I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Damon’s face between my thighs—his mouth, his hands, the way he growled my name as if it meant something. I could still feel him on my skin. Smell him on my blouse.

And now, here I was, standing in front of Conference Room B, hand trembling as I reached for the handle.

The door opened before I could knock.

He was already waiting.

Damon leaned against the table, sleeves rolled again, shirt dark gray today, hair slightly ...