Page 93 of Client Privilege

Relief washed through me as I crossed to his bed and slipped under the covers. The sheets were warm from his body, the pillow carrying the faint scent of his shampoo. I kept a careful distance between us, not wanting to push boundaries further.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head. “Just the usual. Marcus finding me.”

He made a soft sound of understanding. “He can’t hurt you anymore, Alex. He’s going to be in prison for a very long time.”

“I know. Logically, I know.”

We lay there in silence for several minutes, my breathing graduallyslowing to match his. The panic began to recede, replaced by exhaustion.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my eyelids growing heavy.

“Always,” he replied, his voice thick with sleep.

I must have drifted off then, because the next thing I knew, I was being pulled gently against a solid warmth. Half-asleep, Damian had reached for me, his arm wrapping around my waist with protective instinct.

I froze momentarily, startled by the contact. But there was nothing demanding in his embrace—just comfort, security. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my back anchored me to reality, chasing away the last fragments of my nightmare.

I should move away, I thought distantly. This crosses a line.

But I was so tired. And it felt so safe, being held like this—like I was something precious rather than something to be controlled. The distinction made all the difference.

I relaxed into his embrace, feeling his breath warm against my neck. Tomorrow, we might need to talk about boundaries and complications. Tomorrow, we might need to pretend this never happened.

But tonight, I would allow myself this comfort. Tonight, I would sleep without fear, protected by the one person who had never asked for anything in return.

As I drifted back toward sleep, Buster appeared in the doorway, apparently having tracked me down. He jumped onto the bed with silent grace, settling into the curve created by our bodies.

Complete. Safe. Home.

I slept without dreaming.

WARMTH ENVELOPED ME, comfortable and secure in a way I hadn’t felt inyears. I drifted slowly toward consciousness, clinging to the peaceful feeling as long as possible. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold. This wasn’t my bed. This wasn’t my room.

The events of last night filtered back—the nightmare, seeking Damian’s comfort, falling asleep in his arms.

His arms, which were still around me.

I became acutely aware of our position. My back pressed against his chest, his arm draped heavily across my waist, our legs tangled together beneath the sheets. His breath warmed the nape of my neck, steady and deep. The solid weight of him against me felt both foreign and somehow exactly right.

Then I noticed something else. Something unmistakable pressed against my lower back, hard and insistent.

A jolt of electricity shot through me, settling low in my belly and spreading outward. My own cock responded instantly, hardening against the thin fabric of my borrowed pyjama bottoms. Before I could stop myself, I arched back slightly, pressing against the firm length behind me. A small, involuntary sound escaped my throat—half sigh, half moan.

God, how long had it been since I’d felt this? Not just arousal, but this hungry, consuming need to be touched, to be filled, to lose myself in someone else’s body? My mind raced with vivid images—rolling over to face him, straddling his hips, feeling those large hands gripping my waist. I imagined the taste of his mouth, the scratch of morning stubble against my lips, my neck, my chest, between my thighs. I could almost feel the weight of him over me, pressing me into the mattress, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered my name.

I pictured myself reaching down, wrapping my fingers around him, guiding him inside. The stretch and burn giving way to pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. His face above mine, those controlledfeatures finally breaking apart with need.

My hips moved again, a subtle rocking motion I couldn’t suppress. Behind me, Damian’s breathing changed. A slight hitch, a momentary pause. He was awake now too.

For several heartbeats, neither of us moved. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with possibility. His arm tightened fractionally around my waist, his fingers splaying across my stomach, dangerously close to the waistband of my pyjamas. I held my breath, silently willing his hand to move lower, to touch me where I ached for him.

Then memory crashed through the fantasy like ice water. Marcus’s hands, at first gentle until they weren’t. The way pleasure had always come with a price tag, with ownership attached. The way he’d use my desire against me later—“You wanted it too, you begged for it.” The helplessness of being wanted by someone who could destroy you.

My body tensed, arousal giving way to the familiar knot of anxiety. The fantasy shattered, replaced by the weight of everything that had come before.

Damian must have felt the change in me. As if burned, he abruptly withdrew his arm and rolled away.

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