5. Dominic
Dominic
Jenna’s surrender lasts exactly as long as it takes me to kick off my pants.
Her gaze drops to the erection straining against my boxers. Then her fingers hook into the waistband and drag them down.
I’ve imagined her looking at me like this more times than I’ll ever admit. None of those fantasies accounted for the look on her face when she wraps her hand around my cock.
“Holy fucking hell, that feels good,” I moan, resisting the urge to pump my hips into her grip.
Her mouth curves as she strokes me up and down. “Still want to call all the shots?”
“I’m reconsidering the arrangement.”
She strokes me slowly, thumb sweeping over the head, and my hips push into her hand before I can stop them.
That faint curve becomes a real smile.
“Something wrong, Cruz?”
“I’m feeling pretty fucking perfect. But, sweetheart, you’re gonna need to let me go before I blow all over your hand.”
She grips tighter and does it again.
Of course she fucking does.
I catch her wrist only when my thighs start tightening. “Enough.”
She pouts, and I almost want her to wrap those lips around my dick and finish down her throat. Instead, I thread my fingers into the back of her hair and tug her head back, bringing my lips to hers.
“I’ve waited too long to come anywhere but inside you.”
She moans against my mouth, and the sound is a motherfucking reward.
She gasps when I push her onto her back and cover her body with mine, the warmth of her skin setting off some kind of animal instinct in my blood.
I crush my mouth to hers, not gentle anymore, and she returns it with equal force, nearly biting my bottom lip before her hands slide over my shoulders, nails raking just hard enough to make my back arch.
I grab her thigh and hook it over my hip, grinding my cock against her wetness. I want in so bad I can barely see straight, but I want to hear her beg for it first.
“Tell me what you want, Jen.”
She scoffs, wriggling under me. “You know what I want.”
“Humor me. I need to hear it.”
“I’ve already told you what I want.”
“Call it an enthusiastic-consent check—what do you want me to do to you, sweetheart?”
The color in her cheeks climbs high. She’s beautiful angry, beautiful triumphant, but she’s fucking incandescent like this, back arched and biting back her pride.
“Fine. I want you to fuck me,” she spits. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.” I grin and line myself up, sliding just the tip through her folds, teasing her. Her breath stutters and her eyes narrow in warning.
“Dominic—”
But then she gasps as I push all the way in, slow, steady, determined to let her feel every inch. There are a dozen filthy things I could say. None of them survive once I’m buried in her heat.
“Oh God.” Her hands fist in the sheets and she gasps, staring up at me with pure challenge in her eyes, like she’s daring me to impress her.
I’ve wanted this woman for almost a decade. Wanted her in boardrooms and elevators, across dinner tables and crowded parties, in every maddening second between her saying my name and walking away from me.
The reality is nothing like the fantasy.
When I’m finally seated all the way in, I need a moment. I stop with my forehead against hers and breathe.
“Jesus, Jen. You’re so fucking—” The words die in my throat because she clamps around me, hot and tight and absolutely not pulling her punches.
Jenna’s nails drag down my back. “Move, Dominic.”
I rock into her slow, letting her get used to it, but she bucks her hips up to meet me, greedy for more.
“Don’t be gentle with me.”
I chuckle. “Sweetheart, I’m being gentle with me. You’re fucking tight.”
After a few slow drags in and out of her body, my rhythm builds, and I pin her wrists above her head and grind deeper, the slap of sweat-slick skin and her broken gasps echoing between us.
“Harder,” she demands.
I oblige, slamming into her and watching her lose her composure with every thrust. Somewhere in the back of my brain, the part that isn’t fire and need and raw fucking hunger, I know I’m never getting over this woman.
That the ten years of wanting her—three of those chasing, teasing, circling, pretending we didn’t crave this—were just a prelude to the moment I got her legs locked around me, face shifting between triumph and surrender as I fuck her into oblivion.
“Fuck, you feel good, sweetheart. All that control and you take my dick so good.”
“Fucking hell— Oh God!”
She’s close again—I can feel it in the flutter of her around me, the way her thighs quake. I hook one of her legs over my shoulder, changing the angle, and thrust deep, grinding my pelvis against her clit with each stroke. She keens.
“Come on, Jen. Give me another one. I want to feel you come.”
I drive into her again, my hips snapping forward and pounding into her with desperate need.
Jenna’s nails score lines down my back, urging me on, and she clenches around me.
“Dominic!”
I don’t let up, grinding against her with every thrust, the friction of our bodies slick and urgent, until she shatters—her back arching, thighs locking around me, a raw, throaty moan ripping from her lips as she pulses hot and tight, milking every inch of me just like I demanded.
“Fuck, yes,” I growl, burying my face in her neck, inhaling the salty-sweet scent of her skin while her orgasm drags me dangerously close to my own edge.
I slow my pace, drawing out the aftershocks with shallow rolls of my hips, letting her ride the waves until she’s gasping, her body trembling beneath mine.
She’s a vision like this, flushed and wrecked, her dark hair fanned across the pillows, eyes half-lidded with that post-climax haze.
I kiss her then, deep and filthy, tongues tangling as I swallow her gasps.
“More,” she whispers against my mouth, her voice husky and demanding, even as her hands roam my chest, tracing the ink like she’s mapping territory she plans to conquer. “Don’t you dare stop fucking me until you’re drained.”
“You’re daring me now?” I chuckle low, nipping at her bottom lip before pulling out almost completely, only to slam back in, hard and possessive.
She gasps, her legs hitching higher around my waist, opening herself up further, and I take full advantage—thrusting with a steady, punishing rhythm that has the headboard thumping against the wall.
“Hold on to me,” I grunt, flipping us so she’s on top, straddling me, her breasts bouncing as she adjusts. “Ride me, sweetheart.”
I grip her hips, guiding her at first, then letting go to watch her move.
She grinds down with a swivel that makes my vision blur, her palms flat on my chest for leverage as she sets a pace that’s all her—slow, teasing circles mixed with hard, fast drops that have me groaning curses under my breath.
Sweat beads on her skin, trickling between her breasts, and I sit up enough to capture one in my mouth, sucking hard while my thumb finds her clit, rubbing in tight circles that make her falter, her rhythm turning erratic.
“Oh God, Dominic—right there,” she pants, her head falling back, body undulating, and I feel her building again, the tension coiling in her core.
I thrust up to meet her, matching her frenzy, our bodies slapping together in a wet, obscene symphony.
She comes with a shuddering cry, spasming around me, pulling me so tight it’s almost painful, and I have to grit my teeth to hold back, flipping her onto her stomach before she can fully recover.
She yelps—a sound halfway between outrage and bliss—when I drag her hips up and spread her knees, flattening her to the bed.
My hands bracket her ass, hoisting her in place, and I drive back inside her, the fit so perfect and tight I nearly lose composure right there.
Jenna gasps, then keens, arching up to meet my thrusts, hair a black river across the white sheets.
She clutches a pillow, face buried, but I can hear every broken sound she makes.
The angle is brutal. I grind into her, circling my hips to find every spot that makes her sob. I want to see her lose it again. I want to ruin the memory of every man who ever touched her and didn’t make her feel like she was the only woman on earth. The only woman who’s ever mattered.
She’s not delicate. She wants it rougher than I’d guessed. Every time I bottom out, she claws the sheets, shuddering, rocking back to take me deeper. I’ve never had a woman like this—so perfectly matched, so ready to meet any velocity I throw at her, so intent on burning herself down.
“You should see yourself, Jen,” I pant, my palm sliding up her spine until I catch a fistful of hair and pull her head back so I can see her eyes. “Fucking wrecked.”
She glares at me over her shoulder, sweat beading on her cheek, mouth open and wet. “Keep talking and I’ll laugh at you—oh—” Her voice shreds as I slam back in.
“You weren’t laughing when you begged me to make you come again.”
“Wasn’t begging,” she rasps. Not convincingly.
I twist her hair a little, forcing another filthy whimper out of her, and my other hand slides around her hip to rub her clit. She’s so sensitive I barely have to touch her and she’s already trembling.
“Fuck, that’s it—come for me,” I growl. I’m close, too close, but I want her to give me just one more.
I keep my rhythm savage, rolling my hips and keeping pressure on her clit, and within seconds she shatters again, her whole body locking around me, gasping my name so loud the whole floor probably hears.
The sensation is so overwhelming I nearly black out.
I don’t pull out. I don’t slow down. I keep fucking her through it, bruising her hips with my grip, groaning her name, claiming every inch until the white-hot rush of release crushes me.
I bury myself as deep as I can, coming hard, pouring out everything I’ve held back for three goddamn years, until there’s nothing left except the sound of our heartbeats hammering against the hotel quiet.
For a minute, neither of us moves.
Then I ease out, careful, rolling onto my side and hauling her back with me.
My arms wrap around her automatically, and I bury my face in the mess of her hair, breathing her in.
Her back rises and falls in hard, ragged breaths.
She’s limp, spent, still twitching once in a while as the aftershocks fade.
I don’t say anything.
I just hold her.
After a while, she shifts in my arms, twisting to face me. “You alive?”
I grin. “Never better. You?”
“I think I died a little,” she says. I chuckle as she stretches like a cat, arms up, then wraps them around my neck and tugs me down for a slow, filthy kiss.
It’s less an encore than a victory lap, but I let her set the pace and just taste her, feeling every muscle in my body melt against hers.
She breaks away first, arms still draped over me. “You should probably go back to your suite.”
I laugh. “I can’t even fucking move, Pemberton.”
“OK.” She sighs, content. “You can stay. But if you fall asleep and snore, I’m using your own pillow to suffocate you.”
“Noted.” I roll us again so I’m behind her, spooning her with my chest pressed to her bare back.
She’s still warm, skin slick and so soft I almost weep from the joy of finally getting to have her.
After a minute, her hand catches mine, drawing it to cup her breast. I keep it there, not moving, just anchoring.
For once, I’m not the man with a room to win or a deal to close.
I’m just somewhere warm, holding the woman I’ve wanted for too damn long.
“Don’t make a big deal about this in the morning, OK?”
I lean down and brush my mouth over her shoulder. “I’m going to be making a big deal about this for the rest of my life.”