Page 76 of Claimed By the Boss
We cling to each other in the wreckage of the warehouse. The smell of gunpowder still lingers, sharp and acrid, mixing with the faint sting of smoke. My men’s voices echo down the halls, shouting orders, confirming kills, clearing corners. But none of it reaches me. All I hear is the small, broken sounds Lyra makes when she finally lets herself cry against me, and all I feel is her hands clutching my shirt as if she’s afraid I might disappear.
I lower my head to hers and whisper, words only for us. “I’ve got you. It’s over. You’re safe. No one will ever take you from me again.”
Her voice trembles as she answers. “I knew you’d rescue me.”
Those words slice me open and heal me all at once. I kiss her temple, her hairline, the corner of her mouth.
“Always, Lyra. I’ll always rescue you.”
We murmur back and forth, soft confessions and reassurances, words spoken in the fragile hush after a storm. It calms her. It calms me. It reminds us that we are still here, together. My arms tighten around her until I almost fear I might break her, but she doesn’t resist. She clings tighter, and it feels like the two of us could merge into one person if we held on long enough.
The door creaks open and someone steps inside, boots heavy.
Alek’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and certain. “It’s over.”
He scans the room, his rifle hanging low now, his eyes sharp but tired.
“They’re all dead,” he continues. “Every last one of them. We need to go.”
I nod once, my jaw tightening, but my focus never shifts from Lyra. I press one more kiss to her forehead and then stand, pulling her up with me, keeping her close against my side. Her legs are shaky, but my arm is firm around her waist. I won’t let her fall.
We move through the corridor, stepping over the bodies of men who, only hours ago, thought they had the right to touch her, to threaten her. I angle her away so she doesn’t have to see them. Her face stays pressed against my chest, her steps small but determined. My men stand at attention as we pass, weapons lowered, eyes filled with relief and respect. They bow their heads slightly, and I know they would have died for this outcome, for her safety. I give a short nod of acknowledgment but keep moving.
Outside, the night air is cold, biting against my sweat-soaked skin. The SUVs idle, engines rumbling low in the darkness, headlights casting long beams across the gravel. My men form a protective circle, scanning every angle, though the danger is gone. Rurik’s men are finished. His reign of terror ends here.
I help Lyra into the backseat of the lead SUV, sliding in beside her instead of taking the front as I usually do. I need her within reach. Alek takes the passenger seat, Radimir the wheel. The others file into the remaining cars, forming a convoy as we pullaway from the warehouse and leave the ashes of this war behind us.
Lyra curls into my side, her head resting against my chest. I press my lips to her hair and hold her as if the motion alone can anchor us both. Her breathing steadies, though her hands remain knotted in my shirt. I rub slow circles on her back, murmuring that she’s safe now, that I won’t let anything touch her again. She sighs against me, and I feel some of the tension drain out of her body.
The city rolls past outside the tinted glass, but I barely register it. All I see is her. All I feel is the rise and fall of her breaths. I think of the life growing inside her, our child, and my chest constricts with a mix of fear and awe. Tonight could have ended with me losing them both. The thought makes me tighten my hold even more.
By the time we reach the underground garage of my building, the adrenaline has begun to ebb, leaving behind exhaustion like lead in my bones. Still, I lift her into my arms the moment the door opens, ignoring her soft protest that she can walk. I carry her through the private entrance, into the elevator, up to the penthouse. My men fan out to secure the perimeter, but I hardly notice.
The moment the door to the penthouse closes behind us, the last thread of restraint in me gives way. I put her down only once we’re past the foyer, then guide her deeper into the apartment. My arm stays around her waist, steadying her.
Once inside my bedroom, I close the door, shutting out the world, then face her fully. Her cheeks are pale, her lips trembling, but her eyes shine with a quiet strength and desperate longing that matches my own.
I lift my hands to her face, cupping her cheeks, my thumbs brushing the dampness of tears from her skin. She leans into my palms as if they anchor her, and I lower my forehead to hers.
“You’re safe,” I whisper. “You’re home.”
Her arms wind around my waist, and she clings to me.
For a long moment, we simply hold each other, murmuring broken reassurances, letting our bodies relearn the shape of us together. The tension begins to ease, and something deeper rises in its place. Not the frantic relief of survival, but the raw, aching need to remind ourselves what it means to be alive, to belong to each other.
I kiss her then, softly at first, lips brushing hers in reverence. The kiss deepens as she answers me, her mouth opening beneath mine, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. I taste salt and heat, fear and triumph, love so sharp it makes me dizzy. I kiss her harder, letting the truth of it pour out, and she meets me with equal fire.
I tug her closer until our bodies are pressed together from chest to thigh. My hands slide down her back, memorizing the delicate lines of her ribs, the curve of her waist. She shivers, not from fear but from the same intensity that floods through me. I lift her again easily, setting her on the edge of the bed, my mouth never leaving hers. She gasps softly as my hands push the hem of her shirt upward, fingers brushing over the warm skin of her belly.
She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, her lips parted, her breath unsteady.
“Damien,” she whispers, and the way she says my name nearly undoes me.
“I need you,” I murmur against her mouth. “I need to love you. I need to show you you’re mine, that nothing and no one can take you from me.”
Her answer is to pull my shirt over my head with trembling hands, baring me to her touch. She runs her palms over my chest, across my scars, down to my stomach, as if relearning me. I strip away her clothing piece by piece, slow enough that she knows it is not lust alone driving me, but reverence. Every inch of her revealed skin feels like a miracle. I kiss the red marks on her forearms where the straps bit too deeply, then trail my lips down her arms, across her collarbone, lower still, until she gasps my name again.
By the time she is bare before me, I can hardly breathe. She lies back on the sheets, her hair spilling like ink across the pillow, her eyes on mine with a vulnerability that breaks me open. I strip away the rest of my clothes and climb onto the bed, covering her with my body but keeping my weight on my arms so I don’t crush her.