Page 86 of Sticks & Serpents

But then came the familiar warmth flooding through me at just the thought of him. It made it impossible to breathe without wondering where he was or what he was doing right now. Would he walk through those doors with that same reckless charm that could ignite even the darkest corners of my heart? Or would I have to face this evening without him?

I swallowed hard, knowing one thing for certain: this night wouldn’t be complete without Damien Sinclaire in it.

A sharp knock echoed through my bedroom, confident and assertive. My heart leaped into my throat, a mix of hope and dread swirling within me. I glanced at the clock—was it my father hurrying me along? It was still early.

I opened the door, and there he stood: Damien Sinclaire. He wore a tailored black suit that clung to his athletic frame, highlighting every angle and curve of his body. His silver-blond hair fell slightly tousled, as if he had just come in from a wild windstorm. His jaw was tight, an expression both brooding and captivating—strikingly handsome yet dangerous in a lethal sort of way.

My breath caught in my throat as I took him in. He looked… devastating.

“You’re here,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

His stormy blue eyes swept over me slowly, deliberately, taking in every detail. Something dark flickered within them—a possessiveness that sent shivers down my spine. The air crackled between us, thick with unspoken tension.

“Make it up to me,” he said, his voice low and rough like gravel scraping against glass.

I blinked, trying to process his words. “What?”

His fingers curled against the doorframe, knuckles whitening as if he needed something solid to hold onto. “You. Talking to Logan.”

The mention of Logan made my stomach twist again. I could feel Damien’s gaze burning into me, hot and unyielding. His jaw clenched tightly, a muscle twitching as anger simmered just below the surface.

“Fix it,” he demanded.

My heart raced—not just from his presence but from the weight of his words. It felt like he wasn’t just asking; he was commanding me to confront everything I had tried to ignore since our last encounter.

I stood frozen at the threshold of my room, caught between the intensity of his gaze and the chaos inside my mind.

I let out an exasperated sigh, frustration bubbling to the surface as I met his heated gaze.

“Let’s go,” he demanded, and before I could protest, he turned on his heel, striding toward his car parked just outside. The sight of it made my heart race—not in excitement, but in a familiar mix of dread and anticipation.

It was a sleek black Audi, its curves gleaming under the dim light like a predator ready to pounce. The engine hummed with power, and the scent of leather wafted from the interior. He opened the door for me, a subtle gesture that felt laced with tension. I slid into the passenger seat, my body tense as I settled against the cool leather.

Damien got behind the wheel and started driving, silence enveloping us like a heavy blanket. The tension thickened between us, palpable and charged. I crossed my arms defensively, glaring at him from the corner of my eye.

“You can’t be serious,” I shot back, irritation dripping from every word.

He scoffed, gripping the steering wheel tightly enough that his knuckles turned white. “You think I didn’t hear what people were saying? What he was saying?”

I shook my head, trying to dismiss his words as if they were smoke dissipating in the air. “It wasn’t like that, Damien.”

He exhaled harshly, casting me a sidelong glance that felt like daggers piercing through my resolve. His jaw flexed under pressure, and his fingers twitched against the wheel—a telltale sign of his simmering anger.

“I don’t like sharing.” His voice held an edge that sent a shiver down my spine.

Something about it made my stomach flip—dark and heavy, full of something deeper than mere jealousy or anger. It hinted at a possessiveness that both thrilled and terrified me.

The road blurred past as we drove on in silence, each mile only deepening the chasm between what we were supposed to be and what we had become.

I swallowed hard, shifting in my seat as the tension thickened in the air between us.

“That’s not what this is,” I managed to say, my voice shaky.

Damien’s gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, but his hand moved with deliberate slowness, trailing his fingers up my bare thigh. The warmth of his touch ignited something deep within me—an instinct to push him away mixed with a craving that sent shivers down my spine. His grip was firm, a warning and a claim all at once.

My breath stuttered, caught somewhere between fear and desire. “Damien?—”

He smirked, that infuriatingly confident smile creeping across his lips as he kept his eyes on the asphalt stretching out before us. “Make it up to me, little lamb.”

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