingers inch up beneath my dress, caressing my inner thigh.

I draw in a breath, realizing what he’s doing, and squirm when he pauses just before discovering my lack of panties. While my heart hammers against my ribs, he casually takes a sip of his drink before setting it down, and then his hand inches higher.

I panic for a moment, glancing down at my lap. My dress covers everything still, even if I do feel exposed. With the cover of the bar, no one would know what he’s doing. What we’re doing. And I never expected it, but the secret thrill of being discovered makes my blood heat even more.

When I part my thighs a little, Dominic makes a low groan of approval and his fingers brush against my center.

“I see you’ve followed my instructions perfectly.”

I gasp out a breath and give him a shaky nod. “Of course, Mr. Aspen.”

He shakes his head in disapproval. “Dominic.”

I lick my lips. “Right. Dominic.” I recall how he corrected me my first few days at Aspen Hotels, telling me to call him Dominic instead of Mr. Aspen. I was only trying to be cheeky just now—trying to regain some of the control in this crazy situation.

His fingers part me, his index and ring fingers sliding up and down my soft folds while his middle finger teases my center. He presses deeper, and I shudder and whimper audibly, finally breaking eye contact. I take a long swallow of my champagne, trying to focus on the sensation of the bubbles on my tongue rather than the sensation of his finger finding my clit.

Well, that’s obviously impossible.

Dominic is skilled—perhaps too skilled—at foreplay. His touch is soft and gentle and wholly focused on my pleasure. He knows exactly what to do to bring me right to the brink.

My fingers clutch the cool granite of the bar to avoid rocking my hips against his hand. I’m remembering exactly how it felt to have him press inside me, and I want nothing more than to—

“Dom, is that you?”

My heart stops.

A man stands just behind us, his hand on Dominic’s shoulder. Dominic turns and smiles broadly, but he doesn’t remove his hand from its spot between my legs.

“Jerry? It’s been so long.”

Oh God, don’t shake his hand, don’t shake his hand, don’t shake his hand.