Devina put her hands on his thighs and leaned in, her breasts swelling over the bodice of her gown. God, she smelled good.

“I’m sorry,” she moaned before she kissed his neck and dug her nails into his legs. “Let me make it up to you.”

She closed her lips on his skin and sucked.

As Vin let his head fall back, he looked at her from under his lids. She was any man’s fantasy. And she was his.

So why the fuck couldn’t he get those words out?

“Vin…please don’t be angry at me,” she whispered.

“I’m not.”

“You’re frowning.”

“Am I.” Exactly when did he ever smile? “Well, why don’t you see what you can do to improve my mood.”

Devina’s lips lifted as if this were precisely the kind of invite she’d been angling for, and in quick succession, she undid his tie, opened his collar and popped free the buttons of his shirt. Kissing her way down to his hips, she unbuckled his belt, pulled out his shirttails and scraped her nails and her teeth across his skin.

She knew he was into the rough stuff and didn’t have a problem with that in the slightest.

Vin swept her hair back from her face as she freed his arousal, and knew full well he wasn’t the only one likely to get a view of what she was going to do to him: Both of the desk lamps were on, which meant if anybody in those skyscrapers was still at their office and had a pair of binocs, they were about to get one hell of a show.

Vin didn’t stop her or turn off the lights.

Devina liked an audience.

As her mouth parted over the head of his cock, he groaned and then gritted his teeth as she swallowed him down into her throat. She was very good at this kind of thing, finding a rhythm that swept him away, staring up at him as she worked him out. She knew he liked it a little dirty, so at the last moment she pulled back so that her perfect breasts were what he came on.

With a low laugh, she looked at him from under her brows, all naughty girl not yet sated. Devina was like that, changeable depending on the situation, able to be a proper woman one moment and a slut the next, her moods masks that she wore and discarded at will.

“You’re still hungry, Vin.” Her beautiful hand drifted down the sheer bustier to her thong and stayed there as she stretched out on her back. “Aren’t you.”

In the light, her eyes were not deep brown, but dense black, and they were full of knowledge. She was right. He did want her. He had since the moment he’d seen her at a gallery opening and taken both a Chagall and her home.