17. Sasha
17
SASHA
I drift up from sleep, disoriented, the warm press of sheets tangled around my legs. The hush of distant traffic reminds me I’m high above the city. It’s still dark—midnight, maybe?—and the sprawling skyline outside must be lit up in a million points of light.
For a moment, I forget where I am.
Then I shift, the mattress dipping beneath me, and realize there’s a warm body next to me, propped on one elbow.
Damien.
He’s watching me, his expression quietly intense in the faint glow from the city lights seeping in through vast windows. My heart skips a beat. Because he’s not just here—he’s staring like he’s never seen anything so fascinating.
I blink, my pulse picking up. I’m completely naked, the same as he is. Memories of earlier drift through my head in a languid, heated rush—hands gripping skin, breathy moans, and everything else we did.
“Hey,” I mumble, voice still a little groggy.
He doesn’t look away, doesn’t even blink.
“Hey yourself,” he says quietly, voice rumbling with sleep.
I swallow, cheeks burning at his unwavering gaze. There’s a vulnerability in being so exposed, both body and soul, and I’m caught between wanting to curl into the sheets and wanting to feel his hands on me again.
“You’re staring,” I manage, forcing a small, nervous laugh.
His lips tilt in a barely there smirk. “I can’t stop looking at you.”
Heat flares low in my belly. I shift just enough for the sheets to slip from my shoulders, and only then do I realize exactly how little I’m covered. My breasts are bare, my skin faintly marked with the evidence of his mouth and hands.
Instinct takes over, and I move to pull the sheets higher, but before I can, he reaches out, gentle but firm, and stills my hand.
“Don’t hide,” he murmurs.
I hesitate, heart thrumming in my ears. Because it’s one thing to be naked under someone in the throes of passion. It’s another to be laid bare in the quiet aftermath, letting him see every inch of me without distraction.
But the look on his face—reverent, adoring—scatters any lingering insecurity.
Slowly, I let the sheets fall away.
He exhales, a slight quiver in his breath, and I see raw admiration flicker in his eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, matter-of-fact, like it’s a universal truth.
A lump forms in my throat. I fight the urge to argue, to deflect with a joke.
I can’t muster any snark.
“Thanks,” I whisper instead, swallowing hard.
He leans in to brush his lips across mine, a kiss so light it feels like a feather’s touch.
I close my eyes for a second, letting the taste of him seep in. When I open them, he’s studying my face, brow furrowing slightly.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
I give a shaky laugh. “I’m…yeah. I’m okay.” In truth, I’m still reeling from everything, but for once it’s a good kind of dizzy.
Damien tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering at my jaw. Then he shifts closer, wrapping an arm around my waist, and pulls me gently against his chest.
His mouth moves against mine, slow at first—just the soft press of lips, exploring, testing—but it deepens almost immediately. I gasp, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. His quiet groan vibrates through me, sending warmth racing down my spine.
Our breathing quickens. When my hand trails down his back, he arches into me, a soft hiss escaping him. He’s as affected by me as I am by him.
In one fluid motion, he shifts us so I’m half on top of him, our legs tangling. The sheets slip, baring my body to his roaming hands. His lips break from mine only to travel along my jaw, down the column of my throat, before finding my mouth again like he can’t stand the distance.
I’m dizzy with arousal, clinging to his shoulders, pressing my chest to his. My skin tingles where he touches me, like sparks dancing across every nerve.
He moves me again until I’m on my back, and he leans over me, gaze heated. His palm slides beneath my thigh, lifting it around his hip. I open for him eagerly, my breath catching when he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to my breast.
Before I can fully register what’s happening, he scoops an arm under my waist, guiding me into a roll. A startled laugh escapes me, but it quickly dissolves into a needy whimper when I realize his intent.
He flips us in a smooth, almost effortless motion, reversing our positions so I end up facing his lower body while he’s angled toward mine.
My pulse kicks into high gear.
This is new, and God, it feels so intimate.
He tugs my hips gently toward his mouth, and I settle above him, heart pounding as I take him into my hand.
I glance down—Damien’s huge, pulsing cock is hard and thick in my grip—and I feel his breath catch against my skin when I lower my mouth over him. He lets out a ragged groan, his hips shifting reflexively. Every low, throaty noise he makes sends a jolt of heat straight through me.
But I barely have time to process it because he’s already guiding my body closer, his wide palms pressing into my thighs. When his lips part against my clit, I gasp around his cock, pleasure stealing my breath.
The sensations double—my mouth on him, his mouth on me—turning into a heady loop of want. Our bodies quickly grow slick with sweat and need.
I feel every slide of his tongue, every flick and soft suck that sends tremors through my legs. And in return, I stroke him slowly, savoring the taste of him, drawing quiet curses from his mouth.
“God, Sasha…” His words are muffled against my pussy, but I can feel the vibration of them, half groan, half reverence.
My pulse pounds as he pushes two fingers inside, alternating with his wicked tongue.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
My free hand grips his hip, nails biting lightly into his skin as I struggle to keep focus on pleasuring him in return. He sucks gently on my clit, and a spark of electricity shoots through me. My rhythm falters, a stuttering whimper muffled against his length.
Everything feels too good, too much, like every inch of my skin is alive with fire.
The orgasm crashes over me in a blinding wave, my back arching, my mouth falling open, losing him for a moment as I cry out against his thigh. My whole body clenches, the sensation rolling through me in pulsing waves.
Dimly, I sense him pushing deeper into the moment, riding out my release with practiced focus—then his breath hitches, and he tenses beneath me. There’s a raw, guttural sound in his throat as I tighten my mouth over him, wanting to share that peak.
His hips jerk, and he groans out a ragged version of my name, shuddering hard. I continue to stroke him, and when I know he’s close, I put my tongue over his sensitive tip, letting myself taste his hot spurt. The rest of it spills into my hand.
My pussy throbs.
This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done or seen.
The aftershocks leave us both strung out and gasping for air, and we collapse in a tangled heap. I shift off him, rolling to the side, still breathing hard, my skin flushed with sweat.
For a second, neither of us speaks.
Then Damien reaches for me, pulling me into his arms.
I press my cheek against his chest.
He kisses the top of my head, voice still rough with satisfaction. “That was fucking…incredible,” he manages, a note of wonder underneath the huskiness. Eventually we both drift off to sleep again.
* * *
I wake with a dry throat, the room still cloaked in darkness. Damien’s deep breathing is steady beside me, comforting, familiar.
For a moment I watch him sleep—silver-streaked hair falling over his forehead, his powerful chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm. I smile softly, still hardly believing I’m here, before carefully sliding out of bed.
My body protests a little as I stand, reminding me exactly what we did last night, warmth flooding my cheeks at the memory. I glance around, gathering up my scattered underwear, pulling it on quickly before grabbing one of Damien’s discarded shirts from the floor. It’s huge on me, falling almost to mid-thigh, and carries his scent—warm, expensive, faintly smoky.
It’s comforting somehow.
I pad softly across the darkened bedroom floor and out into the expansive living area. Through the huge windows, city lights twinkle like distant stars. The apartment feels strangely large and empty at this hour, every sound magnified in the silence. I find my way to the kitchen, illuminated by soft ambient lighting, and quickly pour myself a glass of water.
Taking a long sip, I close my eyes, enjoying the cool relief as it slides down my throat. I’m about to set the glass down when suddenly something moves at the edge of my vision.
I freeze, heart stopping in my chest.
A dark figure moves silently across the living room.
I scream, a shrill, terrified sound, and the glass slips from my hand, shattering on the marble floor.
“Damien!” I cry, voice trembling, backing up until I hit the kitchen counter, pulse hammering in my ears.
Footsteps pound from the bedroom. Damien emerges a second later, eyes wild, muscles tense and coiled, wearing only black boxer shorts.
“Sasha?” His voice is rough.
He immediately moves to me, grabbing my shoulders, steadying me as his eyes rapidly scan the space. “What happened?”
“There was someone here!” I gasp out, clinging to his arm. My voice is shaking, panic closing around me. “I—I saw someone, Damien. Right there—” I point toward the living area, my hand trembling violently. “They walked right past me!”
Damien instantly shifts, protective, pushing me gently behind him. I grip the back of his arm, heart still thrashing as he moves cautiously forward. He scans every corner of the penthouse with alert precision, but there’s nothing but silence. Nothing seems out of place.
“Nobody’s here, Sasha.” He turns back, expression fierce but concerned.
“I swear,” I insist, voice breaking. “Damien, I saw something.”
His face darkens, and he gently guides me to the kitchen counter and sits me down.
“Sit here,” he says firmly, voice calm but tense. “Don’t move, Sasha. I’m going to check things out.”
I nod silently, feeling smaller and more vulnerable than ever. The glass shards from my dropped water sparkle dimly on the floor.
Damien walks swiftly toward his bedroom, returning moments later with his phone pressed to his ear, murmuring quietly into it. His expression is severe, eyes scanning the apartment continuously, tension radiating from every muscle in his body.
I watch him anxiously, heart still hammering in my chest.
Why does he seem so calm, yet so prepared?
It’s almost as if he expected something like this.
The thought unsettles me further, and my mind races with questions I’m too afraid to ask.
A few minutes pass that feel like hours. I jump at the sudden chime from the private elevator, startled as two large, serious-looking men stride into the apartment.
One I immediately recognize from the office. Tall, built like a brick wall, expression utterly unreadable. Damien steps forward, speaking quietly to them before turning back to me.
“Sasha, this is Roman and Oleg,” Damien introduces. “They’re part of my security team. They’ll check the apartment.”
Security team?
My stomach flips uneasily. Why would he even need a security team?
He’s a powerful businessman, sure, but this feels…excessive.
“Hi,” I manage weakly, waving a little. Roman nods politely, while Oleg barely acknowledges me, already moving with focused precision through the rooms.
I watch nervously as they disappear down the hallway, sweeping through every corner and shadow. Damien stands beside me protectively, one hand resting lightly on my back.
“Damien?” I whisper, looking up at him. “Why do you need security like this?”
He looks down, expression softening slightly. “It’s just a precaution,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb along my shoulder blade. “People in my position often have to be cautious.”
His voice is calm, reassuring, but a small nagging voice inside me whispers that he’s not telling me everything.
Before I can press further, Oleg returns from down the hall, holding something in his hand. It’s small—maybe a device?—but I can’t see it clearly from where I’m sitting. Oleg speaks to Damien quietly, too softly for me to hear.
“What is it?” I ask, my anxiety climbing again.
Damien turns to me quickly, expression carefully neutral. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he says smoothly.
He’s deflecting. I can feel it.
My chest tightens. “But?—”
“Trust me,” he interrupts softly, his eyes searching mine. “Everything’s under control.”
Damien’s fingers brush my arm gently, but his eyes have already turned distant, preoccupied. He moves toward Oleg, speaking quietly enough that I can’t hear clearly. All I catch are fragments.
“…make sure she gets home safely…”
“…no stops…”
I rise to my feet, the oversized shirt falling loosely around my thighs. “Damien?” I whisper, stepping toward him, confusion knotting inside me.
He turns around, expression strained.
“You’re sending me home?” My voice trembles embarrassingly, and I immediately regret it.
He reaches out, his thumb brushing my cheek gently. “It’s for your safety, Sasha. Just a precaution.”
I glance at Oleg, who waits impassively by the door, eyes respectfully averted from our conversation. My heart sinks. Is this it? After everything that happened, is he just dismissing me?
I lower my voice to almost a whisper. “Did I…do something wrong?”
His eyes widen slightly. “God, no.” He cups my face, gently forcing me to meet his gaze. “This has nothing to do with you. It’s complicated.”
The word “complicated” stings more than it should. But I nod, stepping back, feeling suddenly cold and small.
Damien watches me, a flicker of regret passing over his expression.
“Let Oleg take you home. Please.” It sounds more like an order than a request, but there’s concern there too, softening his voice.
I gather my clothes quietly, feeling his gaze following me, hot and intense. Oleg escorts me down in the elevator silently, respectful but distant. I’m painfully aware I’m still in Damien’s shirt, clutching my dress in my hands, cheeks burning red-hot with embarrassment.
The ride home feels endless.
I just slept with my boss, and he practically kicked me out of his home afterward.
* * *
Back in the office on Monday, everything feels different.
Brittany eyes me curiously as I slip behind my desk, avoiding her pointed stare.
I still feel out of place, out of sync. Everything that happened this weekend feels surreal now, as if it occurred in a different world altogether.
Mid-morning, I glance up to see Ryan approaching, hands shoved casually in his pockets. My stomach twists slightly. Ryan and I haven’t really spoken since he was abruptly moved to another department.
He leans against my desk, smiling cautiously. “Hey, Sasha.”
“Hey,” I say softly, forcing a polite smile.
“You okay?” he asks gently. “You look…off.”
I shrug, avoiding his gaze. “Just tired, I guess.”
He nods slowly, a frown tugging at his brow. “So, listen. I just wanted to confirm—are we still good for that date we talked about? Friday night?”
Oh, right. The date. I swallow thickly. “Um?—”
His eyes widen slightly, sensing my hesitation. “Oh. If you don’t want to go?—”
“No!” I say quickly, guilt gnawing at me. “It’s not that. I just…lots going on lately.”
He chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, got it. Well, think about it. Let me know. No pressure.” He hesitates, studying my face. His tone grows gentler, more cautious. “Is this about someone else?”
My heart nearly stops. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
Ryan shrugs awkwardly. “You’ve been distracted lately.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Just tired, I guess. Didn’t sleep much.”
He raises his brows, a faintly teasing glint in his eyes. “Crazy weekend?”
I tense slightly, glancing away. “You could say that.”
He nods, chuckling quietly. “I know how that goes. I’m still adjusting to the new department. It’s weird, you know? Everyone’s super uptight. My new supervisor already hates me, and it’s only been like a week.”
“Oh, come on. I doubt she hates you.” I try to keep my tone casual.
He grimaces dramatically. “Trust me, she does. She’s got a stick so far up her ass she can barely sit. Honestly, the entire team’s miserable. You know whose idea this restructuring was, right?”
I shake my head slowly, unease creeping through me.
He leans in slightly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “Our beloved CEO, Damien Zaitsev himself. Apparently, he thought shaking up all the departments would be good for morale or efficiency or whatever bullshit HR excuse they gave us. But you know what I think?”
“What?” I say softly, my chest tightening at Damien’s name.
Ryan’s mouth twists slightly, frustration clear in his voice. “I think it’s just another one of his power moves. Keeping everyone off-balance so he stays in control.”
I glance down at my hands, not sure how to respond.
Damien’s face, his dark eyes full of heat, flashes in my mind. The man Ryan describes sounds nothing like the one who touched me so tenderly, whose vulnerability flashed briefly through his carefully controlled exterior.
“Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems,” I mumble awkwardly.
Ryan chuckles, giving me a teasing look. “Did you seriously just defend Damien Zaitsev?”
My face heats instantly. “I didn’t mean to?—”
He laughs softly, waving off my embarrassment. “Relax. I know he’s the CEO and everything, but seriously, that guy’s shady as hell.”
“Shady?” My pulse spikes slightly, anxiety rippling through me.
He shrugs, glancing around casually before leaning a bit closer, voice barely above a whisper. “There are rumors all over this place about him.”
My stomach tightens. “What kind of rumors?”
He hesitates, clearly debating whether or not to continue, but eventually gives in. “I’ve just heard weird stuff about him having…connections. You know, back home in Russia.”
I swallow hard, feeling cold. “Connections?”
Ryan grimaces apologetically. “Yeah, you know—like, organized crime or something. Bratva. Mob stuff.”
I laugh nervously, shaking my head. “That’s ridiculous.”
He raises his eyebrows, expression growing serious. “I know, it sounds crazy, but think about it. He’s super private, has that whole security entourage always following him around. And did you see that tattoo on his hand? Totally mafia vibe.”
I flinch inwardly. I remember Damien’s tattoos vividly, etched over his muscular frame, dark ink tracing powerful lines. They did seem unusual for a corporate CEO—but the Bratva?
“It’s probably just gossip,” I say, my voice quiet, uncertain.
He shrugs, watching my face carefully. “Probably. But I’m telling you, something about him just doesn’t sit right.”
I look away, chewing nervously on my bottom lip. My stomach churns, a whirlwind of confusion and unease. Ryan’s words echo uncomfortably inside me. Damien’s secretive behavior, his intense security measures, the way Oleg and Roman had instantly taken charge—suddenly all of it feels more unsettling.
“Listen, Sasha,” Ryan says. “I don’t want to pressure you for that date. Feel free to say no. But I really like you, and I think we can make it work. What do you think?”
My mouth goes dry.
Damien’s face flashes in my mind again, his dark eyes, his lips tracing my skin.
A pang of guilt immediately follows. Is it wrong that I feel something for Damien?
Is it only because he was my first, because we shared something I can’t easily dismiss?
“I—” I falter, suddenly conflicted. Part of me wants to say yes, to find safety in someone like Ryan—sweet, uncomplicated Ryan. But another, deeper part of me feels bound to Damien, drawn irresistibly toward him like a moth to flame.
“Can I think about it?” I say sheepishly.
He smiles understandingly. “Sure thing.”
The day passes pretty uneventfully. I sit at my desk, finishing up my work, but my mind eventually drifts back to the other night—everything that transpired between us—and despite myself, I squeeze my legs together.
Why do I even feel this way after Damien dismissed me so quickly?
I glance down at my phone again—nothing.
Damien’s silence through the rest of the weekend gnaws at me.
Sure, he sent me one brief, polite text yesterday: Hope you’re okay. Oleg said you got home safe. But that was it.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, trying to erase the ache of embarrassment burning beneath my skin. I gave him everything—my body, my trust—and now he’s acting like I’m some obligation he had to take care of.
Maybe that’s all I was to him.
A conquest, a distraction for one night.
And now he’s bored.
My chest tightens painfully. Anger flickers, replacing the hurt, like a small flame catching hold of dry tinder.
How could I have been so stupid? He’s a CEO—rich, powerful, gorgeous. He probably does this all the time, seduces some naive girl, and then moves on without a backward glance.
The more I think about it, the angrier I get.
My phone buzzes suddenly, jolting me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I reach for it eagerly, despite myself, my heart stupidly hopeful.
It’s just Ryan again, a quick follow-up text.
Ryan: Hey, sorry if that conversation got weird. Hope I didn’t freak you out.
I sigh deeply. At least Ryan cares enough to check in, to apologize.
Before I can overthink it, my fingers move quickly across the screen.
Me: You didn’t freak me out. And yes, Friday night sounds good.
He replies almost instantly.
Ryan: Great! I’ll pick you up at seven. You won’t regret it, I promise.
I manage a small smile, sliding my phone away. A part of me already regrets it, knows this is probably unfair to Ryan.
But if Damien’s moved on so quickly, maybe I need to prove I can do the same.
I barely know Damien, yet he’s under my skin, in a way that’s frustratingly permanent.
But I deserve better than being tossed aside like a used plaything.
My phone stays silent for the rest of the day, taunting me. By evening, the frustration and humiliation solidify into cold determination. I lie on my bed, staring at Damien’s short, impersonal text again.
Hope you’re okay. Oleg said you got home safe.
God, it feels insulting now. He couldn’t even bother to follow up personally—he relied on Oleg. Anger twists sharply in my chest, overriding any lingering guilt or hesitation.
Before I can second-guess myself, I tap on his contact, thumb hovering for just a second.
Block number.
My heart pounds uncomfortably in my chest as the screen flashes confirmation.
Unknown number has been blocked.
It feels strangely final, a wall erected between us.
My heart clenches painfully, but I push the feeling aside.
I won’t be his convenient little distraction.
I deserve better.