The Midnight Summons

The clock on my nightstand ticked silently over to 11:58 PM. My body was still humming from the scalding hot shower I’d taken to wash away the ghost of Ethan’s touch, but the skin beneath my collarbone—where Damon had left his mark in the cellar—seemed to burn with a phantom heat.he lingering repulsion of his presence still made my skin crawl.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, nursing a glass of ice water and staring blankly at the city lights outside my window, when the quiet vibration of my phone startled the silence.

I picked it up. A single text from an unsaved, private number flashed across the dark screen.

B1 Level. Executive Garage. Vance Tower. 12:15 AM.

No greeting. No asking if I was awake. Just a blunt command written in the dark, confident authority that belonged to only one man.

I held the phone, staring at the glowing numbers until the screen dimmed. I shouldn't go. I should block the number, throw my silk robe back on, and go to sleep like a sane woman who cared about her safety and her reputation. But as I looked down at my hands, I realized they were trembling—not with fear, but with a sharp, terrifying spike of pure adrenaline.

I didn't reply to the text. I didn't need to. He knew I was coming.

Five minutes later, I had stripped off my loungewear and pulled on a tailored, knee-length black trench coat, leaving it belted tightly around my bare skin underneath. I slipped into a pair of quiet leather heels, grabbed my purse, and bypassed the front lobby of my building altogether, taking the emergency service stairs down to the dark alleyway behind the block.

The cab dropped me a block away from the dark, imposing glass monolith of Vance Tower. The main entrance was locked, the glass lobby glowing with a faint blue security nightlight. I walked around the perimeter of the block, descending the slick concrete vehicular ramp that led down into the belly of the building.

The heavy iron security gate at the entrance of Level B1 was down, but as I approached the concrete pillar, a soft, electronic beep echoed through the subterranean cavern, and a narrow steel access door unlocked with a heavy, metallic clack.

Damon had cleared the way.

My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Every sharp click of my heels against the polished epoxy floor felt deafening in the dead quiet.

At the far end of the row, parked in a private bay beneath a sweeping security dome, sat Damon’s custom black Maybach. The windows were ceramic-tinted to a pitch-black opacity, completely concealing whatever sat inside.

As I reached the rear door, the dark vehicle silently unlocked, its side mirror lights flashing once in the gloom.

My hand hesitated over the cold chrome handle for a single beat. I took one last breath of the damp garage air, pulled the heavy door open, and stepped into the warm, scented dark of the back seat.

The door clicked shut behind me with a heavy, vacuum-sealed thud, instantly sealing out the rest of the world.

The interior of the Maybach was an insulated sanctuary of butter-soft leather, dark mahogany, and the heavy, intoxicating scent of Damon’s cedarwood cologne. The privacy partition between the front seat and the rear cabin was completely raised, blacked out and soundproofed.

Damon sat in the deep leather captain's chair, his suit jacket discarded, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He held a crystal tumbler of amber scotch in one hand, his dark, obsidian eyes fixed on me the absolute second I slid onto the leather seat beside him.

"You're five minutes late," his low, gravelly baritone vibrated through the quiet cabin.

"Ethan was at my apartment less than an hour ago."

Damon’s jaw tightened, a sharp, dangerous muscle flexing along his cheekbone. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't need to. He set his crystal glass into the recessed cup holder with a quiet, decisive clink, turned his broad frame, and reached for me.

Before I could draw another breath, his large, calloused hand closed over the back of my neck, pulling me across the leather seat until I was straddling his lap. The sheer, heavy warmth of his body pressed flush against mine through the fabric of my coat.

"Did he touch you?" Damon growled against my ear, his thumb tracing the jawline where Ethan’s lips had tried to hover earlier.

"I didn't let him," I whispered, my fingers digging into the firm muscle of his broad shoulders as my core throbbed in immediate, helpless recognition. "I pushed him away. His hands... I couldn't stand them on my skin."

A dark, possessive satisfaction flared in Damon's eyes. "Good," he rasped, his hand sliding down the front of my trench coat to find the belt at my waist. "Because if he touched what’s mine, I’d have to break his hands."

With a single, deliberate yank, Damon untied the belt of my coat. The heavy wool parted, exposing my bare skin and the narrow scrap of black silk lace underneath to his hot, heavy gaze. He let out a low, rough breath, his dark eyes sweeping over my body with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.

High above the car, through the heavy ceramic tint of the rear windshield, I could see the red sweep of a security camera slowly panning across our bay. The knowledge that a guard could walk past the car at any moment—that the entire board of directors was sleeping soundly while Damon Vance had me pinned in his private vehicle—sent a wave of violent, liquid heat straight to my thighs.

"Damon..." I gasped as his large hand cupped the curve of my waist, his warm, rough palm sliding up my ribs to push the coat off my shoulders. "The cameras... someone could look."

"Let them look," Damon growled against my throat, his lips coming down to bite the exact spot he had marked in the cellar earlier, deepening the bruise until I whimpered against his shoulder. "This glass is bulletproof and pitch black. No one sees inside this car unless I let them."

His hands were everywhere at once—heavy, possessive, and utterly merciless. He pulled the silk straps of my lingerie down my arms, exposing my breasts to the cool air of the cabin before his hot mouth closed over one dark peak, drawing it deep into his throat. A sharp, breathless moan tore from my lips, my hips arching off his lap as his fingers trailed down my stomach, hooking into the thin band of my underwear and dragging it down my thighs.

He didn't touch my center yet. He teased the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, his thumb tracing the crease where my leg met my hip, holding me right on the excruciating edge of desire while the garage's red camera light swept uselessly over the blacked-out glass above us.