Page 18 of The Enforcer (Damn! #2)

It hit her like a memory, late nights, caffeine, victory.

She hadn’t realized how much of herself she’d left behind until it was all right there again, exactly as it should be.

And that, more than anything, made her throat tighten.

Because somehow, Zane hadn’t just returned her tools, he’d restored the pieces of her she’d thought she might’ve lost.

Zane stood back, arms crossed, his gaze scanning the room as his men worked.

There was something guarded about him, an alertness that hadn’t faded even in the relative safety of his own house.

But this wasn’t the kind of threat he could muscle down.

This was hers, her world, her wires, and he was giving her space to take it back.

He didn’t hover. Didn’t direct. Just watched as the last few crates were shifted into place, his presence steady, silent, and unmovable in the corner of her vision.

“Leave the rest,” he said. “She’ll want to set it up herself.”

Lily didn’t need the cue. She moved into the space like gravity pulled her there, her heartbeat slowing for the first time in hours, ignoring the looks from the men around her.

She didn’t speak. Just dropped to her knees beside the nearest crate, flipping it open and pulling the first rig out with practiced efficiency.

The moment her fingers touched cool metal, the noise in her head dulled.

Her hands moved on instinct, unspooling cables, checking for microfractures, reassembling her world one wire at a time.

It was muscle memory. Ritual. Control she could reclaim in a house where almost everything else felt like it belonged to him.

Zane watched her for another long moment before jerking his chin at the others. “Out.”

They filed out silently.

She didn’t thank him. Not because she wasn’t grateful, she was, but because the words wouldn’t have fit between them. Not in this moment. This wasn’t about favors or gratitude. It was about something deeper. Something that didn’t need to be said. And Zane, to his credit, didn’t expect it.

Time disappeared in cables and hardware and the satisfying click of systems coming to life. One by one, her machines lit up, monitors glowed, fans hummed. It wasn’t order, yet, but it was hers. Familiar.. Exactly what she needed.

Hours passed. She didn’t notice, not really, not until the door creaked open again and Zane stepped inside.

The sudden shift in energy pulled her attention up, her hands freezing mid-cable.

He stood in the doorway, framed by low light and quiet authority, and the look on his face said everything. Her time was up.

“Enough.”

She instantly protested. “It’s not done.”

“It will be tomorrow.”

“I just need another hour.”

He crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, his gaze never leaving her.

Then, without a word, he bent down and swept her into his arms like it was inevitable.

Like the decision had already been made and her resistance didn’t matter.

His grip was firm, his body solid against hers, and the moment he lifted her, she felt herself slip, not in fear, but in surrender.

Not because she had to. Because, somewhere deep down, she wanted to.

“Zane—”

He didn’t answer. Just carried her out of the room like she weighed nothing, down the hall, and into his bedroom. The lights were low, casting everything in soft gold and shadow, and for a moment, she thought he might stop, give her space, ask for something resembling permission. But he didn’t.

He laid her down on the bed, the silk of the robe catching against the sheets before sliding halfway off one shoulder.

The fabric slipped like water, revealing a sliver of warm skin and the tension threaded through every line of her body.

She was trying to hold herself together.

And failing. Because no matter how much reason she tried to armor herself with, Zane always moved straight through it.

“You said you couldn’t remember,” he murmured, voice a growl against her neck. “How many times we made love.”

Her breath caught, sharp, unsteady. Because it wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them. The promise underneath the provocation. The dare buried inside the tenderness. And because some part of her wanted to remember. Needed to. Even if she didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“So I’m going to make sure you remember this one.”

He kissed her, hard, deep, and utterly possessive.

The kind of kiss that stole breath and rewrote memory.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was a claim, carved in heat and held in the tension of everything that had built between them.

She felt it in her bones. In the breath she forgot to take.

In the way her hands fisted into the sheets, trying to collect herself while everything in her shifted.

Then he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed and pulled her to the edge with him.

With one smooth motion, he flipped open the robe, his robe, baring her completely to the low light and his gaze.

The silk fell away in a whisper, pooling behind her like the last layer of resistance peeled back.

His mouth found her center like it belonged there.

Like it was his right. The first stroke of his tongue sent her hips jerking, the air punching from her lungs.

He didn’t tease. Didn’t play. Just drove her out of her mind with the precision of a man who knew her body better than she did, knew exactly how to take her apart and wasn’t afraid to do it.

Her fingers clawed the sheets, desperate for something solid.

Her head thrashed against the comforter, helpless to the pace he set.

She came with a gasp and a cry, body shuddering under the force of it, only for him to shift his grip, pin her thighs wider, and start again, relentless and sure, like her pleasure was the only thing that mattered.

By the time he rose above her, her body was boneless, trembling, soaked in sweat and need.

Her thighs quivered, her lungs dragged for air, and her heart was thudding so hard it felt like it echoed in her ears.

She didn’t even realize she was still gripping the comforter until he pried her fingers loose and laced them with his.

There was nothing left to hold onto. Nothing except him.

But he didn’t move right away. He looked down at her, truly looked, and something in his gaze softened without losing its edge. She should’ve felt exposed. But all she felt was seen. For a beat, neither of them breathed. The room held still around them.

Then he slid a hand beneath her thigh, lifting her slightly as he shifted between her legs.

His fingers spread wide, steadying her, not demanding, not rushing.

Just holding her there, in the moment, with him.

Her breath caught again, not from anticipation, but from the quiet reverence in the pause.

A flicker of something passed between them, heavy and wordless.

Then, with the same unwavering intent, he shifted above her and moved into place with a certainty that stole thought and scattered resistance.

He moved with purpose, not haste, like he knew exactly how far to push, exactly when to let her break open.

Not into pieces, but into something new.

Something raw and unguarded and his. And in that moment, falling apart meant letting herself be touched where no one else had ever been allowed to reach.

Every shift of his body was deliberate, every motion threaded with intent.

He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, his hand finding her hip and holding her there, connecting her in the moment.

And only then, when her eyes met his and didn’t look away, did he begin.

He took her deeply, like he was writing her into the fabric of his skin from the inside out.

Each slow thrust carved the memory of her deeper.

He held her gaze as long as she could bear it, until her eyes fluttered closed and her head tipped back on a moan.

Every thrust was a promise, not just of possession, but of permanence.

Of something he wasn’t ready to name but refused to let slip away.

Every groan that tore from him held something raw and unguarded, full of need and desire.

When she came again, tight and pulsing around him, he pressed his forehead to hers and let go with a low, guttural growl.

It sounded like surrender. Like devotion.

Like a man finally claiming what he’d never known he was missing until now.

They collapsed together.

Her limbs felt heavy, boneless, her body humming with the aftershock. Her thoughts didn’t vanish so much as dissolve, scattered like ash in the wake of a storm she hadn’t seen coming. All she could do was breathe. Feel. Let the quiet wrap around her like a blanket she didn’t realize she needed.

He pulled her into his chest, one large hand splayed across her belly.

Then he kissed her abdomen. Soft. Gentle.

She blinked, dazed. “What did you just say?”

Zane’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. She blinked again, caught between warmth and something that felt dangerously like hope. Because hope meant opening a door she wasn’t sure she could close again. And Zane Dante didn’t leave doors half open.

“That’s between me and the kid.”