“You’re doing beautifully,” he murmurs, escorting me away from the table. He must not see the need to say goodbye, and neither do I.
“I have an excellent teacher,” I reply softly with a slight mirth, tilting my head back just enough to meet his gaze. The close proximity to him has my heart beating like a jackhammer.
“Dominic.” We’re interrupted just as we’re close to making our exit.
“Hello, Arthur,” Dom greets one of the board members. The older gentleman smiles warmly in way of greeting.
“I must admit, seeing this side of you, settling down, it’s refreshing. I hope to see you again, Corinne.” I give him a nod.
“She’s truly something else, better than me by a mile,” Dom responds.
“They always are. I’ll see you in the next few days,” Arthur states before backing away with a drink in his hand, and the interaction is over before it really began.
“I think they’re buying it, and there’s only been one outing.” Dom’s voice carries a gravelly undertone, sending a familiar ache between my legs. His fingers tighten slightly, pulling me a fraction closer to his side. The possessive gesture makes my breathing hitch. He’s not just playing for the audience anymore.
“Did you mean it?” I ask the moment we step into the crisp evening air, waiting for the valet to bring Dom’s care around. The silence between us stretches, thick and heavy with unspoken tension.
“Hell, yes, I do. I’m a bastard. You called me out on it, and it’s the truth. You’re doing this for your mom. I’m doing this to get ahead.” His hand reaches up, long fingers cupping my jaw. His thumb traces from one corner of my lower lip to the other. His gaze follows agonizingly slowly, completely blurring the boundaries of our arrangement. “Christ, I want to taste every damn inch of you,” he growls, his gaze dropping to my mouth, his eyes burning me alive with a hunger he never tries to hide.
“Dom.” My eyes close, and I rock on my heels with a slight imbalance.
“I can’t keep my hands off you, and the last thing I want to do is stop.” Before I can reply, his sleek black-on-black Porsche Taycan Turbo S is pulled to the curb.
“What if I don’t want you to keep your hands off me?” Just when he thinks he's in control, I drop a surprise that turns everything upside down.
“Then I’d say prepare yourself, Cory, because I’m about to do everything to you that I’ve been dreaming about.” He helps me into the car. His touch lingers as he buckles my seatbelt for me, leaving me contemplating exactly what will happen next.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
dom
“Dom!” I hear Cory’s voice from where I’m standing in the living room after pouring her a glass of champagne and making an old fashioned for myself. The chair she insisted on bringing with her sits in the corner near the window, situated in a way that works with the rest of the furniture. Cory talked a big game, making me think the thing would be this hideous piece, when in truth it doesn’t look out of place at all. If anything, the caramel-colored oversized leather chair makes the room look a hell of a lot more inviting. She’s added a couple of throws on the dark gray couch and love seat.
I don’t bother responding. I scoop up the glasses, one in each hand, and take a sip of the whisky mixed with bitters, a dash of sugar, water, and orange peel. I chose to leave the cherry out, not wanting the extra dose of sweetness at this time.
“Cory, where are you?” I ask, heading down the hall toward the bedrooms. She could be in the home office, the spare bedroom which she said will be her arts and crafts room at some point in time, the other guest bedroom that has a bed, nightstand, and dresser, or the hall bathroom.
“Closet!” I hear her call the closer I make it into the master bedroom, dropping our drinks on the nearest available surface, and finally find her. She doesn’t turn around, instead, I’m greeted with her hopelessly trapped, her arms contorted behind her back as she fights a losing battle with the fabric of her dress. The zipper is jammed halfway down her spine, leaving her exposed and frustrated. My cock is rock hard, and I didn’t think it was possible to get any harder than when she slid her hand to my thigh without me guiding her. “Dom, thank god. I’m stuck, like honest to goodness stuck. I might need you to rip this off of me.” She breathes with an edge of annoyance.
“Well, if anyone is going to rip clothes off you, sweetheart, it’s going to be me.” The teasing remark rolls off my tongue, and I hear the sharp breath Cory takes. The closet’s warm, recessed lighting catches on the curve of her bare shoulder, her long hair is pinned up, exposing the length of her neck, and her cheeks are red, probably from her struggle. Bright eyes look back at me, her hands drop to her side, and she gives up.
“Please.” The whispered request has me crossing the threshold into the closet. My hands fly to my collar, and with a fluid, practiced motion, I pull at my silk tie, loosening it and undoing the top button of my shirt with one impatient tug.
“Hold still.” The space between us vanishes. I step behind her, my heat radiating through the sliver of distance remaining. “And what’s going to happen once I get you out of this?” I murmur, my voice deeper and rougher than it was moments ago. My hand reaches out, steadying her hip, while my other takes ahold of the delicate metal pull.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Methodically.
I drag the rasp of her zipper down. The low, sharp sound echoes in the quiet closet. As the fabric parts, the back of myknuckles and tip of my finger glide along the milky bare skin of her spine. A shiver races through her, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. I pause, waiting to see what happens next, and my eyes darken as I watch as her breathing tremble in the mirror when she lets her dress fall to the ground.
“This.” My teeth sink into my lower lip, my nostrils flare, and my chest pounds. She’s there in the mirror, without a stitch of clothing save for a scrap of black lace that clings to her hips and black stilettos that arch her spine and do amazing things to her legs.
I’ve negotiated multi-billion-dollar deals without a flicker of hesitation, yet the sight of Cory Pierson completely undoes me.
My eyes sweep over her with a possessive hunger. Her body is a masterpiece of soft curves. I track the slope of her shoulders down to the narrow indentation of her waist and the lush, rounded flare of her hips. The sheer lace of her panties offers a hint at the shadow that lies beneath. She’s bare. My mouth waters at the thought of getting between her thighs. The tempting curve of her ass has me grunting, and my grip moves from her hips to around her lower abdomen. The tips of my fingers are right at the edge of her panties.
