Dark obsession

The 2am wake up call

*Chapter 7: THE 2AM WAKE UP*

2:17AM. Vance Tower. Executive Lounge. 80th Floor.

I woke up to warm air on my face.

And the smell of cedar. And something else. Him.

For a second I thought I was dreaming.

Then I felt it. Weight on the couch. Next to me. The couch dipped.

Damien.

He was sitting on the edge of the lounge couch. Too close.

Watching me.

His tie was gone. Top 2 buttons of his shirt undone.

Veins in his forearms. Hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it for hours.

The CEO mask was gone. The cold, untouchable Damien Vance was gone.

This was just... him. Tired. Real. Human.

“Hi.” My voice was sleep-rough. Ashamed.

“Hi.” He said it back. Soft. Softer than I’d ever heard him.

The room was dark except for the city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

New York at 2AM looked like stars that fell down and got stuck between buildings.

It was quiet. No typing. No phones. Just the hum of the building and our breathing.

“What time is it?” I sat up too fast. His jacket slipped from my shoulders.

He caught it before it hit the floor. His reflexes were insane.

“2:17.” His eyes didn’t leave my face. Dark. Studying. “You’ve been asleep for 2 hours.”

“Oh. Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t.” He cut me off. Sharp, but not cold. “Don’t apologize for sleeping, Ms. Vance.”

I pulled the blanket up higher. My heart was racing.

We were alone. 80 floors up. Everyone else gone home hours ago.

Security downstairs. But up here? Just us.

“You should be sleeping too, sir.”

“I tried.” He laughed. No humor in it. Just exhaustion. “Couldn’t.”

“Because of the London deal?”

“Because of you.”

The air got thick. Like before a storm.

He leaned back. Ran a hand through his hair. Looked tortured. Like he was fighting a war in his head.

“Ms. Vance. I need to say something. And I need you to be honest with me. No ‘sir’. No ‘yes sir’. Just honest.”

My stomach dropped. “Okay.”

“When I asked if it would be a problem if I kissed you...”

He turned to me fully now. Knees almost touching mine. Eyes dark. “Did you mean it? That it wouldn’t be a problem?”

My mouth went dry. I could lie. I should lie.

But I was tired. And he was looking at me like I was the only thing in the world.

“No.”

He frowned. “No?”

“No, sir— Damien. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Why?” His voice was rough.

“Because...” I swallowed. My hands were shaking. “Because I want you to. I’ve wanted you to since Dubai. Since the jet. Since you put your jacket on me.”

The words hung between us. Heavy. Dangerous.

Damien closed his eyes. Breathed out like he’d been holding it for hours. Days.

“Fuck.” It was barely a whisper. “You’re going to ruin me, do you know that?”

He moved before I could answer.

Not fast. Not rough. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was giving me 10 chances to stop him.

His hand came up. Cupped my jaw. Thumb brushed my cheekbone. His skin was warm.

“Last chance, Ms. Vance. Say no. Say stop. Say anything and I’ll walk away.”

I didn’t.

I leaned into his hand instead.

His mouth came down on mine.

It wasn’t like in movies. It wasn’t soft at first.

It was desperate. Starved. Like he’d been holding himself back for weeks and the dam just broke.

His lips were firm. Hot. Tasted like coffee and something minty and him.

One hand stayed on my jaw, thumb stroking my cheek. The other came to the back of my head.

Not pulling. Just holding. Like he was afraid I’d pull away. Like he needed to anchor me.

I didn’t.

I kissed him back.

My hands came up to his chest without thinking.

Fisted in his shirt. Feeling the way his heart was pounding under my palms.

He made a sound. Low. In his throat. Almost a groan.

And then he was closer. Kneeling on the couch now, between my legs.

One arm coming around my waist. Pulling me to him until there was no space left.

The kiss deepened.

His thumb brushed my bottom lip. Then his mouth followed.

Open. Slow. Testing. Asking.

I gasped into it and he took the chance.

I felt his breath hitch. Felt his grip tighten on my waist.

“Damien—” I whispered his name without thinking.

He froze.

Pulled back half an inch. Forehead against mine.

Both of us breathing hard. Shaking.

“You said my name.” His voice was wrecked. Broken. “Not sir. My name.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.” His hand came up. Brushed hair from my face. Tucked it behind my ear. “Say it again.”

“Damien.”

He groaned. Like it physically hurt him.

Then he kissed me again.

This time slower. Deeper.

Like he was memorizing me.

Like he was trying to prove something to himself. That this was real. That I was real.

His hand slid from my jaw to my neck. Thumb under my ear. Feeling my pulse.

I shivered.

“Cold?” He pulled back. Eyes searching mine.

“No.” I was lying. “Yes. A little.”

He reached without breaking eye contact and pulled his jacket back over my shoulders.

Then he didn’t let go. His hands stayed on the lapels. Holding me to him.

“We have to stop.” He said it against my mouth.

“Okay.” I whispered.

“We should stop.”

“Okay.”

Neither of us moved.

His forehead dropped to mine again.

“You’re wearing my jacket. You’re in my office at 2AM. You’re calling me Damien.”

A bitter laugh. “And I’m kissing my assistant. My employee. The woman who works for me.”

“Am I fired, sir?” I asked. Half joking. Half terrified.

He pulled back to look at me. Really look at me.

His eyes were dark. Torn. Guilty and wanting all at once.

“No. You’re not fired, Ms. Vance.”

A pause. The longest second of my life.

“You’re promoted.”

I blinked. “To what?”

“To the one thing I can’t have and can’t stop wanting.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered. “This is a bad idea.”

“I know, sir.”

“I’m your boss.”

“I know.”

“I’m 12 years older than you.”

“I know.”

“I have a reputation to protect.”

“I know.”

“And I’m going to do it again.”

He kissed me.

This time it was different.

Slower. Surer. Like he’d made a decision and was done fighting it.

His hand came to my waist under the jacket. Warm through my thin shirt.

His thumb drew circles there.

I melted into it. Into him.

My hands came up to his shoulders. Then to his neck.

His hair was soft. Messy from his hands.

When we finally broke apart, we were both shaking. Both out of breath.

Damien rested his forehead against mine again.

“I have rules.” His voice was rough. Scraped raw. “Rules I made for myself 10 years ago. And you just broke all of them.”

“So did you, sir.”

He smiled. Small. Real. Tired. And sad.

“Yeah. I did.”

He stood. Ran a hand through his hair. Looked like a man who’d just jumped off a cliff and wasn’t sure if there was water below.

“Come on.”

“Where, sir?”

“Home. Both of us. You’re done for the night.”

“But the reports—”

“Can wait.” He held out his hand. Big. Warm. “Come on, Ms. Vance.”

I took it.

His hand was warm. Big. Calloused in places. And he didn’t let go all the way to the elevator.

Didn’t let go in the car.

His thumb brushed over my knuckles the whole ride. Slow. Absent. Like he didn’t even know he was doing it.

The drive to the hotel was silent. But not awkward.

Charged. Like the air before lightning.

At my hotel door, 40th floor, he stopped.

“3 hours of sleep. Then be in my office at 8.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth. Then back up to my eyes. “And Ms. Vance?”

“Yes sir?”

“No more sleeping in my office. If you’re tired, you come to me.”

My heart stopped. “Sir?”

He leaned in. Kissed my forehead. Soft. Completely different from the kisses before.

Reverent. Like a promise.

“Goodnight.”

Then he walked away. Down the hall. To his own room.

I stood there for a full minute.

His jacket around me.

His kiss still on my lips.

His hand still tingling in mine.

Mine to train.

Mine to correct.

Mine to praise.

Mine to protect.

And now... mine to kiss?

I closed the door.

And smiled for the first time in days.

A real smile.

Inside, I kicked off my heels and curled up on the bed still wearing his jacket.

It smelled like him. Like cedar and power and something I couldn’t name.

Safety?

I fell asleep with his name on my lips.

And woke up 3 hours later to a text.

_Damien: 7:30AM. Coffee’s in my office. Black, 1 sugar. Don’t be late._

_Damien: And wear the jacket._

I stared at that last line for a long time.

Then I got up. Put on the jacket.

And went to him.

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_END OF CHAPTER 7_