In Between Her Legs.

Chapter seventeen: A New Distance

The car ride is silent.

Damien sits beside me, his body rigid, his eyes locked on the city outside, fingers tapping idly against his knee. The same hands that gripped my throat last night, that pulled my body against his, now rest motionless, restrained.

I should say something.

Ask him why he’s so quiet.

Ask him why last night felt like everything and now, it feels like nothing.

But the words sit heavy in my throat, trapped by the tension humming between us.

The driver doesn’t speak either.

The only sound is the low hum of the engine, the occasional rustle of Damien shifting slightly in his seat.

I steal a glance at him, hoping to catch some kind of answer in his expression.

But he gives me nothing.

His jaw is tight, his gaze unreadable, his entire presence locked down like a fortress I suddenly have no key to.

Something’s changed.

I can feel it in the way he won’t look at me. In the way he keeps his distance, not even letting his leg brush against mine.

The heat, the possession, the overwhelming need he had for me last night it’s like it never happened.

The realization settles in my stomach like a stone.

I drop my gaze to my lap, fingers twisting together, my body still aching from everything he did to me, still remembering the way he took me like he never wanted to let go.

But now, he’s pulling away.

And I don’t know how to stop it.

The car slows, turning into the sleek underground garage of Sinclair Tower. The moment we come to a stop, Damien is already unbuckling his seatbelt, already opening the door.

He doesn’t wait for me.

Doesn’t turn to see if I’m following.

Just steps out, straightening his sleeves, already in work mode. Already somewhere else.

I swallow hard and hurry after him, my heels clicking against the polished concrete, my heart hammering for reasons I don’t understand.

Maybe he’s just busy.

Maybe this is just how he is after a night like that.

But something in my gut tells me it’s more than that.

He’s choosing to be distant.

And that terrifies me more than anything.

By the time we step into the elevator, the tension between us is unbearable.

I chance another look at him, searching for any crack in his armor.

Still, nothing.

"Damien"

"Don’t." His voice is quiet but firm.

Final.

I freeze, my stomach twisting.

He doesn’t even look at me.

Just keeps his eyes on the glowing numbers above the elevator doors, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable.

I bite my lip, nodding once, swallowing down the sharp ache rising in my chest.

Fine.

If he wants to act like nothing happened, like I don’t exist outside of whatever this is then so be it.

I won’t beg for his attention.

I won’t ask for answers he won’t give me.

The elevator doors slide open to his office floor, and he strides out without another word, his long legs eating up the distance as he disappears down the hall.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to move, to shake off whatever this feeling is.

I don’t even know what we are, so why does this distance between us feel like something breaking?

The Rest of the Day

The hours crawl by, but Damien never comes looking for me.

No texts. No calls. No orders.

Nothing.

I try to focus on work, but my mind keeps drifting back to him to the way he touched me, the way he owned me, only to wake up this morning like I was nothing more than a passing indulgence.

It’s maddening.

At noon, I gather my things and head to the executive floor, determined to at least see him, to get something from him.

But when I approach his office, his assistant, Claire, stops me at the door.

"Mr. Sinclair is in a meeting," she says smoothly, her expression giving nothing away.

I blink. "All day?"

Her lips curve in a polite, meaningless smile. "He’s very busy today."

Busy.

Too busy to acknowledge me.

To look at me.

To touch me.

Heat creeps up my neck, a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to hurt.

I nod stiffly. "Right. Of course."

I turn on my heel and walk away, ignoring the way my stomach twists, ignoring the way my chest tightens with something that feels too much like longing.

The Night That Never Comes

By the time I get home, the ache hasn’t faded.

If anything, it’s worse.

I sit on the edge of my bed, my body still humming from last night, from everything he did to me everything he made me feel.

My thighs press together, heat blooming low in my stomach.

I shouldn’t miss him.

Shouldn’t need him.

But my skin still burns for his touch.

I grab my phone, staring at the empty screen, waiting for a message that doesn’t come.

It’s after midnight when I finally cave.

I type.

Then delete.

Type again.

Then delete again.

I don’t want to seem needy.

Don’t want to be weak.

But God, I just need something from him.

Finally, I settle on two simple words.

Me: Are you awake?

I stare at the screen, my pulse thumping against my ribs, every second stretching impossibly long.

Then

The message turns read.

My heart leaps.

But there’s no reply.

The dots don’t appear.

Nothing.

Minutes pass.

Then an hour.

Still nothing.

I exhale shakily, locking my phone, my chest tight, my mind racing.

This isn’t over.

I know it isn’t.

Damien Sinclair doesn’t just take something this deep and walk away.

No.

He’s pushing me away for a reason.

And I’m going to find out why.