Lines We Shouldn't Cross

Chapter 3: Lines We Shouldn’t Cross

The car ride felt endless and far too short at the same time.

Damien didn’t fill the silence with words. He simply sat there, one arm resting along the back of the seat, watching me in the flickering glow of passing lights. His presence alone was enough heavy, controlled, impossible to ignore. Every now and then his fingers brushed a damp strand of hair from my shoulder, light and deliberate.

My phone buzzed in my lap. Alex’s name lit up the screen.

I silenced it.

Damien’s low chuckle broke the quiet. “Smart girl.”

I glanced at him. In the dark he looked carved from shadow and steel sharp jaw, stormy gray eyes that missed nothing. “He’s probably worried,” I said quietly.

“Worried?” Damien’s tone stayed even, almost conversational. “He had his chance.”

The car stopped outside my modest apartment building. Damien stepped out first and offered his hand. I took it. He didn’t release me until I was steady on the sidewalk.

“I can manage from here,” I murmured.

He shook his head once. “I’m walking you up.”

The elevator was tiny. Being alone with him in such a tight space made my pulse loud in my ears. He stood close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him, but he didn’t touch me again. Not until the doors closed. Then two fingers tilted my chin up gently, his thumb brushing along my jawline once before dropping away.

“You’re still trembling,” he observed.

“Not only from the cold,” I admitted.

His eyes darkened, but he said nothing else. The restraint in him was almost worse than if he had pushed.

When we reached my door, I fumbled with the keys. He waited behind me, silent. Inside, I turned on the lights and shrugged off his jacket, holding it out to him.

“Keep it,” he said simply. He stepped in, closing the door with a quiet click. The sound echoed.

“Damien… this is wrong,” I whispered, back against the wall as he moved closer. Not touching. Just close enough that I felt caged by his height and the quiet command in his stance. “Alex is your son. I was with him for three years.”

“Was.” He braced one hand on the wall beside my head, not trapping me, but making it clear I could step away if I wanted. I didn’t. “He showed tonight exactly why he lost you.”

My heart hammered. Heat curled low in my stomach. I should have pushed him back. Should have told him to leave.

Instead I breathed, “I shouldn’t want this.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth for a beat, then returned to my eyes. “You crave it, little one.” The words were low, almost casual, but they landed like a claim.

My phone buzzed again on the table near the door. Alex calling.

Damien didn’t even glance at it. He studied me for another long second, then stepped back, giving me space I suddenly didn’t want.

“Dry off. Rest.” He turned toward the door. “Clothes will be sent over tomorrow.”

At the threshold he paused, looking back at me with that same unreadable intensity.

“Next time, I won’t be as polite.”

The door closed behind him.

I slid down the wall, knees weak, thighs pressed tight together against the ache he’d left burning inside me.

What the hell was I doing?

And why did part of me already dread the moment he decided to stop holding back?