What did he say about the house?
Charley shut her eyes, but she couldn’t focus, thoughts slipping away as he teased her with deft strokes, tongue hot on her nipple.
“God, you’re… so good,” she breathed, her nerves singing for more.
Still, the warning in her head continued to gnaw.
To gnaw and gnaw and fuckinggnaw, until it finally made a crack big enough for the truth to slip in.
The house… is mine…
“Relax, love,” Dorian murmured, flattening his palm against her clit as he dipped a finger inside, another one fluttering behind it, teasing her backdoor until she was panting for so much more.
No one will enter unless I command it…
Wait. Had he meant…
No. She must’ve misheard.
Swatting away her thoughts like gnats, Charley let out a breath, sinking into the decadence of his touch.
Dorian slid a hand up her spine, then cupped the back of her neck, his fingers moving faster inside her, the pressure of his palm so perfect, her core was already tightening in anticipation of the release building inside.
“You are always so wet for me. So…” He slid in deeper and curled his finger, making her gasp. “…ready.”
But God, those annoying thoughts would not leave her alone.
“Dorian… the house… it’s…”
Her words fell away as he captured her mouth in another deep kiss, his low moan of pleasure bringing her closer to the edge even as her adrenaline spiked.
What are you doing, Charley? Danger! Danger! Retreat!
Instead of retreating, her body arched into his touch, urging him deeper, breath ragged as he thrust inside, faster and faster.
The fear coursing through her veins mingled with the sheer pleasure Dorian was unlocking. She was out of her mind, completely at his mercy.
The house,she thought, wrapping her hands around his shoulders.It can’t be his. Not Dorian’s…
“That’s it,” he said, his voice like liquid silk as he moved in for the kill, slow, then fast. “Focus on my touch.”
“Dorian, I…God.” Her thighs tightened, the now-familiar heat cresting between them.
“Come for me, Charlotte.”
“Fuck, yes!” The wave crashed, but Dorian didn’t stop there. He plunged deeper, harder, pushing the first pulse of her release into a second one, bigger and more intense, unleashing a scream that refused to be contained, refused to be tamed.
Just like he’d promised.
And then, as she spasmed through the very end of it, Dorian’s earlier words crashed through all the ecstasy, all the layers of denial with a sharp clarity she could no longer ignore.
The house… is mine…
Dorian Redthorne, the man who’d brought her to the edge with every blissful stroke, who’d awakened her long-buried fantasies, who’d made her feel wanted in ways she never thought possible… was the host of tonight’s thousand-dollars-a-head fundraiser.
Otherwise known as her mark.
“This is your home?” she finally managed, opening her eyes. “You live here?”
