Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2) novel Chapter 14

Dominic

“Stop.” Presley’s voice trembles, and her hand presses firmly against my chest.

Taken aback, I drop my hands immediately.

We freeze together in the dark, panting. I’m burning up; I’ve undressed her already, only her lacy black bra remains, and I ache to finish the job. I could feel that she wanted me when I touched her at the bar. So, why is she calling a time-out?

I’m the one who should be pissed off—not her. One touch, and she has me losing all control.

I flip on the light so I can meet her eyes while she explains herself. “Are you going to have a hard time following instructions on this trip?” I ask, my voice still low and husky with the desire she so abruptly blocked.

Presley is flushed too, but she stares back defiantly. “I don’t want you like this. This version of you . . .”

“I’m no different than I’ve been all along. This is the real me.”

“Bullshit. I know you well enough by now.” Her expression is serious, and I have no idea what I’ve done to anger her.

“What do you know about me, Presley?” I ask, cocking my head as I watch her.

She swallows, gathering her courage. “You’re not this man. This hard, unfeeling, dominating . . .”

I place one hand against her cheek, caressing her skin, and Presley leans into my touch.

The truth is, I don’t know who I am anymore. Before Presley, my life was a series of well-orchestrated details. Commute. Work. Home. More work. The occasional fuck session to blow off some steam. She’s turned everything upside down—all in a matter of weeks. Who could blame me for trying to get back some of the control?

Presley swallows, still watching me with wide eyes, waiting to see which version of me she’ll get next. “You aren’t this man, Dominic. I’ve seen it . . . when you let me in,” she whispers, wrapping my hand in her much smaller one.

“What do you want from me?” My voice is more anguished than I intended, and I inhale deeply, trying to calm my raging heart.

“You. Just you.”

“I’m the boss, not you. We agreed that you wouldn’t be the one in charge.”

Except I was never in charge to begin with when it comes to her. Whenever I see her, I have to have her; if the slightest shadow passes over her face, I need to do whatever it takes to bring back her smile.

“I haven’t forgotten that.” Presley looks up and her bold blue eyes lock with mine. “I came to London, didn’t I?”

I seize her mouth. The fire that’s always simmering between us explodes—tongues writhe together, she moans against me, and I gasp for breath. I must be pressing her backward because suddenly we’re on the bed, and her fingers are tearing at my buckle and shirt buttons like she can’t get me bare fast enough.

Damn, this woman is dangerous. I’ve never known anyone who gets under my skin like her. My restraint has already frayed to a thread.

Deciding I need to take back control of this situation, before giving in to our unresolved lust becomes something far too intimate, I pull myself away, rising to my feet at the edge of the bed. Presley blinks up at me in confusion. She’s mesmerizing, naked, and pink-cheeked with arousal, her lips plump and damp from our ferocious kisses, and I have to steel myself not to just dive back in.

“Enough of that,” I say more gruffly than I feel. “I want you on your knees now.”