In Between Her Legs.

Chapter Three: The First Mistake

I should have walked away.

I should have taken Damien Sinclair’s warning for what it was a silent threat, a promise wrapped in control.

But I didn’t.

Because the moment he touched me just a ghost of his fingers over my wrist, barely there, yet somehow devastating I knew I was already too far gone.

And worse? He knew it too.

The next day, I can still feel him.

It’s ridiculous. He barely touched me. And yet, I wake up aching, restless, my body betraying me in ways I refuse to acknowledge.

I take an extra-long shower, letting the scalding water burn away the phantom heat of his presence, but it doesn’t help.

Nothing helps.

By the time I arrive at work, I’ve convinced myself I can ignore him. That last night was nothing. A slip. A miscalculation.

But the moment I step into the office, I feel it him.

Even without looking, I know he’s there.

And when I finally glance up, my breath catches.

Damien Sinclair stands at the far end of the room, speaking to one of the senior executives. He’s dressed in black today black suit, black tie, dark confidence wrapped in expensive fabric. He doesn’t acknowledge me. Doesn’t look in my direction.

But I know he knows I’m here.

And that does something dangerous to me.

I turn sharply on my heel and make my way toward my office, ignoring the way my pulse betrays me.

Ignoring the way my skin remembers.

Ignoring the fact that I want him to look at me.

By lunchtime, I’ve almost convinced myself that last night was nothing.

Almost.

I’m standing by the elevator, scrolling through my phone, when a low, familiar voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Going somewhere?"

I freeze.

My fingers tighten around the device before I slowly turn.

Damien.

He leans casually against the wall beside the elevator, arms crossed, watching me like he already knows the answer to his question.

I force my voice to stay steady. "Lunch."

A slow smirk. "With whom?"

I raise a brow. "Why do you care?"

Something flickers in his eyes. Amusement. Or maybe something darker.

He pushes off the wall, stepping toward me in that slow, deliberate way that makes my breath catch.

"You’re avoiding me."

It’s not a question.

I refuse to step back. "I wasn’t aware I was required to seek you out."

He stops just short of touching me, his presence alone making my skin tighten.

"You’re not." His voice is smooth, unreadable. "But after last night, I expected… something."

My stomach clenches.

I swallow, forcing a smirk. "And what exactly did you expect, Mr. Sinclair?"

He studies me, gaze slow and deliberate.

Then, in a move so subtle it’s devastating, he reaches out not to touch me, but to brush his fingers over the edge of my blouse, just barely grazing the fabric.

The contact is nothing.

And yet, it’s everything.

I inhale sharply.

Damien watches me closely, his smirk deepening.

"Careful, Selena," he murmurs. "If you keep playing this game, you might not like how it ends."

My pulse thrums wildly, but I force myself to stay still.

To stay in control.

I tilt my chin up. "Maybe I will."

His jaw tightens.

For a long moment, we just stand there, tension crackling between us like a live wire.

Then the elevator doors open.

I step inside, pulse hammering, forcing myself not to look back.

Forcing myself to breathe.

And just before the doors close, I hear his voice, soft and dark.

"You’re making a mistake."

Maybe.

But something tells me… so is he.