"The baby will be loved, and that's all that matters." He turns to me. "You seem a little lost in thought. Should I be worried? Because I can handle Kaminski and his entire security detail without breaking a sweat," he says, and despite his amused tone, I hear the truth behind his words.
A laugh escapes before I can stop it.
"No, it's just...we still haven't figured out who helped Henry. I feel like we've let our guard down," I say softly.
For a few moments, he just looks at me, then steps forward and pulls me into his arms.
"We can't live on high alert forever, Roxy. Take it from someone who did that for years. When we get a lead, we'll follow it and catch him. He's one person; we're an army."
I know he's right. We can't constantly put our lives on hold, because there will always be a threat on the horizon. But that doesn't mean I don't have moments where I'm just waiting for something bad to happen.
"I'm putting Marco on a visitation schedule," Damien says as he pulls me into his arms.
"Don't be ridiculous, he was only here for a little over an hour," I reply, laughing.
His mouth moves toward mine.
"Unacceptable. One hour without your attention on me is way too long." He kisses me.
“Stop being such a baby.”
His hands lift me up, palms positioned under my ass, and without breaking away from his mouth, I know he's carrying me toward the bed.
Only then, in the haze he induces, do I remember.
"No, no. I have work to do," I say against his lips, but somehow I keep kissing him anyway.
A lazy grin takes over his face.
"But I like keeping you busy," he says and tosses me onto the mattress.
"I haven't gotten confirmation from the DJ for the event in two days," I say weakly when he pulls his shirt off.
Actually, if I think about it, screw the event. I'll have Yuri bring his laptop and two speakers and call it a day. It'll turn out more bohemian anyway.
"You seem stressed, baby," my main source of stress tells me.
"I'm so stressed," I say sweetly, knowing this is his kryptonite.
When he sees me soft, sweet, pliant for him, the look he gives me now is my weakness. Because he looks at me like I'm some work of art, something rare, something that belongs only to him.
His hands tug my pants and underwear down, and the next moment I'm turned around, my back pressed against his chest.
I hear the sound of his zipper, every cell in me vibrating with anticipation of feeling him.
"I have the perfect remedy for your stress,slonko."
Without being able to control myself, without even thinking about it, I push back into him. My body knows what it wants, what it needs.
His mouth positions itself somewhere between my neck and shoulder, that sensitive spot that makes me melt, and bites down gently as his cock finds my center and slides inside in one smooth thrust. The fullness, the stretch, the heat of him steals whatever coherent thought I had left.
His hands dig into my waist, holding me exactly where he wants me, and he starts to move. Slow at first, deliberate, making me feel every inch.
Then there's a knock at the door.
"Ignore it," he murmurs against my skin, his rhythm not faltering for even a second.
But obviously I can't ignore it, because a second knock echoes through the room, louder this time. More urgent.
