Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

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.

panties. While my heart hammers against my ribs, he casually

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

makes a low groan of approval

you’ve followed

him a shaky nod. “Of course, Mr.

head in disapproval.

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

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

Well, that’s obviously impossible.

on my pleasure. He knows exactly

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

“Dom, is that you?”

My heart stops.

turns and smiles broadly, but he doesn’t remove his

been

don’t shake his hand, don’t

fucking shakes his

with the one not covered with my sticky

from between my legs, and I can’t decide if I

my throat to hide the squeal I make,

great. And

Fuck my life.

He has thin blond hair and the appearance of a man who could definitely get you fired with one wrong look. Rather than speak, I just smile, knowing I can’t possibly open my mouth for fear of whimpering like a horny

on a business trip. What the hell are you doing in London?

loose ends I have

can only imagine. Relocating your headquarters must be

been a good one. So you’re

“Rain or shine.”

a good spot for you,

steady, unforgiving rhythm. My hands shake as they grasp at his jacket, which barely hides our dirty