Craving The Forbidden Touch

The moment Isla stepped out of the penthouse, she knew she had made a mistake.

Cold night air wrapped around her like a warning, biting through the thin fabric of her dress. Her heels clicked against the marble hallway as she hurried toward the elevator, pulse racing, heart pounding.

What had she done?

Her fingers trembled as she pressed the call button. The doors slid open instantly, as if the universe was giving her an easy escape, but her body refused to move.

Behind her, the door to Damian Sinclair's penthouse remained closed, but she could still feel his presence, like a force pulling her back. The memory of his touch burned on her skin, the heat of his breath still ghosting over her lips.

She should leave.

She should get in the elevator, go home, and pretend tonight never happened.

But she couldn't.

Not when every inch of her body screamed for him.

With a sharp breath, Isla turned and walked back.

She barely had a chance to knock before the door swung open.

Damian stood there, his jacket gone, his tie loosened, his dark gaze locked on her as if he had been waiting. As if he had known she wouldn't leave.

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. "Changed your mind?"

Isla swallowed hard. "I never made up my mind in the first place."

His eyes darkened. "Then let me help you decide."

And just like that, she was lost.

Damian reached for her, pulling her inside before she could think. The door slammed shut behind her, sealing her fate. His hands were on her waist, firm and possessive, his touch sending a shiver down her spine.

"I knew you wouldn't walk away," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear.

"I should," she whispered, her hands gripping his arms, holding on as if he were the only thing keeping her upright.

"But you won't."

He was right. And that terrified her.

His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down her spine, his touch both a promise and a threat. She shuddered, her resolve slipping with every second.

"This is dangerous," she said, but even she could hear the weakness in her voice.

Damian tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "So stop me."

She opened her mouth, but no words came.

Because she didn't want to stop him.

She wanted to forget. To drown in him. To let herself be consumed by the fire that had been smoldering between them for years.

And tonight, she was finally ready to burn.

---

An hour later, Isla lay in Damian's bed, staring at the ceiling, her body still humming from his touch. The city lights filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting soft shadows over the room.

Damian lay beside her, one arm draped over his forehead, his breathing steady and controlled, as if what had just happened hadn't shattered everything.

As if this was just another night.

But it wasn't.

Not for her.

She turned onto her side, watching him, searching for any sign that this had meant something. That she wasn't the only one who felt like the ground had shifted beneath her.

But Damian Sinclair was impossible to read.

His face, carved from granite, gave nothing away.

Finally, he turned his head, his gray eyes meeting hers.

"Regrets?" he asked, his voice unreadable.

Isla hesitated. If she said yes, it would be a lie. If she said no, it would be a confession.

"I don't know yet," she admitted.

Something flickered in his gaze, but it was gone before she could name it.

"Good." He sat up, reaching for his discarded shirt. "Because this changes nothing."

Her stomach twisted. "Nothing?"

He pulled the fabric over his head, smoothing out the wrinkles as if this was just another business deal, another contract he had negotiated and walked away from unscathed.

"This doesn't mean anything, Isla." His voice was calm, final.

As if he hadn't just unraveled her.

As if she wasn't already breaking.

She forced a cold smile, masking the sting of his words. "Of course not."

His gaze lingered on her for a second too long, as if he didn't quite believe her, but he said nothing.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Isla threw off the sheets and stood. "I should go."

She reached for her dress, slipping it back on with practiced ease. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she kept her expression neutral, refusing to let him see the chaos inside her.

Damian leaned against the headboard, watching her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

She refused to look at him as she walked to the door.

She had barely made it three steps before his voice stopped her.

"Isla."

She paused, her hand gripping the doorknob, her heart pounding.

For a brief, foolish moment, she let herself hope.

But when she turned, his expression was the same-calm, composed, unaffected.

"Don't overthink this." His tone was smooth, effortless. As if this-they-hadn't just shifted something irreversibly.

As if she wasn't already falling.

Isla held his gaze, forcing a smile she didn't feel. "I wouldn't dream of it."

And with that, she walked away.

But as the door clicked shut behind her, she knew one thing for certain.

This was far from over.