In Between Her Legs.

Chapter Five : The Fall Begins

I should leave.

I should grab my things, walk out of this building, and put as much distance as possible between myself and Damien Sinclair.

But I don’t.

Because even as I stand in the empty elevator, my heart still racing, my lips still tingling from his kiss, I know the truth.

I don’t want to walk away.

And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.

By the time I step into my apartment that night, my body is still humming, my mind still playing every second of what happened.

The way he caged me in. The way his fingers traced over my skin like he was marking me.

The way he kissed me like he had every right to.

I exhale sharply, tossing my bag onto the counter before pouring myself a glass of wine.

I shouldn’t let him get to me.

I’ve played this game before.

Men always want what they can’t have. The power is in the denial, in the slow torture of keeping them just out of reach.

That’s what I should be doing.

But Damien doesn’t play like the others.

He doesn’t beg. He doesn’t chase.

And he sure as hell doesn’t lose.

I take a sip of my wine, ignoring the heat curling between my legs at the memory of his mouth on mine.

Ignoring the way I already know this isn’t over.

Not even close.

The next day at work, I try to focus.

Try to pretend I don’t feel his presence before I even see him.

But when I finally do it’s worse.

Because he’s watching me.

Not obviously. Not in a way anyone else would notice.

But I do.

Every time I lift my gaze, he’s there.

Silent.

Patient.

Waiting.

And somehow, that’s worse than any bold move he could have made.

I make it through the day without another encounter.

No stolen moments. No whispered threats disguised as promises.

By the time evening rolls around, I almost let myself believe he’s done.

That I’ve won.

Then my phone buzzes.

A single message.

Damien: My office. Now.

I stare at the screen, my pulse spiking.

I should ignore it.

I should delete it and pretend I never saw it.

Instead I go.

His office is empty when I step inside.

Dim lighting. Whiskey on the bar.

And the unmistakable scent of him.

I turn, about to leave, when the door clicks shut behind me.

I inhale sharply as I feel him his presence.

Then, his voice.

Low. Dark.

"You came."

I turn slowly, my heart hammering.

Damien leans against the door, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"You didn’t answer my message," he says.

I lift my chin. "I didn’t think I needed to."

His lips curve slightly. "And yet, here you are."

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.

He pushes off the door, stepping toward me with that same measured control that makes the air feel too thick, too charged.

I force myself to hold my ground, but when he reaches me, I can’t breathe.

"You’ve been running all day," he murmurs.

I shake my head. "I"

"Don’t lie to me, Selena."

His voice is soft. Dangerous.

I shudder.

Because he’s right.

I have been running.

And worse? He knows it.

His fingers trail along my arm, slow, teasing.

"Tell me," he says quietly, "why did you come?"

I open my mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Because I don’t have an answer.

At least not one I’m willing to say.

Damien smirks, as if he can hear the thoughts I refuse to voice.

And then he moves.

A step closer. A hand on my waist.

My breath hitches as he presses me back against the wall, his body just barely touching mine.

A whisper of heat. A promise of more.

I should stop him.

I should push him away.

But then his fingers slide into my hair, tilting my head back, and I can’t think.

I can’t do anything but feel.

"Say the word, Selena," he murmurs.

A challenge. A test.

His lips hover over mine, so close I can taste the whiskey on his breath.

"Tell me to stop."

My pulse hammers. My body betrays me.

Because I don’t.

I don’t say a damn thing.

And that’s all the answer he needs.

His mouth crashes against mine, and this time, I don’t fight it.

I don’t hold back.

I kiss him back.

Fierce. Desperate.

Like I need him to ruin me.

His hands slide lower, gripping my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I feel everything.

Heat. Power. Control.

He deepens the kiss, and I let him.

I let him take.

Because right now, I want to be taken.

When he finally pulls back, I’m shaking.

Breathless.

Destroyed.

Damien smirks, his fingers tracing the curve of my lips.

"Not so in control now, are you?"

I glare at him, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"You think you’ve won?" I manage, my voice hoarse.

He chuckles. "Sweetheart, I haven’t even started playing yet."

His thumb brushes over my lower lip one last time, a silent promise.

Then he steps back, leaving me standing there ruined and wanting.

As I leave his office, my legs unsteady, I know one thing for certain.

This isn’t just a game anymore.

I just don’t know if I’m ready for what happens next.