Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2) novel Chapter 20

Presley

“Get over here and ride me,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up until he finds my breast and gives my nipple a playful pinch. Pleasure zings through me, both at his words and the feel of his hands toying with my breasts.

Tucking my legs on either side of his torso, I raise up on my knees and position myself over him. Dominic lets out a soft groan, shuddering as I lower myself.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Don’t move for a sec,” he says as his hands tighten on my hips.

My eyes sink closed at the exquisitely full feeling of him inside me.

When I open my eyes, Dominic’s hooded gaze latches onto mine, and his expression is filled with things I’ve never seen before—wonder and vulnerability, and of course enough pleasure to end this ride in about three minutes flat if we’re not careful.

His hands find my ass and he lifts me, easing out and then sliding me back down again. We both groan. With his help, I find my rhythm, riding him as we gaze at each other. I plant my hands firmly against his chest, and Dominic rocks beneath me.

His hand slides to my throat so that his thumb can find its destination—my mouth. I suck it in, relishing the taste of his salt and my own sweat. Then he drops his damp thumb between my legs, and I whimper at the immense sensations shooting through me.

With each caress, I lose track of the rhythm of my hips, growing more and more erratic with my thrusts. Suddenly, unexpectedly, my orgasm washes over me in a powerful wave. I curl into his chest, rocking with pleasure. With one hand tangled in my hair and the other gripping my ass, Dominic thrusts hard and fast into me, his own orgasm right there.

When it’s all over, he cradles my still trembling body against his chest. His fingers play with my hair as his breathing slows.

I don’t want to jinx it . . . but I think we’re cuddling. And I’m pretty damn sure he’s allowing it.

I bury my nose in his neck, breathing him in and stretching my long legs against his until we’re tangled together. And then, to make matters worse, I feel the soft press of his lips on the top of my head: a kiss with no expectations. Just tenderness.

Damn. I squeeze my eyes closed. I’m falling so hard for you, you confusing-as-hell man.

I don’t want to think about the repercussions of that just yet. Instead, I welcome a deep, uninterrupted sleep wrapped in his strong arms.

• • •

The rest of our time in London is everything I wanted it to be. I sit in private meetings with him, now invited as a special guest. I consult with him after, weighing options and crunching numbers over mug after mug of tea.

I order some wine from the flight attendant. His moodiness is getting really, really aggravating. Just this morning, we were fucking each other’s brains out in bed, literally one flesh. Now I’ve been given the millennial equivalent of talk to the hand.

I take a sip of my rosé, not at all caring that it’s early afternoon and hardly drinking hours. If I’m going to be yanked around like this, I’m going to need a little liquid courage.

What if I really like him? What does that mean for me? It’s not like I could suddenly squeeze into his life. He has zero time for another human being. And even if he did, he would be extremely particular about his choice in a partner. He has two children to raise, after all.

The mere thought of stepping into the role of mother makes me feel ill. I’m so young. I’m not ready to raise children. I barely consider myself an adult yet, and it’s been hard enough for me to help Michael out.

I have no idea what I’m doing, and Dominic certainly isn’t giving me any clues.

Well, that decides it. What happened in London will just have to stay in London. If he’s going to be cold and detached, then so will I. It’s better for my work anyway. I can finally utilize the tools I’ve acquired and actually make something of myself.

I can focus on me.