Page 113 of Sexting the Boss

Then Damien reaches for me, pulling me into his arms.

I press my cheek against his chest.

He kisses the top of my head, voice still rough with satisfaction. “That was fucking…incredible,” he manages, a note of wonder underneath the huskiness. Eventually we both drift off to sleep again.

* * *

I wake with a dry throat,the room still cloaked in darkness. Damien’s deep breathing is steady beside me, comforting, familiar.

For a moment I watch him sleep—silver-streaked hair falling over his forehead, his powerful chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm. I smile softly, still hardly believing I’m here, before carefully sliding out of bed.

My body protests a little as I stand, reminding me exactly what we did last night, warmth flooding my cheeks at the memory. I glance around, gathering up my scattered underwear, pulling it on quickly before grabbing one of Damien’s discarded shirts from the floor. It’s huge on me, falling almost to mid-thigh, and carries his scent—warm, expensive, faintly smoky.

It’s comforting somehow.

I pad softly across the darkened bedroom floor and out into the expansive living area. Through the huge windows, city lights twinkle like distant stars. The apartment feels strangely large and empty at this hour, every sound magnified in the silence. I find my way to the kitchen, illuminated by soft ambient lighting, and quickly pour myself a glass of water.

Taking a long sip, I close my eyes, enjoying the cool relief as it slides down my throat. I’m about to set the glass down when suddenly something moves at the edge of my vision.

I freeze, heart stopping in my chest.

A dark figure moves silently across the living room.

I scream, a shrill, terrified sound, and the glass slips from my hand, shattering on the marble floor.

“Damien!” I cry, voice trembling, backing up until I hit the kitchen counter, pulse hammering in my ears.

Footsteps pound from the bedroom. Damien emerges a second later, eyes wild, muscles tense and coiled, wearing only black boxer shorts.

“Sasha?” His voice is rough.

He immediately moves to me, grabbing my shoulders, steadying me as his eyes rapidly scan the space. “What happened?”

“There was someone here!” I gasp out, clinging to his arm. My voice is shaking, panic closing around me. “I—I saw someone, Damien. Right there—” I point toward the living area, my hand trembling violently. “They walked right past me!”

Damien instantly shifts, protective, pushing me gently behind him. I grip the back of his arm, heart still thrashing as he moves cautiously forward. He scans every corner of the penthouse with alert precision, but there’s nothing but silence. Nothing seems out of place.

“Nobody’s here, Sasha.” He turns back, expression fierce but concerned.

“I swear,” I insist, voice breaking. “Damien, I saw something.”

His face darkens, and he gently guides me to the kitchen counter and sits me down.

“Sit here,” he says firmly, voice calm but tense. “Don’t move, Sasha. I’m going to check things out.”

I nod silently, feeling smaller and more vulnerable than ever. The glass shards from my dropped water sparkle dimly on the floor.

Damien walks swiftly toward his bedroom, returning moments later with his phone pressed to his ear, murmuring quietly into it. His expression is severe, eyes scanning the apartment continuously, tension radiating from every muscle in his body.

I watch him anxiously, heart still hammering in my chest.

Why does he seem so calm, yet so prepared?

It’s almost as if he expected something like this.

The thought unsettles me further, and my mind races with questions I’m too afraid to ask.

A few minutes pass that feel like hours. I jump at the sudden chime from the private elevator, startled as two large, serious-looking men stride into the apartment.

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