In Between Her Legs.

Chapter Sixteen: Distance

The morning is different.

Cold.

When I wake up, the bed beside me is empty.

For a moment, I think maybe Damien is in the shower, maybe he’s making coffee maybe he’s still here.

But when I listen, there’s nothing. No water running. No quiet sounds of him moving through the penthouse.

Only silence.

I sit up, gripping the sheets, my stomach twisting.

Did I do something wrong?

I don’t have time to dwell on it because, just as I’m about to get up, the door opens.

Damien steps inside, already dressed. Dark slacks. Crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the veins in his forearms. His watch glints under the morning light, the only visible sign that time is still moving, even when it feels like something between us has stopped.

His gaze flicks over me brief, unreadable.

And then

"Get dressed."

The words are flat. Commanding.

Not good morning.

Not a smirk, a teasing touch, a reminder of last night.

Just get dressed.

Something inside me sinks.

I nod, pushing the sheets back and slipping out of bed, suddenly too aware of my nakedness. I expect him to grab me, to pull me back against him, to take what he always takes.

But he just turns away, walking toward the window, his hands slipping into his pockets.

Rigid. Cold.

Like last night never even happened.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to move, pulling on my clothes as quickly as possible, my mind racing with questions I’m too afraid to ask.

By the time I’m dressed, he’s already at the door.

"Let’s go," he says.

No explanation. No emotion.

Just another order.

I should say something.

Should ask what the hell is going on.

But I don’t.

Because somehow, I already know.

Damien Sinclair is putting distance between us.

And I have no idea how to close it.