Whatever came next, one thing was clear: the lines I'd crossed tonight couldn't be uncrossed.
The boundaries I'd broken couldn't be rebuilt.
The foundations I'd thought unshakable had shifted irrevocably.
And the woman who had caused that seismic shift now stood before me, considering my invitation with those perceptive green eyes. Eyes that had seen through my carefully constructed façade from the first moment. Eyes that now held my future in their depths.
"Yes," she finally said, the single syllable changing everything.
"Not just for tonight."
I pulled her to me, something fierce and triumphant rising in my chest. Something that felt dangerously close to hope.
Whatever came next—whatever consequences awaited, whatever damage we might inflict on each other, whatever bridges we might burn—we would face it together.
For better or worse, Savannah Blake was mine now.
And I was indisputably hers.
Chapter 10
Savannah
Iwoke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows, momentarily disoriented until memories of the night before crashed over me.
Lucas's penthouse.
His office desk.
His bedroom.
His body moving over mine, inside me, claiming me in ways I'd never been claimed before.
The sheets beside me were empty, but still warm.
I stretched, cataloging the pleasant aches in muscles rarely used, the slight tenderness between my thighs, the lingering sensation of stubble burn on my neck, my breasts, and my inner thighs.
Marked.
Thoroughly.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand—not the delicate antique I would have expected, but a minimalist slab of walnut that matched the bookshelves in his office. I reached for it reluctantly, dreading whatever reality waited beyond this cocoon of sensation.
Three texts from Zoe:
Where are you? We had breakfast plans. Are you okay?
Two missed calls from Maria at the office.
One email notification from Miles with the subject line:Westlake follow-up. Lunch today?
Reality, crashing in with brutal efficiency.
I set the phone down, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes. What had I done?
The question wasn't rhetorical—I knew exactly what I'd done, who I'd done. How thoroughly I'd shattered every professional and ethical boundary I'd established for myself.
And how desperately I wanted to do it again.
