In Between Her Legs.

Chapter Nine: Caged Desire

Damien doesn’t take me home.

He doesn’t ask.

He simply grips my wrist, leads me out of the restaurant, and into the back seat of his car his black, tinted-windowed kingdom on wheels. The moment the door shuts, I know I’ve stepped into a different world.

A world where Damien Sinclair owns me.

The city lights blur past, but I don’t see them.

I see him.

His legs spread, his suit crisp, his hands slow as he unbuttons his cuffs, rolling up the sleeves like he’s preparing for something dangerous. His watch glints under the dim interior lights, a reminder of just how much power he holds.

His eyes burn into mine, dark and full of unspoken promises.

"You were good tonight, Selena," he says, his voice calm, controlled. But his fingers twitch on his thigh, betraying his restraint. "Obedient. I liked that."

A shiver runs through me.

"But I saw the fight in you," he continues, tilting his head, studying me. "You think you still have choices." His fingers tap against his knee, deliberate. "You don’t."

I swallow hard.

"Come here."

The command is quiet, deadly soft.

I hesitate. Just for a second.

His lips curve. "Still testing me, little thing?"

Then he moves.

Fast. Precise.

One second I’m sitting stiffly in my seat. The next, I’m dragged across the space between us, my knees pressing into the cool leather, my hands flat against his chest.

My breathing is uneven. I can feel the heat of him beneath his shirt.

"You’re trembling," he murmurs, his fingers ghosting up my spine, making me arch. "Afraid?"

"No," I whisper.

"Good." His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back. "Because I don’t do fear, Selena. I do surrender. And tonight, you’ll give me that."

His other hand trails down, over my back, skimming my hips before slipping beneath the hem of my dress.

I gasp.

He chuckles. "Still wet from dinner, aren’t you?"

I don’t answer. I can’t.

His fingers find me, teasing, sliding through the slick proof of my need, and I bite down on my lower lip, barely holding back a moan.

"Not yet," he murmurs. "Not until I say."

The car slows. A long driveway. A security gate.

His penthouse.

My heart stammers.

"You don’t leave tonight," he tells me, fingers still moving in slow, torturous strokes. "You don’t think tonight."

I whimper.

He smiles.

"You just obey."

The penthouse is dark. Not pitch-black, but lit only by the faint glow of the city skyline pressing against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I barely have a chance to take it in before I’m pinned against the glass.

The cold bites into my skin. Damien’s heat presses against my back.

"Hands flat," he orders. "Look out."

I do.

The city sprawls before me. People below, unaware. Unseeing.

And here I am, high above them, being stripped by a man who holds my pleasure in the palm of his hand.

He peels my dress down, inch by inch, the silk pooling at my feet. My breath catches as he steps back, letting me stand there completely bare, utterly exposed to the world beyond the glass.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the marks he’s already left on my skin. "My marks."

A low sound escapes me.

His hands skim lower.

I tense.

"Relax." His lips press against my shoulder, deceptively gentle. "I won’t hurt you… unless you ask me to."

I shudder.

Then he’s gone.

I hear it before I feel it. The quiet metallic clink of something behind me.

And then cool leather wraps around my wrists.

I jerk, but he’s already secured the cuffs, binding my hands to the window frame.

Panic flares. "Damien"

"Hush." His mouth is at my ear, his breath warm, calming. "I’ve got you, baby."

The words are intimate. Possessive.

And just like that, my body stops fighting.

"Good girl."

A slow drag of silk over my eyes.

A blindfold.

Now, I can’t see the city.

I can’t see him.

All I can do is feel.

The first stroke of his hands down my back.

The slow, agonizing press of his mouth against my spine.

His fingers between my thighs, spreading me wide.

"You were made for this," he whispers. "For me."

Then he ruins me.

No teasing. No warning.

Just his mouth hot, relentless, devastating parting me, tasting me, dragging me down into pure, blinding pleasure.

I cry out, my forehead pressing against the glass, my body shaking.

"Stay still," he orders, his grip tight on my thighs. "I want to hear you break for me."

I can’t.

I can’t.

His tongue, his fingers he works me like he’s memorized every weakness, every secret nerve.

Like I belong to him.

And maybe I do.

The orgasm slams into me with violent force, my body convulsing against the restraints, against him, against everything but his control.

And he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t slow.

He keeps licking, keeps sucking, drinking me down until I’m nothing but wrecked sobs and desperate, incoherent pleading.

Only then does he pull away.

I’m gasping, trembling, still blindfolded. Still bound.

I hear him move.

Hear the click of his belt.

The rustle of fabric.

Then his voice.

Low. Dark.

Right against my ear.

"Now, baby," he murmurs, positioning himself behind me, the thick head of his c**k sliding against my drenched, swollen heat.

"You really learn who you belong to."