HARPER
NEXT DAY
I sucked in a deep breath, my eyes fixed on the rows of expensive cars—Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, black Aston Martins—lining the entrance of the event venue, trying not to think about Dominic's hand currently between my legs.
My toes curled inside my heels. "Dominic," I whispered, glancing toward the driver in front, who sat rigid and motionless.
Maybe this wasn't new to him. Obviously not. I couldn't help but wonder how many women Dominic had done this to right in front of him. To him, I was probably just another distraction. Another whore he used to pass the time. The thought made my stomach knot. I clamped a hand around Dominic's wrist, stopping him before he could go any further.
Turning toward him, my cheeks burned under the weight of his gaze—his eyes dark, heavy with lust.
"I'm going to be late," I whispered.
"Who cares?" he dismissed, his voice gruff as his hand slid along my thigh. "You're not the host. You're allowed to arrive as late as you want."
