Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

She looks surprised for a moment before a mix of desire and determination comes over her face. She sinks gracefully to the floor at my feet.

“Very nice,” I say, petting her hair. And I mean that. Maybe I shouldn’t be praising her on a night that’s supposed to be all about my needs, but she is a pretty sight, ready and waiting to serve me however I ask. “Take out my cock.”

My shirt is already hanging open and my belt is God knows where, but I’m still going to enjoy watching her trembling fingers unzip my dress pants.

“That’s it,” I say, encouraging her when she wraps me in her warm fist.

She grips the base tight. My heart racing, I watch her soft pink lips meet the tip of my cock. A loud groan of relief escapes me as they part to slide down over the shaft. It’s been too damn long since I’ve had her. I’d forgotten how combustible we are together—how quickly I lose the battle for control when she’s near.

She follows her hand up and down, sucking hard, her tongue lapping like she’s missed this as much as I have. The sight of her is overwhelming. She sure as hell isn’t new to sex anymore . . . she knows exactly what to do now.

Still, I can’t let her just do whatever she pleases tonight. I tangle my fingers tight in her hair to direct her where to go, how fast to bob her head and work her sweet mouth. She lets out a soft murmur that burns in the pit of my stomach. I make a mental note that she’s partial to a little hair-pulling, then remind myself for the millionth time that what she enjoys isn’t what this trip is about.

“You look amazing like this.” My voice comes out as a groan. I didn’t mean to say that aloud, but it slipped out. Whatever. A little encouragement can’t hurt, right? “I could watch you suck me all night.”

She sighs and squirms, rubbing her thighs together. The thought that she’s trying to ease her own arousal makes me throb.

didn’t say you could touch yourself. I’ll give you your turn soon enough . . . right

that could be a whimper and moves her

last long if she

adjusts quickly, keeping up her own work while letting me move her. I thrust faster, deeper—still careful not to gag her; I’m sure she doesn’t know how to handle that yet—but taking my pleasure rather than letting her

cock. Fuck, this woman is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. She looks up at me, her lashes fluttering, her lips still sealed around me, and suddenly I’m way closer to

to stroke me,

her hand away

a quick, light slap on the butt. A startled squeak escapes her. “You

“I’m s—”

her off. I’m going to devour

the back of her neck, I slide my other hand down her body. She sucks in a sharp breath when I push two fingers into her; for the second time tonight I’m knuckles deep inside her. She’s so wet, so perfectly ready for

forward into my touch. I’m consumed by her scent, her sounds of pleasure, the

past and the parts we’re supposed to play. We’re not boss and intern, or even lovers, because lovers have a shared history and complicated emotions I’d rather

clash of lips and tongues. She’s moving into my hand now, writhing in my grip, and her begging cries grow louder and more urgent. Suddenly, she

“Dom . . .”