In Between Her Legs.

Chapter Two:The Warning

I didn’t sleep that night.

I told myself it’s because of the late hour, the lingering effects of the wine, the adrenaline of working too many hours under too much pressure. But I know better.

It’s him.

Damien Sinclair walking storm, immovable force, a man who does not chase but somehow still makes you feel hunted.

The way he stood there last night, the quiet intensity in his voice, the way his presence alone unraveled something inside me it was a warning. A line drawn in the sand.

I should let it go.

I should stop.

But in the morning, as I step into the office in my sharpest black heels and silk blouse that clings to my curves in all the right places, I already know the truth.

I won’t.

The day is business as usual.

Meetings. Emails. The constant hum of the city beyond the glass walls.

Damien is nowhere to be seen.

I pretend I don’t notice, pretend I don’t wonder where he is, what he’s doing, if he’s thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him.

By lunchtime, my resolve is wearing thin.

I lean against my desk, scrolling through emails on my phone when I see it an invitation.

Not from him directly, of course. From his office. A formal request for a private strategy meeting.

8 PM. His floor.

I stare at the screen for too long, pulse ticking at my throat.

This is nothing. Just business.

Except nothing about last night felt like business.

I could decline. I could pretend I have other obligations, another meeting, another engagement. But we both know I won’t.

I straighten, smoothing the silk of my blouse before I tap a single word in reply.

Confirmed.

By the time I step onto the top floor, the office is nearly empty.

The executive suite is sleek, minimal, the kind of luxury that whispers instead of shouts. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the darkening skyline, the city below a glittering spread of light and movement.

His door is open.

He’s waiting.

I step inside, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

He doesn’t rise when I enter, doesn’t acknowledge me right away. Instead, he leans back in his chair, fingertips pressed together, studying me in that way that makes my stomach tighten.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

Then

"You came."

His voice is smooth, unreadable.

I lift a brow. "It was a request from senior management. It would have been unprofessional to ignore it."

A ghost of a smirk flickers at the corner of his lips. "Unprofessional."

The way he repeats the word sends heat curling low in my stomach.

I clear my throat, shifting my weight. "What is this meeting about?"

He studies me, something sharp and knowing in his gaze.

"You."

A beat of silence.

I blink. "Excuse me?"

Damien rises, slow and deliberate, moving around the desk.

I hold my ground as he approaches, but my pulse betrays me, hammering in my throat.

"You wanted my attention, Selena," he murmurs. "You made sure of it."

I exhale, forcing a smirk. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

He stops just short of touching me.

"You do."

The air between us crackles, thick and charged.

"I don’t play games," he says softly. "But you do, don’t you?"

My breath catches.

The heat, the intensity, the quiet dominance in his voice it’s too much.

Or maybe not enough.

I swallow. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Sinclair?"

His lips twitch. "Would you like me to?"

Something dangerous hums beneath his words, a promise wrapped in silk.

I should shut this down. Walk away. Remind myself that I control this game, not him.

But as I stand there, held captive by the weight of his stare, I realize something terrifying.

For the first time in my life

I want to lose.

The office feels different at night.

It’s quieter. Darker.

The usual hum of phones and conversations is gone, leaving only the low murmur of the city beyond the glass. The lights are dim, casting long shadows across the floor, and the air is thick with something I can’t quite name.

Anticipation.

Or maybe… danger.

Damien Sinclair watches me from behind his desk, a man completely at ease in his own power. The kind of power that doesn’t need to be loud to be felt.

"You came."

His voice is smooth, controlled. A statement, not a question.

I lift my chin. "It was a formal request from management. It would have been unprofessional to ignore it."

Something flickers in his eyes. Amusement? Annoyance? I can’t tell.

"Unprofessional." He repeats the word like he’s tasting it, rolling it over his tongue, deciding whether or not he likes the flavor.

I force a smirk, shifting my weight just enough to let my blouse slip slightly against my skin. A calculated movement.

A distraction.

Because the way he’s looking at me makes my pulse race, and I can’t let him see that.

"You requested this meeting," I remind him, arching a brow. "So what is it about?"

Damien leans back in his chair, fingertips pressed together. He doesn’t answer right away, just studies me, as if weighing something in his mind.

Then

"You."

My breath catches.

A slow heat spreads through me, unwelcome and thrilling all at once.

I cross my arms, tilting my head. "I wasn’t aware I was part of our latest corporate strategy."

He smirks. It’s subtle, just the barest twitch of his lips, but I see it.

"You like to test boundaries, Selena."

His voice is low, a quiet accusation wrapped in silk.

I exhale, forcing a laugh. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"You do," he counters smoothly.

And then he moves.

Slow. Deliberate.

Pushing away from his desk, he stands, rounding the polished mahogany surface with the kind of measured grace that makes the air between us shift.

I stay still, even as my body reacts to his nearness, heat pooling low in my stomach.

Damien stops just short of touching me, his presence alone stealing my breath.

"You wanted my attention," he murmurs. "You made sure of it."

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

His scent clean, expensive, something dark beneath the surface wraps around me, making it impossible to focus.

I shouldn’t let him do this. Shouldn’t let him close the distance, let him turn the game I started against me.

But I can’t step back.

I won’t.

Instead, I lift my chin higher. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Sinclair?"

His lips curve, slow and knowing.

"Would you like me to?"

A shiver dances down my spine.

I hate that he sees it. Hate that his smirk deepens, as if he’s just confirmed something about me that even I haven’t fully admitted.

"Careful," I warn, my voice softer than I’d like.

Damien tilts his head slightly, as if considering me from a new angle.

"Careful?" he echoes. "That’s rich, coming from you."

He takes another step forward, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

I stand my ground.

Barely.

His gaze drops, skimming over me with slow, deliberate intent before returning to my face.

"You think this is a game," he says quietly.

I force myself to hold his stare. "And if it is?"

A dangerous silence stretches between us.

Then, without warning, he moves faster than I expect.

His hand brushes my wrist, fingers just barely ghosting over my skin a test, a tease, a f*****g warning.

The contact is fleeting, almost nothing… but it sets my blood on fire.

My breath hitches, and he hears it.

He f*****g hears it.

Something flickers in his eyes. Satisfaction. Possession.

And then, just as quickly as he closed the space between us he’s gone.

The absence of him is like a punch to the gut. I exhale sharply, my pulse thrumming in my ears.

Damien steps back, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve like nothing just happened. Like he didn’t just push me to the edge and leave me there, aching and unsteady.

"You wanted my attention," he says, his voice smooth as ever. "Now you have it."

His gaze locks onto mine, a quiet promise in the darkness.

"Let’s see if you can handle it."

And then he turns and walks away.

Leaving me standing there, breathless.

Fucking ruined.

And knowing, deep in my bones, that this whatever this is has only just begun.