MasukCHAPTER FIVE
Alex's Pov
Damien snatched the phone from my hand, his jaw clenched tight. "Block the number."
"That's your solution? Just ignore it?"
"Until we know who it is and what they want, yes." He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "It could be a bluff. Someone fishing for information."
"Or it could be someone who actually knows." My heart hammered against my ribs. "Someone who saw us together."
"We've been careful….."
"Have we?" I stood, pacing the room naked. "You had me working directly with you today. You think people didn't notice? You never pull junior executives onto projects personally."
His expression darkened. "So what do you want to do? End this before it really starts?"
"I want to know what we're dealing with." I grabbed my phone back. "I'm responding."
"Alex, don't…."
I typed quickly: "Who is this?"
The response came within seconds: "A friend. Meet me tomorrow. 2pm. The coffee shop on Fifth and Madison. Come alone."
"Absolutely not," Damien said, reading over my shoulder. "This could be dangerous."
"Or it could be someone trying to help." I turned to face him. "Either way, we need to know."
"Then I'm coming with you."
"They said alone."
"I don't care." He pulled me back onto the bed, his hands gripping my arms. "I'm not letting you walk into something that could hurt you."
"You can't protect me from everything, Damien."
"Watch me." He kissed me hard, possessive and desperate. "You're mine to protect now."
The claim should have annoyed me. Instead, it sent heat pooling low in my stomach. "Show me."
His eyes darkened. "What?"
"Show me I'm yours."
Something primal flashed across his face. He flipped me onto my stomach, his hand pressing between my shoulder blades to keep me down. "You want me to prove it?"
"Yes," I breathed.
I heard him moving, getting supplies ready. Then his slicked fingers were inside me again, rougher than before, stretching me quickly. I gasped into the sheets, my cock already hardening again despite having come minutes ago.
"You're going to feel me for days," he promised, adding another finger. "Every time you sit in a meeting, you'll remember this."
"Please," I moaned, pushing back against his hand.
He removed his fingers and I felt the head of his cock pressing against me. No condom this time, we'd both gotten tested over the weekend, shared results, made the decision together.
"Tell me you want this," he demanded.
"I want it. I want you. Please, Damien…"
He pushed inside in one hard thrust, and I cried out at the stretch, the burn, the perfection of it. He didn't give me time to adjust, just started moving with deep, punishing strokes.
"Mine," he growled, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. "Say it."
"Yours," I gasped out. "I'm yours."
He reached around to stroke my cock, already leaking and desperate. The dual sensation of him inside me and his hand on me was overwhelming. Every nerve ending was on fire.
"That's right." His teeth grazed my shoulder. "And I'm yours too. No one else gets to have this. Gets to have you like this."
His pace increased, each thrust driving me into the mattress. I was making sounds I'd never made before, completely uninhibited, lost to the pleasure he was giving me.
"Touch yourself," he ordered, releasing my cock. "I want both your hands on the headboard."
I gripped the headboard as instructed, and he adjusted the angle, hitting that perfect spot inside me with every thrust. My cock bobbed untouched between my legs, precum dripping onto the sheets.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "So desperate. So perfect."
"Please," I begged. "I need to come."
"Not yet." He slowed his pace to long, torturous strokes. "You come when I say you can."
I whimpered with frustration, my whole body trembling with need. He kept me on that edge, building me up then backing off, until I was sobbing into the sheets.
"Damien, please, I can't—"
"Yes, you can." His hand slid around to my throat, not squeezing, just holding. A claim of ownership that made my head spin. "You can take everything I give you."
He picked up the pace again, pounding into me relentlessly. My arms shook from holding myself up, every muscle taut with tension.
"Now," he finally said. "Come for me now."
I reached down and barely touched myself before I was coming, harder than I ever had before. My vision went white, pleasure so intense it almost hurt. I felt him stiffen behind me, felt the heat of him spilling inside me, marking me in the most primal way.
We collapsed together, both shaking and gasping. He stayed inside me as we came down, his arms wrapped around me protectively.
"I love you," he said quietly against my shoulder.
I froze. "What?"
"I like you." He pulled out carefully and turned me to face him. "I know it's fast. I know it's complicated. But I've never felt this way about anyone."
My throat tightened. "Damien—"
"You don't have to say it back." His thumb brushed over my cheek. "I just needed you to know."
"I—" The words stuck. Three months of anonymous conversations, one weekend together, and he was saying he has feelings for me? It was insane. Impossible.
And yet.
"I think I might have little feelings for you too," I whispered. "I think I have for a while."
He kissed me, soft and sweet, so different from the rough possession of moments ago. We stayed like that, tangled together in the aftermath, until reality intruded.
"About tomorrow," I said eventually. "I'm going to that meeting."
"We're going to that meeting," he corrected.
"If you come with me, it tips our hand."
"I'll stay in the background. Watch from a distance." His grip tightened on me. "But I'm not letting you face this alone."
I wanted to argue, to prove I could handle things myself. But the truth was, I didn't want to face it alone either.
"Fine. But you stay out of sight unless I signal you."
"Deal." He pulled me closer. "Stay tonight. I'll have you driven to work separately in the morning."
I nodded, already drifting off in his arms. Tomorrow would bring whatever it brought. Tonight, I just wanted to be his.
My phone buzzed one more time. Another message from the unknown number: "Smart choice. See you tomorrow. And Alex? Bring your boss if you want. I already know he'll be there anyway."
I showed Damien the message. His expression went ice cold.
"Whoever this is, they've been watching us closely."
"Too closely," I agreed, fear creeping up my spine.
Damien's POVHe looked at the phone the way you look at something you've been expecting and hoped wouldn't arrive yet."Farrow," he said."Answer it.""Sophie said—""Answer it. Here. Now." I moved around the desk. "Put it on speaker."He hesitated for exactly one second. Then he answered and set the phone on the desk between us."Alex Carter," he said."Mr. Carter. This is Diane Farrow from the Tribune. I'm sorry to call without warning. Do you have a few minutes."Her voice was calm and specific. The kind of professional calm that was its own form of pressure because it gave you nothing to push against."A few," Alex said. He was looking at the phone not at me. His voice was level. Completely level. I watched him find the steadiness in real time, the same way he'd found it in the Rossi meeting, in Sophie's office, in every room that had required it."I've been speaking with your mother," Farrow said. "She was generous with her time and I want you to know I approached her account wit
Alex's POV"Farrow called me yesterday," my mother said. "I called her back this morning."I sat down on Damien's couch."Mom.""Don't use that voice. I'm not a child." She said it with the particular patience of someone who'd been waiting to have this conversation for twenty years and wasn't going to be managed through it. "She found me through public records. My employment history with Cross Industries. She was professional. She identified herself and her piece and she asked if I'd be willing to talk.""And you said yes.""I said I needed to think about it. Then I thought about it." A pause. "Then I called her back."I looked at Damien across the room. He was reading my face the way he did, absorbing the half of the conversation he couldn't hear and filling in the rest accurately."What did you tell her," I said."Everything." My mother's voice was steady. The kind of steady that takes years to build. "My name. My position at Cross Industries. What Richard Sterling did. What the com
Damien's POVI read the screenshot over his shoulder.The headline was a working draft, incomplete, the kind of thing that lived in a shared document because someone forgot to restrict access or didn't think it mattered yet. Farrow had been careful everywhere else. One open document was all Sophie needed.“CROSS INDUSTRIES: THE COST OF SILENCE — How a 30-year board member's misconduct shaped a company's culture, and the employee who uncovered it.”Below it, in the notes field.*Key sources: Carter, A. (employee, direct knowledge). Sterling, R. (subject). Cross, D. (CEO, aware?)*Alex stared at his phone.I looked at his name on that screen and felt something very specific move through me that I didn't have immediate language for. Not fear. Something adjacent to it but with edges."Call Sophie," I said.He was already dialing.She picked up immediately. "You've both seen it.""Yes," Alex said. "How did you get access to a Tribune internal document.""I didn't. Farrow emailed our commun
Alex's POVI stared at the message through the entire call. Carlo's team talked about the timeline and I said the right things at the right moments and took notes that were coherent enough to be useful later and thought about nothing except what Trevor had said in that call and what Damien's voice had sounded like when he answered it.The Rossi call ended at twelve-forty.I was upstairs at twelve-forty-three.Marcus was already there. Sitting in the chair to the left of Damien's desk with his jacket on, which meant he'd come straight from somewhere else. He looked at me when I came in with the expression he used when a situation had moved faster than planned and he was deciding how much to show."Close the door," Damien said.I closed it."Trevor called to move the meeting. Tonight. Same location, seven o'clock." Damien was at the window. Just actually contained, which was different and I'd learned to tell the difference. "He said he had something that couldn't wait until Thursday and
Damien's POVAlex came up at eleven-fifteen.I knew from the way he opened the door that the call had gone better than he'd prepared for. There was something settled in him that hadn't been there this morning, the particular quality of someone who'd been carrying a weight and had just found out it was lighter than they thought."How is she," I said."Remarkable." He sat down across from my desk. "She already knew about Farrow. She'd Googled her after I called over the weekend.""Your mother Googled the journalist.""She spent twenty years as an ESL teacher. She knows how to research." He looked at his hands. "She said if Farrow calls her she'll talk. On the record. Her terms."I looked at him. "That's significant.""She said she's been quiet long enough." He paused. "She also said that if Richard Sterling gets named in print she won't lose a single night of sleep over it.""Neither will I."He met my eyes. Something moved through his expression. The particular look he got when I said
Alex's POVSophie's eight o'clock was the kind of meeting that had coffee but no pleasantries.She had three folders on her desk when we arrived. One for each of us and one she kept. She'd been here since at least six, which I knew because her assistant looked like she'd also been here since six and had opinions about it."Sit," Sophie said.We sat."Diane Farrow," she began. "Forty-four. Tribune for eleven years. Before that, two years at the Post. Her long-form pieces average four thousand words and she's been shortlisted for a press club award twice." She opened her folder. "She's good. That matters because good journalists are harder to misquote and harder to rattle. Don't try either.""Has she contacted anyone here," Damien said."One call. Friday afternoon to our communications director. She identified herself and said she was working on a piece about corporate leadership culture and would welcome comment from Cross Industries." Sophie looked over her glasses. "Standard first co







