I turn to face him, expecting him to say something cold.

Instead, he cups my cheek and presses a soft kiss to my lips. Not a claim.

A promise.

“I’m not done with you, Emilia,” he whispers.

I smile, breathless. “I’m counting on it.”

***

The next morning, I wake up sore in places I didn’t know had nerves.

And wet between my thighs just thinking about him.

Damon Hart.

My boss.

My grumpy, cold, sinfully gorgeous boss who bent me over his desk and made me ...