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The picture staring back at me sets off sparks of inspiration. In an instant, I’m considering doing something I haven’t done in years —sexting. Normally, I wouldn’t even consider sending a picture of myself to a man to grab his attention, but something about the photo staring back at me that makes me feel bold. Oh, what the hell. Sighing, I untie the string holding my wrap dress together, unveiling a lacy red lingerie set with a garter belt and straps identical to the one I had on the night Dom came here to claim me.
I position the camera just so, allowing it to capture the swell of my breasts, the smooth skin of my belly, and the lace cuffs on my thighs. When I’m happy with the way everything is lined up, I take a deep breath and snap the photo. Typing out the message takes a little more courage than taking the actual photo, but I manage to do it, and the whooshing sound of the text being sent steals my breath.
Sloane: I miss you. Come home to me.
It’s kind of ridiculous to be nervous about sending a simple text message to the man I’ve allowed to have me in bathrooms, elevators, and parking lots, but that’s what I feel as I wait for his response.
Nervous. Vulnerable. Exposed.
And the feeling only gets worse as the minutes tick by. One after another after another. Passing slowly without so much as a peep from my phone. And when I can’t take it anymore, I jump up from the bed and march downstairs to the kitchen, leaving it behind. I pour myself a generous glass of wine and wear a hole in the floorboards as I pace back and forth, reminding myself of all of the strategies Dr. Williams has given me for staving off panic attacks.
But deep breathing doesn’t work. And focusing on one object is hard because the only thing I want to look at is my phone. Closing my eyes isn’t an option because it’ll make it hard to avoid stubbing my toe on the legs of the barstools I can’t bring myself to sit on.
A knock sounding on my back door surprises the hell out of me, and I almost drop my untouched glass of wine when I hear it. My heart skips several beats as I turn towards the sound, realizing that only one person in my life uses that door. And then I break out into a sprint. My bare feet don’t make a sound as I run into the mudroom, unlocking the door with a huge but uncertain smile on my face.
“Angel.” Dom greets me. A heavy, slow gaze roves over my body, reminding me of the state of my clothing. My wrap dress is open, hanging on either side of my body and framing my curves. When his eyes snap back to mine, the fire burning in them is hot enough to brand me. “This is quite a greeting.”
Then he smiles that wolfish smile, and I almost evaporate. Almost. Instead of disappearing into thin air, I launch myself at him. Knocking the breath out of his lungs and purring like a cat in heat when his hands slip under the fabric and grab my ass.
I rain kisses down on him. Covering his eyes, his nose, his beard, and finally his handsome mouth with the physical representation of my joy. Quickly, and without any protest on my end, he takes over the kiss. Slanting his lips over mine and dominating me so completely my thighs are quivering around his waist when he finally pulls away. I press my forehead to his and close my eyes, breathing him in with greedy gulps of air that make my lungs burn.
“You didn’t text me back,” I whisper, brushing my nose across his three times just like he always does to me. “I thought…”
I don’t know what I thought, but I can tell by the way his fingers are digging into my skin that I was wrong. Whatever kept him from texting me back doesn’t have anything to do with the panic that’s been curled around my breastbone for the last twenty minutes.
“I’m sorry. I was working, but as soon as your text came through I left Andre’s ass in the office and ran at least three red lights to get here and see this in person.” His fingers caress me through the lace of my underwear. “That picture didn’t do you justice.”
He kicks the door closed and starts to move us through the house. Bypassing the kitchen and the living room to take me upstairs. Every step he takes makes his dick brush against me, pressing into my core through fabric I quickly realize isn’t the denim he usually wears. Opening my eyes, I take a moment to actually look at him and nearly lose my breath when I realize he’s wearing a suit. A sharp, black designer suit that hugs his broad shoulders and a graphite black tie against a smooth black shirt that gives his dark eyes an other-worldly look.
“You should have sent one back. I never get to see you in a suit.”
The last time I did, I was too pissed off at James for hiring him—and too mad at Dom for existing—to appreciate how fucking incredible he looks in one. I smooth my hands over the fabric, wishing I got to see him in action today. Marching around the glass and metal offices of Archway Construction, going over plans, and ordering employees around in a refined, less carnal version of the king voice he uses with me.
Construction Zone Dom is hot, but I bet Conference Room Dom is infinitely hotter.
He smirks at me as he passes through the door of my bedroom, unraveling my legs from his waist so he can toss me on the bed. I squeal as my back hits the mattress and grin up at him as he steps back to lean against the dresser.
“Well, I’m here now, angel.” His huge hands gesture towards his body. “Look your fill.”
The invitation to openly gawk at him is unexpectedly sexy—but then again, so is everything Dom does. I sit up on my elbows and let my eyes roam over him, appreciating every inch of his incredible body and large frame. It’s a thorough examination, my hungry eyes like fingertips skimming over his skin, but he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and brings one of his thumbs to his mouth. Running it across his bottom lip, while he stares back at me. My nipples pebble and my skin tingles underneath the weight of his gaze.
I lick my lips. “Take the jacket off.”
Both of his eyebrows raise in amused surprise. “Are you taking charge tonight, Sloane?”
I blink slowly, turning my options over in my mind. Part of me is shocked he’s willing to hand over control, and the other part is scared to take the reigns, knowing that the fear of feeling silly for trying to boss around such a commanding man is still a very real thing for me. I study him, looking for any indication that he’s playing with me, but his face is deathly serious even as desire starts to line his features. What the hell, I think to myself. I have nothing to lose.
“Yes,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “Now, take off the jacket.”
If being ordered around by Dom is sexy, then watching him follow my orders is downright erotic. He moves slowly, shrugging the jacket off of his shoulders and then taking one muscular arm out of each sleeve with practiced precision. I bite my lip as I watch him fold the fabric neatly and hang it on the chair by my dresser. His muscles shift and bulge under his shirt with the movement, but my eyes are drawn to his hands as they straighten his tie, smoothing the silk to make sure it’s lying perfectly against his chest and abs.
“What’s next?”
There’s a huskiness to his voice as he asks the question, and it makes the sight of him deferring to me that much sexier. I squeeze my thighs together, acutely aware that I haven’t had an orgasm since last night in the parking lot.
“Sleeves. Roll them up. Slowly.”
Again, he follows my order without a word. My eyes snap to his deft fingers, watching closely as they remove one silver cuff link and then the other. He sets them both down on the dresser with a soft clink before settling the dark velvet of his heated gaze on me. I hold it for only a moment then shift my attention back to his fingers. Riveted at the sight of him rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow, exposing the corded veins of his forearms one by one.
