Mogul (Manhattan #2)(19)

I glance at the women in the lobby. Obviously most of them have noticed him, and I hate that he seems to have noticed.

“They’ll send me thank-you notes,” I say.

“Well, then… I hope you have a big mailbox.”

“You’re dreaming.”

“Of you.”

I sniff when I see him reach out to press the elevator button behind me. His arm brushes against the top of mine, and my skin tingles from the contact.

I hear the terrible, exciting, unnerving ding.

My whole body tightens in anticipation.

Ian lifts his hand and presses it against the small of my back, leading me into the elevator. We’re the only ones inside. He presses the button for the top floor and uses the key to access it.

Wow. A penthouse suite?

His hand remains on the small of my back, his thumb caressing my skin below the fabric of my top.

His eyes hold mine, and something pulls inside my stomach.

The heat of his stare spreads under my skin, like a lick of fire between my legs.

The way the guy stands there, all confident and with an unreal mix of elegance and rawness, his stare direct and shameless, an air of authority surrounding him.

God, I want another piece of him tonight.

I don’t think anyone could ever compete with this guy, so I never even went out with anyone who asked me ever since our encounter. Sometimes I’ve wanted to see him again so much that my chest hurt. And it’s not fair, is it?

When we arrive at our floor, he takes my hand and leads me down the hall to open the suite door. Yes. It’s a humongous suite.

What does it mean that he went for the best for this?

Does it mean he wants to impress me?

And what does it mean that I mumble “give me a moment” and race to the bathroom to freshen up?

That I want to impress him?

I take a long time scrutinizing my hair, my face, and the rest of me in the bathroom mirror. Does he like what I see? My pupils are dilated, my eyes gleaming with desire. My cheeks flushed. I look like a girl who just had the living daylights fucked out of her… or is about to. By the time I have loosened my hair and freshened up, Ian is sitting on a bar stool at the far end of the suite. The view of New York, and even a glimpse of Central Park, framing the windows behind him.

He slowly comes to his feet as I reach him. I melt under his smile as he grabs me by the waist and yanks me to his chest. Dominant. I like it.

“I should be gentle. You do walk my gran’s dog, after all.” He scans my features as if savoring them.

“I should have mercy on you. You’re my customer’s grandson, after all.” I scan his features in return.

His eyes begin to darken, his expression unreadable. I press forward, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. He smells so good that I feel dizzy, my brain completely out of order as I go up on tiptoe and graze his lips with mine.

He shifts his mouth, and my lips end up scraping along his jaw as he whispers in my ear, “Are you in it just for the orgasm of your life?” He holds me by the back of my neck.

I nod, and his expression changes.

He says, “Come here.”

He tugs me forward and motions to the hall of the suite, and I walk past him.

“Down the hall.”

I do as he instructs and when I glance past my shoulder, I catch those beautiful eyes of his inspecting my butt.

He smirks when I shoot him a look, and I hurry down the hall.

“Last room.”

I head to the master bedroom and open the door, then reach the bed and turn around.

“I don’t need a bed. Or a big suite, Mr. Ford. What I want from you is right here.” I reach out to grab his shirt and pull him to me, stroking my hand along his cock.

Oh God. He’s so hard. I want this so bad.

He grabs me by the hips and pulls me even closer to him, his eyes scanning my face. “You changed your mind fast.” A smug smile touches his lips as he grabs a handful of my hair, lifts it above my head, and leans forward.

“I’ll go if you don’t want it,” I grind out. Desire clutches my body as he skims his lips along my neck.

I can’t seem to say “want me”—it’s too personal, and I don’t want to get personal with him. Just physical.

My thighs are shaking as he tsks softly, shaking his head as he drags his thumb down my temple, along my jaw. “What would ever give you the impression I’m not into this?” He pulls my arms up above my head and flattens me to the window with his hard, sexy, blatantly muscular body. I don’t know which is harder, him or the window, or the gigantic erection pressing into my stomach while he lets his eyes roam my body as if deciding what he wants to taste first.

My lips, my throat, my shoulders, my…

“You feel incredible, Sara,” he rasps as he cups my breast in one hand, massaging it.

An unintelligible sound rises up my throat. This man does things to me. I’m suddenly afraid he’s going to break me, somehow, some way. The first time hooked me; what will the second do?

“No talking,” I say, pressing my mouth to his.

My lips end up crushed beneath his. The sound I make is swallowed by his mouth—his moving, hot, demanding mouth. “God, you taste good,” he rasps.

“So do you,” I croak.

My lips sting from his lips.

I press up on tiptoes and brush them again over his with a moan. “Kiss me again.”