I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Damon’s face between my thighs—his mouth, his hands, the way he growled my name as if it meant something. I could still feel him on my skin. Smell him on my blouse.
And now, here I was, standing in front of Conference Room B, hand trembling as I reached for the handle.
The door opened before I could knock.
He was already waiting.
Damon leaned against the table, sleeves rolled again, shirt dark gray today, hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hand through it too often. His tie was nowhere in sight.
And that look on his face?
Possession.
“Come in, Clara.”
I stepped inside, heels clicking on polished hardwood, heart hammering with anticipation.
The door closed behind me.
Click.
Locked again.
“You’re nervous,” he obser
