Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

Chapter 16 Presley

Presley

Tonight has taken a turn I never could have imagined. I know I should guard my heart, that I shouldn’t romanticize this moment, but it’s too late. We move together perfectly, my soft pants punctuating the moment that has grown heavy with expectation.

His cuff links rest beside my earrings on the bedside table. Our laptop bags sit side by side on the floor near the desk. I have no idea what it all means, but something big, surely.

I feel so many warring emotions at once, it’s hard to focus on them all. First, there’s pleasure unlike any I’ve ever known. But more than that, there’s relief at his forgiveness, and somehow too, I can also feel him releasing all the baggage of his past, excising it with precision as our bodies meld together. Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

Dominic fills me in a way I never could have imagined. He must feel it too, this powerful pull, because we release a simultaneous groan in the otherwise silent room.

He withdraws briefly, guiding me onto my back so he can hover over me. In this new position, I can see his eyes. I just wish his emotions were as easy to read as his pleasure.

His pupils are dilated and his lips part with a silent moan. He pushes in to the hilt, and I wrap my legs high around his hips, grinding myself closer.

“Uh . . . that’s so good, baby.” He groans, his voice deep.

I know by now not to read too much into the sweet endearment.

He moves in long and deep strokes. I’m still so sensitive from my earlier release that I have to dig my fingernails into his shoulders for stability. I can hear the sounds of our sex, a loud, wet slap of flesh against flesh. My breasts bounce with the efforts of his thrusts. I can’t help but release quiet gasps every time I feel the tip of him hit that once mythical, now very real sweet spot inside me.

With every pump, I feel closer and closer to the man who has remained such an emotional anomaly to me. As I watch his sculpted body move over me, memories of our brief history flood my brain.

The moment when he picked me up on that horrible night, and the instant relief I felt just being near him.

The moment his gruff voice over the phone promised that I still had my job, and elation soared inside me.

The moment in his office when he told me he wanted me with him on this trip.

“Dom!”

When I cry out his name, he leans closer so our naked, sweaty chests are pressed together in an intimate embrace. He moves above me, taking everything I have to offer.

I comb my fingers through his thick, dark hair, gripping it in my fists. I can feel the goose bumps rise on the back of his neck. I can feel him coming close with every shaky breath he takes, and I love knowing that I’m the one bringing him to the brink.

With every nip at my neck, my earlobe, and my lips, I can feel the secret tenderness he tries so desperately to keep reined in. His thumb finds my center and rubs it in methodical circles, just how he knows I like. As I get closer and closer to the edge, my eyelids flutter closed and I brace myself for yet another fall into bliss.

And I am falling for him. Despite my best efforts, I have fallen.

When I tumble over the edge again, Dominic gathers me close, holding me against his chest as I tremble and gasp.

With his lips against my neck and a hand on my breast, Dominic releases a soft grunt, and his grip on me tightens as he finds his own release. The sound he’s making—somewhere between a gasp and a groan—is like a drug. I would let him do anything to me just to hear that sound again.

When he’s recovered, he lifts himself up, propped on his elbows over me. His eyes are hooded and his forehead is beaded with sweat. I hold his firm biceps in my shaking hands, rubbing my thumbs against the muscle with a tenderness I can hardly describe.

But in a blink, he’s gone, both physically and mentally.

He climbs from the bed, removing himself from my soft touch almost as fast as he ripped off my clothes. He walks across the room, tosses the used condom in the trash, and picks up his boxers, tugging them on. Then he grabs his laptop. He’s already on his way into the living room of the suite when I find my voice.

“Where are you going?” I hate how vulnerable I sound.

“I have some work to do. You can go to bed without me.”

And just like that, I’m alone.

What the hell?

Surely he felt it, the same things I did—the intimacy, the closeness, the intensity . . .

That’s why he left. He’s not ready to face it, to accept it, and I’ll have to be okay with that . . . for now.

My body is still warm and flushed from the mind-blowing experience we just shared, but my heart is cold. I fight back the sting of tears, determined not to waste any time feeling sorry for myself. All I can muster is the will to wrap myself in the fluffy duvet and curl into a ball on the bed.

After I take a few deep breaths, my heart begins to slow. A voice in my mind that sounds a lot like my mother lulls me to sleep.

Just be true to yourself, Presley. Be true to what you want.