Isabella’s POV
He ruined me. And I wanted more.
I couldn’t look at Damien Cross the same way after that night. I couldn’t sit in meetings and pretend he hadn’t had me blindfolded and begging, my body trembling under his command.
But the worst part? He didn’t even act differently.
He was calm. Composed. Cold as ever.
And it drove me insane.
This morning, I walked into the office in a fitted pencil skirt and silk blouse, hair pinned, lips glossed. I was trying to feel normal. But I could still feel his hands on me, hear his voice whispering filth in my ear, taste his power on my tongue.
The man had flipped a switch inside me and left it permanently on.
At 10 a.m., I got a text.
“My office. Close the door behind you. No panties.” —Sir.
My breath caught.
He didn’t ask if I was alone
