by Kendall Ryan
Michael.
I should buy him a present while I’m here. He’ll totally flip out when he learns I’ve been to London. What should I get him? More importantly, how will I explain this trip? I can’t exactly tell him that I’m accompanying my megalomaniac boss on a business trip as his fake plus-one.
No, I’ll just tell Michael what he wants to hear. It was a work trip. I was chosen to accompany my boss. (I’m his intern, after all.) We stayed in a fancy hotel with huge windows and complimentary room service—in separate rooms. I had a lovely time.
At least that last part is true so far.
Once I’m clean and shaved and my fingers look like pale little raisins, I wrap myself in a towel and re-enter the bedroom to get dressed. It’s already past six o’clock. Is tonight the night to wear lingerie? Should I put it on now? Is it something women usually change into later in the evening? So many questions about one tiny article of clothing.
“Worry about it later,” I grumble to myself.
I take the time to dry my hair but don’t bother with any makeup. Then I slip on a pair of leggings and a loose T-shirt. There’s exploring to be done first. I’m not supposed to leave the building, but surely there’s some wiggle room in that restriction.
On the first level of the hotel, I find a tiny gift boutique that sells pleasant and affordable little trinkets, ranging from functional to simply ornamental. I find a magnet for the Royal Ballet. Perfect. It’s just within my budget too.
Should I get anything for Bianca? What about for Dom’s girls?
I’m certain that Dom would be extremely uncomfortable with that. I snort at the imaginary scene playing out in my mind—me, giving tiny snow globes of London to those wide-eyed, beaming angels while Dominic sweats from a distance.
My phone buzzes in the pocket of my leggings. I pull it out to find a message from the devil himself.
Meet me in the hotel bar in one hour. Don’t wear panties.
Heat floods my cheeks and belly all at once. He can’t be serious. But that’s the thing about Dominic—he’s always serious.
Oh my God.
I pay for the magnet with trembling hands, instantly forgetting my plans to shop for anyone else. I head straight for the elevator, ride it up to our floor, and fumble with the door key.
Once inside, I toss the magnet on the table and dump the contents of my suitcase on our shared bed. The little black dress I brought has miraculously survived the trip without any wrinkles. Thank goodness. I tug off the leggings and T-shirt and put them and the rest of the clothes I’ve scattered away.
Taking the dress over to the full-length mirror, I pull it over my body, smoothing the material over my breasts and hips. I’ll have to run a brush through my hair and put a little color on my lips—
But first . . . I slide the dress up my thighs, slipping my hands underneath. My skin is silky soft, freshly shaved and moisturized from my bath. Imagining Dominic’s hands on my skin later makes my entire body break out in goose bumps.
I hook my thumbs around the lacy underwear, pulling them down inch by inch until I can step out of them. Looking at myself in the mirror, I take in my long hair hanging over one shoulder, my breasts round and firm within the bodice of my dress, and the feeling of nothing between my legs . . .
Shit, I’m already turned on. From a text. Jesus.
I check the clock. I have forty more minutes to get ready. With how excited I am, I could probably get ready in ten.
Instead, I take my time in the bathroom, applying my eyeliner in a perfected black stroke, and add a little highlight here and there to my skin. The final touch is a swipe of pink lipstick. The gloss slides across my lips with purpose, painting my mouth a striking pigment a few shades darker than my natural coloring.
With my hair brushed and lips plump, I’m ready to handle whatever Dominic has planned. I can’t help but rub my thighs together, noticing the lick of cool air that meets my bare flesh whenever my dress swishes.
One last glance in the mirror, and I’m ready—ready for whatever this evening throws my way. Although if Dominic has plans for us to entertain investors with me in this state, I’m fairly certain all my composure will vanish.
By the time I make it down to the hotel bar, my heart is hammering against my ribs, and I’m eager to see Dominic.
Composure, Presley.
My heels click on the dark tile of the bar floor. The lighting is dim and sultry, the result of low-hanging lanterns and tea-light candles strewn randomly across the small tables. I pause, uncertain if he’s here yet.
“You’re early. Good.”
I practically jump out of my dress.
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.
I draw in a breath, realizing what he’s doing, and squirm when he pauses just before discovering my lack of panties. While my heart hammers against my ribs, he casually takes a sip of his drink before setting it down, and then his hand inches higher.
I panic for a moment, glancing down 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 heat even more.
When I part my thighs a little, Dominic makes a low groan of approval and his fingers brush against my center.
“I see you’ve followed my instructions perfectly.”
I gasp out a breath and give him a shaky nod. “Of course, Mr. Aspen.”
He shakes his head in disapproval. “Dominic.”
I lick 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 some of the control in this crazy situation.
His fingers part me, his index and ring fingers sliding up and down my soft folds 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 his finger finding my clit.
Well, that’s obviously impossible.
Dominic is skilled—perhaps too skilled—at foreplay. His touch is soft and gentle and wholly focused on my pleasure. He knows exactly what to do to bring me right to the brink.
My fingers clutch the cool granite of the bar 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 than to—
“Dom, is that you?”
My heart stops.
A man stands just behind us, his hand on Dominic’s shoulder. Dominic turns and smiles broadly, but he doesn’t remove his hand from its spot between my legs.
“Jerry? It’s been so long.”
Oh God, don’t shake his hand, don’t shake his hand, don’t shake his hand.
He fucking shakes his hand.
Luckily, with the one not covered with my sticky sex nectar.
He hasn’t removed his hand from between my legs, and I can’t decide if I want him to or not. I just pray it’s not obvious what we’re doing.
Before I can even process what’s happening, Dominic glides one confident finger inside me. I clear my throat to hide the squeal I make, then snatch Dominic’s jacket and hold it tightly over my lap.
“You look great. And who is this?”
Fuck my life.
I turn to Jerry with a with a terrified smile. 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 idiot.
“This is Presley. She’s accompanying me on a business trip. What the hell are you doing in London? I thought you relocated to Amsterdam.”
“Oh, I did. Business is going well over there, but there are still a few loose ends I have to tie up here and in New York. You know how it is.”
“I can only imagine. Relocating your headquarters must be complex.”
“It is, but the move has been a good one. So you’re still in Seattle?”
“Rain or shine.”
Jerry nods. “That’s a good spot for you, though.”
As they talk, Dominic pumps his finger in and out of me in a steady, unforgiving rhythm. My hands shake as they grasp at his jacket, which barely hides our dirty little deed.
I can feel my body responding against his delicious finger, my pleasure blossoming. I’m so close to falling apart in front of this stranger. If I wanted to, I could clamp my thighs together and stop Dominic from finger-fucking me into oblivion. I could join the conversation and shoot a well-deserved dirty glare at him for putting me in such an embarrassing situation. I could do all of that.
But I don’t.
Finally, he and Jerry wrap up with promises of getting lunch before we depart for Seattle.
Dominic turns back to me, his face now a mask of pure lust. His finger slides out of me with a slick pull, and I nearly gasp at the loss.
“Let’s go.”
I step down from the bar stool with quivering limbs. I’m following close behind him, my cheeks flushed and my brain fuzzy, confused and uncertain and still reeling from the immense pleasure he can make me feel.
What just happened? Why did I let that happen? Jesus, Presley, what line won’t you let him cross?
In the elevator, Dominic doesn’t touch me, he just stares straight ahead, watching the numbers change as the elevator climbs higher. He looks angry, and I have no idea what could have possibly set him off.
I want him to back me up against the wall so hard that the handrail makes an indentation in my ass. I want him to lay hot, open-mouthed kisses against my throat while he cups my breasts and grinds his leg between mine.
But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he stands a foot away from me, quiet and seemingly uninterested. I feel like I’m back on the plane with the man who wouldn’t so much as acknowledge my presence.
Meanwhile, I’m still trying to catch my goddamn breath.
What the hell is this?
Once the suite door is closed behind us, Dominic finally touches me again. But it’s not the kind of touch I like. It’s harsh. Unfeeling.
He pulls at the zipper of my dress, yanking it off me in a few ungraceful motions. The fabric bites at my skin as it leaves my body, and suddenly I’m completely naked before him. With one hand, he grasps my breast, and the other he dips between my legs again—
But this time I stop him. I take one step back, and another. When he follows, I place a firm hand against his chest.
“Stop.” My voice shakes but I’m not afraid. No. I’m fucking furious.
Dominic stands before me, his eyes dark and his chest heaving with labored breath. Yes, he’s turned on. Probably even more so than I am . . . or was. But he stills at my command.
“Stop?” he asks, his voice filled with questions.
I stand my ground. This little game he’s playing will not be on his terms.
It’s going to be on mine.
Chapter Nine
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 sm
aller 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 here, aren’t I? I’m trying.”
She nods, her eyes finding mine. “I am too.”
“What do you need?”
She wets her lips with her tongue, watching me. “Kiss me.”
I realize she’s right. We broke up, and then I had my fingers up her dress before we’d even officially made up—before we’d even kissed. Sometimes I forget how young she is, how inexperienced, and how much of a dominating prick I can be.
Using two fingers, I tilt her chin up and press my lips softly to hers. “That better?” I murmur, my lips still brushing hers.
She reaches up, curling her fingers in the hair at the back of my neck. “Yes. More.”
We kiss again, slower this time, deeper. Her rapid heartbeat flutters against my chest as my fingers work at undoing the clasp of her bra.
Everything in me strains toward her, screams to eliminate the distance between us. I want to forget every messy fucked-up thing and just lose myself in her. Instead, I correct her.
“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.