Page 25

Chapter 25

Holly

I stood in front of the mirror, my fingers nervously adjusting the straps of my dress. The soft fabric hugged my body, the deep navy blue contrasting with my hazel eyes and framing my skin. My hair fell in loose waves around my shoulders, a few rebellious strands escaping their confines to brush against my cheek. I took a breath, trying to steady myself as I focused on the reflection staring back at me.

But it wasn’t just about looking good for the donor dinner. My heart raced not from excitement but from a gnawing anxiety. The dinner loomed ahead like a storm cloud threatening rain, but that wasn’t what made me uneasy.

It was Damien.

I hadn’t seen him since that night he confronted me about Logan. I had meant it—every word had dripped with frustration and hurt—but now, as I stood there alone in my room, those words felt like daggers lodged deep within me.

What if he didn’t show up? What if he did? The uncertainty twisted in my stomach like a tightening coil, reminding me of how things had spiraled between us.

Damien was supposed to be here tonight—how could he not be? He was part of this event, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that he might avoid me entirely. He was unpredictable; he always had been. What if our last confrontation left scars too deep for him to return?

I ran a hand over the fabric of my dress again, trying to focus on anything but him—anything but how much I missed him. The way his presence used to consume every room we entered together.

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.”

My pulse pounded in response, a drumbeat echoing in my ears. I should have shoved his hand away, told him to stop. I should have remembered the way he had left me hanging after our last confrontation—the pain of abandonment still fresh in my mind. But I didn’t pull away.

Instead, I felt myself leaning into him slightly, an involuntary reaction that betrayed my better judgment. His fingers continued their exploration, brushing against the fabric of my dress as if testing boundaries that had long since blurred.

The air inside the car crackled with an intensity I couldn’t ignore. My thoughts raced—what was happening? This wasn’t supposed to be how things went between us anymore. He was chaos incarnate; I knew that better than anyone.

But right then, at that moment, it felt like I was teetering on the edge of something dangerously exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

“Why do you always do this?” I asked softly, almost to myself.

“Do what?” he replied casually, still focused on driving but now glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

I took a shaky breath as I tried to collect my thoughts. “Play these games.”

He laughed lightly—a sound that seemed to wrap around me like a warm blanket before sending chills through my body. “You know you love it.”

He turned his head slightly, his eyes locking onto mine with a dangerous intensity. “You’re mine, Holly. You’ve always been mine. And you will make it up to me, like the good little lamb you are."

The tension snapped. Before I could think, my hands moved on their own, undoing his belt buckle with swift precision. His cock sprang free, already hard and thick, veins pulsing beneath the skin. The sight of it sent a jolt of heat through my core.

I leaned over, taking him into my mouth, my lips sliding down his length. He groaned against my lips; the sound vibrating through me as I sucked him deeper. The car jerked slightly under his unsteady control, and he cursed under his breath.

“You’re going to make me wreck this fucking car,” he growled, his voice rough and strained.

His fingers knotted in my hair, pulling tight enough to sting but grounding me in the moment.

I gasped, my lips tingling as Damien’s fingers tightened in my hair, sending shivers down my spine. His eyes flickered between the road and me, a wild, predatory glint in them.

“Then focus on the road,” I managed to whisper, my voice shaky yet laced with defiance.

His smirk deepened, and I leaned back down, taking him into my mouth once more. The taste of him filled me as I slid my lips over his length, sucking him deeper. His groan was low and rough, vibrating through me as I moved.

“Fuck, Holly,” he growled, his grip tightening. “You love this, don’t you? Love being on your knees for me.”

I couldn’t respond verbally; my mouth was otherwise occupied. But the way my body responded to his words—my pulse racing, heat pooling in my core—gave him all the confirmation he needed.

“You’re such a dirty little slut,” he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Taking my dick so well. Do you like it when I talk to you like this?”

I hummed in response; the vibration making him hiss through his teeth. I increased my pace, hollowing my cheeks as I moved faster.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice strained. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

His words spurred me on, and I sucked harder, swirling my tongue around him. He cursed under his breath, his hips jerking slightly despite his attempt to keep the car steady.

“You’re gonna make me lose control,” he muttered, half-laughing but full of tension.

I didn’t let up, driven by the mix of power and submission that coursed through me. His breath hitched, and I could feel him getting closer, his muscles tensing beneath my hands.

“Fuck,” he rasped out again. “You’re gonna swallow every drop, aren’t you?”

His words sent a shiver through me as I nodded slightly in agreement.

“Good girl,” he whispered harshly. “My good little lamb.”

With one final groan, he climaxed in my mouth. His release was hot and sudden, and I swallowed every bit of it as he rode out his pleasure.

He let out a shaky breath as he came down from the high, fingers loosening their grip on my hair but not letting go entirely.

I sat up slowly, wiping the corner of my lip with the back of my hand, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. The rush of adrenaline still pulsed through me, a reminder of the wildness that had just transpired between us. Damien exhaled heavily beside me, his thumb dragging over my lower lip with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down my spine.

His pupils were blown wide, dark and intense against the pale blue of his irises. My heart raced at the sight of him, tension radiating from his body as if he were a coiled spring ready to snap.

“You owe me more than a blowjob, little lamb,” he said, his voice low and laced with challenge.

I smirked, trying to catch my breath while feigning nonchalance. “You’re impossible.”

Damien just returned my smirk, shifting gears as if we hadn’t just crossed a line neither of us could unsee. “And you like it.”

His confidence wrapped around me like a warm blanket, but I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. He always had this way of getting under my skin—of turning every interaction into a game where I didn’t quite know the rules. But deep down, I couldn’t deny that there was an electric thrill in it.

“Maybe,” I shot back playfully, unable to keep the laughter from bubbling up inside me. It was absurd how easily he could make me forget everything else.

He leaned closer, eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made it hard to think straight. “Maybe? You’re lying.”

I opened my mouth to respond but then hesitated. In that instant, everything shifted again. The gravity of what we had done loomed over us like a dark cloud threatening rain.

Damien pulled up to the venue and left his car at the valet. We stepped inside together, and my heart sank at the sight before me. The building loomed large, a grandiose palace that reeked of wealth and power. Ornate chandeliers sparkled from the high ceilings, casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors. Every detail screamed extravagance—the lush carpets, the intricate moldings, and the overwhelming scent of expensive perfume that clung to the air like a suffocating blanket.

Inside, a sea of perfectly tailored suits and lavish gowns swirled around us. Laughter echoed off the walls, but it felt hollow, each smile stretched too wide to be genuine. This place was everything I hated—filled with superficiality and empty charm.

Damien stiffened beside me as we stepped through the doors. I could feel his tension radiating off him like heat waves on a summer day. My heart raced as I caught sight of his father making his way toward us—a perfectly polished man whose presence commanded attention. Mr. Sinclaire exuded charm with every word he spoke, his smile dazzling yet devoid of warmth. His silver hair was impeccably styled, framing a face that appeared eternally youthful despite its sharp lines.

“Ah, Holly. You look lovely,” he said smoothly, eyes glimmering with a mix of appraisal and calculation.

I forced a polite smile in return, feeling my stomach twist slightly at the formality of it all. “Thank you, Mr. Sinclaire.”

His gaze shifted to Damien, and for a fleeting moment, I caught a flicker of disapproval behind his practiced smile—a subtle reminder that no matter how well we pretended otherwise, our relationship remained under scrutiny.

“You should be mingling, son,” he continued smoothly, dismissing me as if I were just another piece of furniture in this ostentatious display. “Making connections.”

Damien tensed at his father’s words but said nothing in response. I could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging between them like an invisible barrier—one that had been built over years of expectations and disappointments. I wondered how much longer we could keep pretending everything was fine when clearly it wasn’t.

I gripped Damien's arm before he could walk away, the tension between us palpable. I looked up at Mr. Sinclaire, my voice steady but firm. “Damien doesn’t need to play politics to prove his worth. He’s already the best player on the team.”

Silence fell around us, thick and heavy. I could feel the air crackling with unspoken words and unresolved issues, rippling between the three of us like a taut wire ready to snap.

Mr. Sinclaire exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing slightly as they assessed me, weighing my words against the expectations he held for his son. “I see you’re still as stubborn as ever, Holly.”

I smiled sweetly, a mask over my racing heart. “I learned from the best.”

He chuckled, but there was no amusement in it—only a hint of annoyance as he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving my heart pounding in the wake of our exchange.

I turned to Damien, expecting gratitude or maybe even relief. Instead, his expression was unreadable—a storm brewing behind those stormy blue eyes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly, almost as if he were wrestling with something deep inside him.

I lifted a brow, unwilling to back down now that I had stepped into this fight for him. “Yes, I did.”

His gaze flickered with something I couldn’t quite decipher—appreciation mixed with frustration—and then softened just enough for me to catch it. “Thank you.”

The words hung between us like a fragile bridge over a chasm filled with unresolved feelings and unspoken fears. My chest tightened at the weight of what we both knew was at stake—the very foundation of what we were trying to build together was still fragile and teetering on the edge.

As I searched his face for clarity or perhaps an inkling of what came next, I realized that no matter how many times we circled around each other in this strange dance of tension and attraction, we still had so much left unsaid—and so many battles yet to fight.

The party buzzed around me, a whirlwind of laughter and conversation, but all I felt was the weight of expectation. As the dean’s daughter, I had a role to play—one that required charm and poise, even as my heart raced with thoughts of Damien.

I mingled with guests, smiling politely at familiar faces while nodding along to discussions about hockey statistics and charity donations. The usual banter floated around me like background noise; I forced myself to participate, but my mind kept drifting back to him—the way his fingers had gripped my waist, the fire in his eyes when he looked at me.

After a few minutes of forced pleasantries, I lost sight of Damien. I scanned the room for him, feeling a knot form in my stomach. Where had he gone? He was supposed to be right here beside me, sharing in this awkward charade.

“Excuse me,” I murmured to a group of alumni before weaving through the crowd. Each step felt heavier as I searched for his familiar silver-blond hair or stormy blue eyes amidst the sea of tailored suits and shimmering gowns.

But no matter where I looked—across the grand ballroom or toward the buffet table—he was nowhere to be found. A sense of unease settled over me as I made my way toward the terrace doors.

I stepped outside into the cool evening air, hoping he might have escaped to breathe or find some solace from this suffocating environment. Instead, I found only silence.

Then something caught my attention: Mrs. Sinclaire was also missing.

A cold chill slithered down my spine at the realization. The two of them together was dangerous enough; alone? It sent alarm bells ringing in my head. Why were they both gone? Was this part of her scheme to drive us apart?

My heart raced as dread settled deep within me. I needed to find Damien and fast. But now there was a growing fear—a whispering voice telling me that maybe, just maybe, something more sinister lurked beneath the surface of their perfect smiles and polite conversations.

I pushed past well-dressed couples, their laughter and chatter fading into a distant hum. The elegant decor of the ballroom blurred around me, and all I could focus on was finding him.

Where are you, Damien?

Every instinct in me screamed I needed to get to him before it was too late. The way he had tensed when we talked earlier replayed in my mind like a warning bell. His mother’s voice echoed in my ears—her cold words, her piercing gaze—they made me feel like a pawn in a game I didn’t want to play.

The pieces began connecting in my mind. Damien had been on edge ever since Cooper returned, and it wasn’t just about family dynamics or old resentments. It was something deeper—a familiar darkness creeping back into his life that threatened to consume him whole again.

I pressed on, weaving between conversations and empty glasses, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me. This isn’t just about the charity dinner anymore. The realization hit hard: his mother had always been a trigger for him, an embodiment of everything that haunted his past.

And now she was alone with him.

I pushed through the crowd faster, anxiety coursing through my veins like wildfire. My thoughts raced ahead of me, desperate for answers I feared I wouldn’t find in time.

Each face I passed felt like a ghost—shadows of concern crossing their features as they watched me move with purpose. But I didn’t stop; I couldn’t stop until I found Damien.

Just as I reached the far side of the ballroom, an unsettling thought took root: What if she tried something with him again? What if she had already begun? What if I was too late to stop it?