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.

Isla didn't realize she was holding her breath until she stepped out into the night. The cold air hit her skin like a slap, forcing her back to reality.

Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked toward her car, her mind racing, her heart still beating in an erratic rhythm. She could still feel Damian's touch-his hands on her waist, his lips tracing her skin, the heat of his body pressing into hers.

It should have been enough.

She should have been satisfied, having finally surrendered to the temptation that had haunted her for years. But the moment she had walked out of that penthouse, an emptiness had settled in her chest.

Because this wasn't just a one-time mistake.

It was the beginning of something she couldn't control.

She reached her car, gripping the handle to steady herself before climbing inside. The moment the door shut, she exhaled sharply, resting her forehead against the steering wheel.

This changes nothing.

Damian's words echoed in her mind, a sharp contrast to the way he had touched her, the way he had made her feel as if she was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

But to him, it was nothing.

Just another night.

Her stomach twisted as she sat back, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

She should hate him for it.

She should be angry that he could walk away so easily, unaffected.

But she wasn't.

Because deep down, she had known what this was.

A mistake.

A dangerous, beautiful, intoxicating mistake.

And yet, she already craved more.

---

By the time Isla arrived home, it was nearly midnight. The soft glow of her apartment lights felt distant, unfamiliar, as if she had stepped into a different world. One where Damian Sinclair didn't exist.

She wished it were that easy.

Kicking off her heels, she dropped her purse onto the couch and ran a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly.

A glass of wine. That's what she needed.

Something to dull the emotions clawing at her, something to make her forget the way Damian had looked at her-like she was something he wanted but shouldn't have.

She walked into the kitchen, reaching for the bottle of red wine she kept for nights like this. But just as she poured the liquid into a glass, her phone buzzed.

Her pulse jumped.

For a moment, she thought-hoped-it was him.

But when she glanced at the screen, disappointment settled in her chest.

It wasn't Damian.

It was her best friend, Lila.

Lila: You're still alive, right? Or did work swallow you whole again?

A small, tired smile tugged at Isla's lips. She had been dodging Lila's calls the past few days, using work as an excuse, but the truth was, she had been avoiding this moment-facing reality.

Before she could overthink it, she texted back.

Isla: Alive. Barely.

The reply came almost instantly.

Lila: Then you have no excuse. Brunch tomorrow. No arguments.

Isla sighed. She knew Lila wouldn't take no for an answer, and honestly, she needed the distraction.

Isla: Fine. But if you drag me to that overpriced café again, you're paying.

Lila: Deal.

Shaking her head, Isla set the phone down and took a slow sip of wine, letting the bitterness settle on her tongue.

Tomorrow, she would pretend everything was fine.

Tomorrow, she would forget about Damian Sinclair.

Even if it killed her.

---

The next morning, Isla arrived at the café a few minutes late, unsurprised to find Lila already there, sipping on what looked like her second cup of coffee.

"You look like hell," Lila greeted, raising an eyebrow as Isla slid into the seat across from her.

"Good morning to you too," Isla muttered, reaching for the menu even though she already knew what she wanted.

Lila leaned forward, her brown eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You disappeared for days, ignored my texts, and now you're avoiding eye contact. Spill."

Isla hesitated.

Lila knew her better than anyone. If there was one person who would see right through her, it was her.

"I was just busy with work," Isla said, forcing a casual tone.

Lila scoffed. "Bullshit."

Isla sighed, rubbing her temples. "Can we not do this?"

"Nope." Lila leaned back, crossing her arms. "Who was it?"

Isla nearly choked on her water. "What?"

Lila smirked. "You only get like this when a man is involved."

Isla rolled her eyes. "Not everything in my life is about men."

"No," Lila agreed, "but when you look like you've been emotionally wrecked overnight, I have to assume it's not because of your job."

Isla opened her mouth to argue, but no words came.

Because Lila was right.

And she was tired of pretending otherwise.

She exhaled, staring down at the table. "It was Damian."

Lila's eyes widened. "Damian Sinclair?"

Isla winced. "Keep your voice down."

"Are you kidding me?" Lila hissed, leaning forward. "The Damian Sinclair? The man you swore you'd never-"

"Yes," Isla cut in, her voice tight. "That one."

Lila stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether she had lost her mind.

Then, she sighed. "Shit."

"Yeah," Isla muttered.

Lila shook her head. "Tell me everything."

So Isla did.

She told her about the night, about the way Damian had looked at her, touched her. About the way he had said it meant nothing.

By the time she was done, Lila looked torn between slapping her and hugging her.

"That man is a walking red flag," she muttered.

Isla gave a humorless laugh. "Tell me something I don't know."

Lila sighed, drumming her fingers against the table. "So what now?"

Isla hesitated. "I don't know."

Because the truth was, she wasn't sure if she could walk away.

Not when she already wanted more.

Not when she knew Damian would never let her go so easily.

---

That night, Isla tried to focus on work.

She buried herself in reports, answered emails, and did everything she could to keep her mind off Damian.

It didn't work.

Because no matter how hard she tried, his voice, his touch, his presence lingered.

So when her phone rang, and his name flashed across the screen, her breath caught.

For a moment, she debated ignoring it.

She should ignore it.

But her fingers moved before she could stop them.

She pressed accept.

Silence stretched for a second before his voice came through, deep and smooth as ever.

"You left too quickly last night."

Her heart pounded. "I thought you didn't care."

A low chuckle. "I never said that."

She swallowed. "Then what are you saying?"

A pause.

Then, his voice dropped to a whisper.

"That I'm not done with you, Isla."

A shiver ran down her spine.

She should hang up.

She should walk away.

But she didn't.

Because neither was she.

Isla knew she should have ignored the call.

She should have silenced her phone, turned away, and buried herself in work or mindless distractions. But the second Damian's voice had spilled through the speaker, deep and smooth like dark velvet, she had been caught.

Now, she sat on the edge of her bed, gripping the phone too tightly, her heart hammering in her chest.

"I'm not done with you, Isla."

The words replayed in her mind, wrapping around her like an invisible chain, pulling her back into the orbit of the one man she had spent years trying to avoid.

She swallowed, forcing her voice to remain steady. "You made it clear that last night meant nothing."

A low chuckle vibrated through the phone. "Did I?"

Her pulse skipped.

Damian had always played this game-pushing, pulling, making her question everything. And damn him, he was good at it.

"I'm not doing this," she muttered, running a hand through her hair.

"You already are." His voice was calm, self-assured, as if he knew exactly how tightly he was woven into her thoughts.

Isla squeezed her eyes shut, frustration mixing with something darker, something she wasn't ready to name. "Why did you call, Damian?"

A pause. Then, his voice dropped an octave, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Because I can't stop thinking about you."

Her breath caught.

He wasn't supposed to say things like that. Not when she was trying so hard to convince herself that last night had been a mistake.

But wasn't that the problem?

It didn't feel like a mistake.

It felt like something inevitable.

She hesitated, pressing her lips together. "Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Pretend you care."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. For a moment, she thought he might end the call, might let her walk away.

But then he exhaled, the sound laced with something unreadable.

"You think I don't?"

Isla's fingers tightened around the phone. "I think you're playing with me."

A low, bitter laugh. "Is that what you think of me?"

She wanted to say yes. Wanted to believe that this was nothing more than a game to him, that he would get bored and move on like he always did.

But deep down, she knew better.

Damian Sinclair didn't chase.

Yet here he was, calling her when he should have been the one to forget first.

"I don't know what to think anymore," she admitted, hating how raw she sounded.

Another pause. Then, in a voice so quiet it sent a shiver down her spine, he said, "Meet me."

Her stomach flipped. "No."

"Isla-"

"No, Damian." She stood abruptly, pacing her room. "Last night happened, and it was... it was what it was. But I'm not going to let you pull me into something that will only end badly."

A beat of silence.

Then-

"I'll pick you up in an hour."

Her eyes widened. "Damian-"

The line went dead.

She stared at her phone, disbelief and frustration warring inside her.

That arrogant, insufferable-

A knock at the door made her jump.

She froze, heart pounding.

It couldn't be.

Slowly, she walked to the door, every step making her pulse hammer harder against her ribs. When she pulled it open, her breath caught in her throat.

Damian.

Dressed in all black, his tailored coat falling perfectly against his broad frame, he looked every bit as dangerous as he felt.

He leaned against the doorway, hands in his pockets, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"You answered."

She swallowed, gripping the edge of the door. "I didn't invite you."

"You didn't have to."

His gaze roamed over her, slow and deliberate, taking in the oversized sweater she had thrown on and the way her hair was still messy from sleep.

Something dark flickered in his eyes.

"You weren't planning on seeing me tonight," he murmured.

"No," she admitted.

A ghost of a smile. "Then why haven't you shut the door?"

Isla clenched her jaw, but the truth was, she didn't know.

Because despite everything-despite knowing that Damian Sinclair was the last man she should ever let back into her life-she couldn't make herself walk away.

Not yet.

Not when the air between them crackled with something too strong to ignore.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve, a barely-there touch that sent heat spiraling through her.

"Come with me."

She hesitated. "Where?"

"You'll find out."

She should say no. She needed to say no.

But instead, she exhaled shakily and stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

Because the truth was, she had already lost this battle the moment she had answered his call.