The Morning After

Chapter 3: The Morning After

Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of my small Brooklyn apartment, pulling me from a restless sleep. My body still hummed with the memory of last night Damien’s fingers, his voice, the way he’d made me come apart so easily in that private booth. I groaned and buried my face in the pillow, cheeks burning even now.

Kira Holt, what the hell did you do?

I sat up slowly, my black silk dress from last night crumpled on the floor where I’d tossed it. Between my thighs, I was still slightly sore, a delicious reminder of how thoroughly Damien had fingered me until I shattered. I pressed my legs together, trying to ignore the fresh wave of heat that thought brought.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Sophia:

**Sophia:** Girl, last night was WILD. That guy was insane in bed. You make it home okay? And why do I have a feeling you disappeared with someone too? Spill!

I stared at the screen, fingers hovering. How could I even begin to explain? Hey Soph, I let my dad’s mortal enemy finger me in his VIP booth and now I can’t stop thinking about him calling himself Daddy.

Instead, I typed back a vague “Made it home safe. Talk later.” and dropped the phone.

The gallery didn’t open until noon on Sundays, so I had time. Time to shower, time to try to scrub away the scent of his cologne that still seemed to cling to my skin, time to convince myself that last night was a one-time mistake.

But as I stood under the hot spray, my mind kept replaying every second. The way Damien had watched me come. The filthy praise in his voice. The promise that next time he wouldn’t be gentle.

I slid my hand between my legs, fingers circling my clit as the memory took over. It didn’t take long within minutes I was gasping his name under the water, coming hard against my own hand while imagining it was his thick fingers again… or more.

Pathetic. And not nearly as satisfying.

By the time I arrived at the gallery, I’d managed to pull myself together. Professional black pencil skirt, white blouse, hair in a neat bun. The good-girl armor was back in place.

Until mid-afternoon when my phone lit up with an unknown number.

Unknown:My office. 6 PM sharp. Don’t be late, little one.

My heart slammed against my ribs. How did he get my number? And more importantly why was I already clenching at the commanding tone in those words?

I should delete it. Block it. Tell him to go to hell.

Instead, I found myself typing:

Kira: I have work.

The reply came instantly.

Unknown:Tell them you have a meeting with a major donor. Blackwood Holdings is interested in acquiring several pieces for our corporate collection. That’s not a lie.

I bit my lip so hard it hurt. He was manipulating the situation, using his power and money the way powerful men always did. And the worst part? It was working.

At 5:45 PM I stood outside the towering Blackwood Holdings building in Midtown Manhattan, stomach in knots. The lobby was all glass and marble, the kind of place that screamed old money mixed with ruthless ambition. Security didn’t even question me just directed me to the private elevator that went straight to the top floor.

When the doors opened, Damien’s assistant, a polished woman in her thirties, greeted me with a knowing smile.

“Miss Holt? Mr. Blackwood is expecting you. Go right in.”

The corner office was massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a sleek modern desk, and Damien standing behind it, jacket off, tie loosened, looking every inch the powerful CEO.

He didn’t look up immediately, finishing something on his laptop. “Lock the door behind you, Kira.”

His voice sent a shiver down my spine. I did as told, the soft click sounding far too loud in the quiet room.

Only then did he lift his gaze. Those steel-gray eyes darkened the moment they landed on me. “Good girl. Come here.”

I walked toward him on unsteady heels, stopping in front of the desk. Damien leaned back in his leather chair, studying me like a predator deciding how to devour its prey.

“Skirt’s a little tight for the office, don’t you think?” he said casually, eyes tracing the way the fabric hugged my hips. “Makes a man wonder what you’re hiding underneath.”

Heat flooded my face. “I came straight from work. You said it was about art for your company.”

Damien smirked. “It is. Eventually.” He crooked a finger. “Closer.”

I stepped around the desk until I was standing between his spread thighs. He reached out, large hands settling on my waist, pulling me forward until I was perched on the edge of his desk.

“Yesterday you ran off like a scared little rabbit after I made you come,” he murmured, fingers tracing the hem of my skirt. “Today you came when I called. Progress.”

“I shouldn’t have,” I whispered, even as my body leaned into his touch.

“But you did.” His hands slid higher, pushing my skirt up slowly until it bunched around my thighs. He hummed in approval when he saw the black lace panties I’d chosen this morning subconsciously, maybe, hoping for this. “Look at these. So pretty. Did you wear them thinking about me?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Damien chuckled darkly and hooked his fingers into the waistband, dragging the lace down my legs and pocketing them like a trophy.

“No panties for the rest of the day,” he ordered. “Every time you move, I want you to feel how wet you are for me.”

His fingers returned, parting my folds and finding me already slick. He circled my clit once, twice, then pushed two fingers deep inside without warning. I gasped, gripping the edge of the desk.

“So fucking tight,” he growled, pumping slowly. “This pussy was made for Daddy, wasn’t it? Greedy little thing, sucking my fingers in like it’s starving.”

I moaned softly, hips rocking against his hand. The city sprawled out behind him through the windows anyone with binoculars could potentially see, but Damien didn’t seem to care. That only made it hotter.

He added a third finger, stretching me wider, his thumb pressing firm circles on my clit. Pleasure coiled tight and fast in my belly.

“Please…” I whimpered.

“Please what?” He leaned forward, lips brushing my neck. “Use your words, little one. Tell Daddy what you need.”

“I need… I need to come,” I begged, voice breaking.

“Not yet.” He slowed his movements, keeping me right on the edge. “First, you’re going to agree to something. I want you available when I call. No more hiding behind ‘good girl’ excuses. When I want this pussy, you bring it to me. Understood?”

I nodded frantically, too desperate to argue. “Yes… yes, I understand.”

“Good.” He curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes. “Then come for me. Now.”

The orgasm hit me like a wave, crashing through my body so hard my legs shook and a cry tore from my throat. Damien kept working me through it, drawing it out until I was a trembling mess on his desk, papers scattered beneath me.

When I finally came down, he withdrew his fingers and brought them to my lips.

“Clean them,” he ordered softly.

I obeyed, tasting myself on his skin, the act so filthy it sent another aftershock through me.

Damien stood, towering over me, and finally kissed me deep, claiming, his tongue dominating mine. When he pulled back, his cock was straining obviously against his slacks.

“Not today,” he said, reading the hungry look in my eyes. “When I fuck you for the first time, it won’t be a quick office quickie. I’m going to take my time ruining you properly.”

He helped me off the desk, smoothed my skirt down, and handed me back my purse.

“Go home, Kira. Rest that pretty body. Because tomorrow night, you’re coming to my penthouse. And this time, I’m not stopping at my fingers.”

He walked me to the elevator, one hand possessively on the small of my back the entire way.

As the doors closed, I caught my reflection flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes bright with lust and confusion.

I was in so much trouble.

And I couldn’t wait for tomorrow night.