His After Hours Obsession

Epilogue

Epilogue

Six months later.

I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of Damian’s penthouse—our penthouse—watching the city lights glitter below while his arms wrapped around me from behind. His chin rested on my shoulder, breath warm against my neck.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured.

I smiled, leaning back into his chest. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How I used to be terrified of you.”

A low, amused sound rumbled through him. His hands slid under my silk robe, resting possessively on my bare stomach.

“And now?”

I turned in his arms, looking up into those familiar whiskey-colored eyes. The same intensity was still there, but it was softer now. Deeper.

“Now I can’t imagine a life without you,” I said honestly.

Damian’s expression shifted. He cupped my face, thumb brushing slowly across my cheek, and kissed me with the kind of quiet hunger that still made my knees weak. When he pulled back, his voice was low and absolute.

“You won’t have to.”

Later that night, he took me slowly in our bed—deep, unhurried strokes, eyes locked on mine the entire time. No desk. No locked office door. Just us. When we finally came apart together, he stayed buried inside me, forehead pressed to mine, and whispered the same words he had said the night I first agreed to be his.

“I’m never letting you go.”

I closed my eyes, smiling against his lips.

“Good,” I whispered back. “Because I’m never leaving.”

Outside, the city kept moving.

Inside, I was exactly where I belonged.

His.

The End.