Elena #2
Dominic is already watching me.
He doesn’t reach for me. He waits through the rest of the ride with his leg pressed to mine and his hands loose on his thighs.
“Are you going to kiss me again?” I ask.
“Do you want me to?”
“You keep making me decide.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m your boss and Cliff’s best friend. I won’t use either position to take a choice from you.” His voice drops. “Even when I want you.”
The last words land differently, a low current of heat that has nothing to do with the rules and everything to do with breaking them.
I turn toward the window because that answer makes me want to climb into his lap while his driver is six feet away.
When we reach my building, he carries the cake through the lobby. I press the elevator button without explaining why I expect him to follow.
The doors open, and we step inside alone.
I select my floor. Dominic sets the cake on the narrow ledge below the panel, and the small space of the elevator shrinks when he turns toward me.
His shirt is open at the throat. The restraint in his face looks painful now.
He takes one step closer. “Are you sure?”
He asks once, plainly, without treating the ride home as permission.
I grab the front of his shirt. “Yes.”
His hand cups the back of my neck, and his mouth comes down on mine.
The kiss beside my car had a waiting driver and my family on the other side of the house. Now we’re alone. Dominic pulls me against him, and I kiss him hard enough to make him stumble half a step.
A rough sound leaves him as his arm locks around my waist. His tongue slides into my mouth, and the firm pressure of his erection against my stomach wipes out every thought except getting closer.
The elevator chimes.
Neither of us moves until the doors begin to close again.
I catch them with my hand.
Dominic lifts his head. “Careful.”
“You distracted me.”
“I haven’t started.”
I take the cake box and catch his wrist. “Come upstairs.”
He looks directly at me. “Say it again.”
“Come upstairs, Dominic.”
We step into the hall. He follows me to my condo without touching me. With every step, I’m aware that I’m leading him home. I unlock the door and hold it open.
Dominic crosses the threshold.
I close the door behind him and turn the dead bolt.
Dominic sets the cake on the kitchen counter while I put down my purse and slip off my heels.
For a few seconds, we just look at each other. He stands beside my kitchen island with his hands at his sides, waiting for me to decide what happens in my home.
“You were more decisive in the elevator,” I point out.
“You had your hands on me in the elevator.”
“I can fix that.”
He reaches me before I take another step.
His hands frame my face, and his kiss drives me backward a step. One arm catches my waist. He guides me toward the couch until the backs of my knees touch the cushions.
I sit and pull him down with me.
Dominic braces one hand beside my shoulder. The other slides over my knee and along my bare thigh, stopping beneath the hem of my dress.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Touch me.”
His thumb moves along the inside of my thigh. “Where?”
I take his wrist and guide his hand higher.
His knuckles brush the lace between my legs. I shift toward him, impatient for more.
“Right where you want me.”
His answer sends a sharp pulse through me.
Dominic sees it. “You like that.”
“I like your hand.”
“You like both.”
His fingers trace me through my underwear. The contact is light and deliberate, giving him time to learn which pressure makes my hips move.
He bends to kiss the side of my neck. His teeth graze my skin, and I grip his shoulders.
“Still good?”
“Yes. Now stop asking every ten seconds.”
He lifts his head. “You’ll tell me if that changes?”
“Immediately.”
“Good.”
The next kiss is rougher. He cups me through the lace, and I rock against his palm before I can pretend I’m unaffected.
I pull his shirt from his waistband and slide my hands beneath it. His stomach tightens under my palms.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I murmur against his chest.
“So are you. Turn around.”
I stand and face away from him.
Dominic finds the zipper at the back of my dress and draws it down. His knuckles skim my spine. He slides the straps from my shoulders, and the dress falls around my feet.
I stand in a black bra and matching underwear.
“Fuck, Elena.”
His hands settle on my hips. He presses his mouth to my shoulder, then lower along my back. The kisses are slow. His grip isn’t.
I turn and begin opening his shirt. Impatience makes me tug the last button free, and he shrugs out of it.
My palms map the warm skin and hard muscle of his chest, a body I’ve only seen in a blurry wedding video I was never supposed to watch. A thin scar crosses his ribs. Dark hair narrows beneath his waistband. Touching him is nothing like watching him.
I reach for his belt.
Dominic catches my wrist. “Look at me.”
I do.
“Do you want to touch me?”
“Yes.”
His grip loosens.