Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

Chapter 4 Presley

Dominic takes two steps forward, and then he practically attacks me, his mouth on mine in a hard, brutal kiss of passion. No matter how angry he may be, no matter how confused he is, right now I can tell that he wants me, that he wants to put all this behind us. And with the way his tongue sucks shamelessly on mine, he can have whatever he wants. I melt into his touch, my heart now hammering for an entirely different reason than it was a moment ago.

I clutch his dress shirt in my fingers as his hands sink into my hair, holding me close.

“You know—what they say,” I whisper between gasping, open-mouthed kisses. This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“Hmm?”

The fingers of his right hand slide up my thigh. I know what his destination is, and I can’t wait to feel those fingers caressing me once again . . . readying me for his thick length.

“The bigger the—breakup, the better—the sex.” I whimper, his kisses now almost bites against my throat.

This is going to work, Presley. This is actually going to work.

But then he pulls away.

“Dominic?”

The man before me wears an unreadable mask. He steps back, releasing me. I can still feel the warm imprints of his hands, now suddenly exposed to the cool air of the room.

His breathing is ragged, his chest rising and falling quickly, and there’s an unmistakable bulge beneath his zipper.

“I want you, Presley. You know that.”

My throat tightens.

“But I can’t trust you. And trust . . .” He swallows, his eyes locking onto mine. “It’s everything to me.”

“Dom—”

“Just stop. I’ve been burned before.” His eyes are dark and unreadable, and I know that the moment has passed.

“Their mother?”

“Yes,” he says, his voice hoarse.

I hate to press him on this, but my curiosity has always gotten the better of me. He’s vulnerable. Now may be the only chance I’ll get to peek inside.

I sit back on the bed and pull the sheet up to cover myself, while he remains standing beside the bed. “Who was she?”

He weighs my question for a moment, and I’m not sure if he’ll answer. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t. He’s not exactly known for being the type to offer up personal details. But then his lips part and he meets my eyes again.

“Her name was Sara. She was an escort I hired for an event. We clicked, and I started requesting just her. It went on that way for a couple of months. Then we got careless, and . . .”

I clear my throat. “She got pregnant.”

He nods. “She didn’t want them. She didn’t want to be a mother. She wanted her life back. But the paternity test said they were mine, so I paid her.”

“Paid her?” I cock my head to the side. Dear God, the things this man does with his money . . .

“To give birth, rather than have the abortion that she wanted to.”

Oh.

My skin feels cold and my heart hollow. I can see how much this hurts him to tell me. I can see it in his eyes and hear it in the tremor of his deep, full voice—now strained with emotion. I never wanted him to relive that devastation, but I’m the one who pushed him to the edge.

“I’m so sorry, D—”

“I think you should go.”

There. I’ve really done it now. I’ve jeopardized my job, my brother’s future, my . . . whatever this catastrophe of a relationship is.

I have no place here. Dominic’s life is a complicated mess, and I’ve only scattered the pieces even more, like a selfish child.

It’s time to grow the hell up, Presley. I screwed up, and now I have no choice but to live with the consequences.

Without a word, I stand. I put on my dress and panties under his watchful gaze, my fingers trembling, and head to the guest room where my bra lays on the floor.

After I gather my purse and shoes, I slowly make my way down the hall, past the girls’ bedroom, and through the front door. The door clicks shut behind me.

Never once in my walk of shame—shame over everything I’ve done—does he try to stop me.

Why would he?