Caspian’s POV

 

Caspian was losing his fucking mind. 

Three days. Three goddamn days since he’d kissed Lia in that garden. Since he’d tasted her mouth and felt her body pressed against his. Since she’d looked at him with those green eyes full of want and fear and something else he couldn’t name. 

Three days of pure torture. 

He’d tried to distract himself. Threw himself into work. Met with suppliers. Dealt with the Kozlov situation. Sat through boring meetings about territory and money and all the shit that usually kept him focused. But none of it worked. All he could think about was her. 

The way she’d kissed him back. The little sound she’d made when his hand slid up her thigh. The way her fingers had dug into his shoulders like she was afraid he’d disappear. 

Tuesday night, he’d given up trying to sleep. Lay in his bed staring at the ceiling, his body hard and aching. He’d reached down, wrapped his hand around himself, and thought about her. About that emerald dress pooled at her feet. About the black lace underneath. About the sounds she’d make when he finally got her in his bed again. 

He’d come hard, her name on his lips, and felt pathetic afterward. Like some teenager jerking off to fantasies instead of a grown man who could have any woman he wanted. 

Except he didn’t want any woman. He wanted her. Only her. 

Wednesday was worse. He’d been in a meeting with Dorian and some distributors when his phone buzzed. A report from one of his guys watching Lia. She was at a café with that friend of hers. Isla. Wearing jeans and a sweater. Smiling at something on her phone. 

Caspian had excused himself, gone to his office, and locked the door. Pulled up the surveillance photo his guy had sent. She looked so beautiful. So alive. Nothing like the sad, trapped woman he’d met that first night. 

He’d unzipped his pants right there at his desk. Stared at that photo while he stroked himself. Imagined her mouth on him instead of his hand. Imagined those green eyes looking up at him while she took him deep. Imagined the way she’d look when he made her come so hard she screamed his name. 

He’d spilled all over his hand, breathing hard, feeling like a goddamn animal. This wasn’t him. He didn’t obsess over women. Didn’t lose control. But Lia Whitmore had gotten under his skin and he couldn’t shake her loose. 

Thursday night was the worst. He’d been in the shower, hot water beating down on his shoulders, and all he could think about was Friday. About seeing her again. Touching her. Having her in his bed where she belonged. 

His hand had gone to his cock without conscious thought. He’d braced himself against the tile wall with one hand and worked himself with the other. Hard. Fast. Desperate. Thinking about her in that dress. About peeling it off her slowly. About tasting every inch of her skin. About being inside her again. Feeling her clench around him while she moaned his name. 

“Fuck, Lia,” he’d groaned. Water streaming down his face. His hand moved faster. “Fuck, baby, just like that.” 

He’d imagined her on her knees in front of him. That red lipstick smeared. Her mouth stretched around him. Those green eyes watering as she took him deeper. Gagging slightly but not stopping. Never stopping. 

The orgasm had hit him like a freight train. He’d come so hard he’d seen stars. His cum mixed with the shower water and washed down the drain. He’d stood there afterward, legs shaking, breathing like he’d run a marathon. 

Pathetic. He was absolutely pathetic. 

But he couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Couldn’t stop wanting her with an intensity that scared him. 

Friday finally arrived and Caspian spent the entire day on edge. Snapping at his people. Pacing his office like a caged animal. Dorian had taken one look at him and said, “She’s got you twisted up, boss.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Just saying. Never seen you like this over a woman.” 

“She’s different.” 

“Yeah, I can see that.” Dorian had leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “Are you sure about this? Getting involved with a married woman? With Julian Whitmore’s wife? That family has connections. Power. They could make things difficult.” 

“Let them try.” Caspian’s voice had been cold. Final. “She’s mine now. Anyone who has a problem with that can deal with me.” 

By six PM, he was back at the Azure Hotel. Suite B. The same room where it had all started. He’d had the place cleaned. Fresh sheets on the bed. Whiskey gone. Everything is perfect. He’d even ordered dinner. Pasta and wine. Something normal. Because tonight wasn’t going to be just sex. Tonight he needed more. 

He needed to know her. Understand her. Figure out why this woman had crawled into his head and refused to leave. 

At seven-thirty, he’d started pacing. What if she didn’t come? What if she’d come to her senses? Realized he was dangerous and staying away was smart? 

His phone buzzed at seven forty-five. One of his guys at the entrance. “She’s here, boss. On her way up.” 

Relief flooded through him. She was coming. She was actually coming. 

Caspian positioned himself near the door. Listening. Waiting. He heard the elevator ding. I heard footsteps in the hallway. Soft. Hesitant. Then they stopped right outside his door. 

He waited. Holding his breath. Wondering if she’d knock or turn around and leave. 

The knock came. Soft but firm. 

He opened the door immediately. And there she was. That fucking emerald dress. Red lips. Dark eyes. Looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. 

“You came,” he said. Trying to keep his voice steady even though his heart was hammering. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” 

Yes. He’d thought exactly that. “I hoped. But I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d stayed away.” 

She walked past him into the suite. He caught her scent. Jasmine and something sweet. It made him want to bury his face in her neck. Taste her skin. Mark her so everyone knew she was his. 

He closed the door. Locked it. They stood there looking at each other and the tension was thick enough to cut. 

“I know this is wrong,” she said. Her voice shook slightly. 

“I don’t care.” And he didn’t. Fuck wrong. Fuck consequences. He wanted her and nothing else mattered. 

“We barely know each other.” 

He moved closer. Slow. Giving her time to run if she wanted. But she didn’t run. She stood there, chin up, meeting his eyes. Brave. So fucking brave. 

“I know enough,” he said. “I know you’re trapped in a marriage that’s killing you slowly. I know you’re stronger than you think you are. I know that when you walked into my room that first night, something changed. For both of us.” 

“Caspian.” The way she said his name made his cock twitch. Need and want and something deeper wrapped up in two syllables. 

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this. About us. About what happens when we stop fighting it.” 

She couldn’t tell him that. He could see it in her eyes. She’d been thinking about it as much as he had. Obsessing. Wanting. Needing. 

“What do you want from me?” she whispered. 

“Everything.” He closed the distance. Cupped her face in his hands. Her skin was so soft. So warm. “I want everything, Lia. Every piece you’ll give me.” 

He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to throw her on that bed and fuck her until neither of them could remember their own names. But he forced himself to slow down. This wasn’t just about his need. This was about her. About them. About building something that might actually last beyond one night. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. 

She looked surprised. Like she’d expected him to just take what he wanted. “What?” 

“Food. Are you hungry? I had dinner sent up.” 

They sat at the table. I ate pasta. Drank wine. And talked. Really talked. She told him about working at the art gallery. About giving up her dreams to be Julian’s perfect wife. About feeling invisible for five years. 

Every word made him want to find Julian Whitmore and break every bone in his body. How could any man look at this woman and not see how incredible she was? How strong and smart and beautiful? 

“You could go back to it,” Caspian said. “Start your own gallery.” 

“With what money? Everything’s in Julian’s name.” 

“I have money.” The offer came out before he could stop it. 

She laughed. “I’m not taking your money, Caspian.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because then I’d owe you. And I don’t want to owe anyone anything ever again.” 

He understood that. The need for independence. For control. “What if it was a loan? You could pay me back.” 

“You’re a loan shark now?” 

“I’m whatever you need me to be.” The truth. Raw and honest. He’d be anything for her. Do anything. Give her anything she wants. 

“That’s dangerous,” she said softly. 

“I know.” 

She asked him to share something real. And fuck, he didn’t do that. Didn’t open up to people. But looking at her across the table, he wanted to. Wanted her to know him. The real him. Not the crime lord everyone feared. Just the man underneath. 

“I had a younger brother,” he said. The words hurt coming out. “Matteo. He was eighteen when he died.” 

He told her about the gang hit. About not being there to protect him. About the guilt that ate at him every day. She listened. Really listened. And when he was done, she reached across the table and took his hand. 

That simple touch meant more than any words could. 

They moved to the couch. Sat closer. Keep talking. About everything. Nothing. He told her things he’d never told anyone except Dorian. She told him about her parents. About feeling out of place in Julian’s world. 

Their fingers tangled together. His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist. He could feel her pulse racing. Could see the way her breath quickened when he looked at her. 

“Does it bother you?” he asked. “What I am. What should I do.” 

She thought about it. Really thought. “It should. But no. Maybe that makes me a terrible person.” 

“It makes you honest.” He pulled her closer. “Most people look at me and see a monster. You look at me and see a man.” 

“You are a man. A complicated one. But still just a man.” 

“Is that what you want? Just a man?” 

She turned to face him. Their faces were inches apart now. “I don’t know what I want anymore. Everything’s so messed up. But when I’m with you, it feels right. Like this is where I’m supposed to be.” 

Fuck. She was killing him. Every word out of her mouth made him want her more. Made him want to keep her. Own her. Make her his in every possible way. 

“Even though I’m dangerous,” he said. 

“Maybe because you’re dangerous.” She leaned closer. “Maybe I’m tired of being safe. Safe got me trapped in a loveless marriage. Safe made me invisible.” 

His hand came up to cup her face. “You’re not invisible to me. You’re all I see.” 

He kissed her. Slow. Tender. Pouring everything he couldn’t say into that kiss. She kissed him back. Her hands sliding into his hair. Her body melted against his. Perfect. She was absolutely perfect. 

When they pulled apart, breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his. “What are we doing, Caspian?” 

“I don’t know.” Honest. Always honest with her. 

“This can’t be a relationship. I’m married. You’re… you.” 

“I don’t do relationships anyway.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “I don’t have feelings. I take what I want and move on. That’s how it’s always been.” 

“But?” 

“But with you, it’s different. I can’t explain it. I don’t want to analyze it. I just know I’m not ready to let you go.” 

“What if Julian finds out?” 

“He won’t. Not unless you tell him. My people are careful.” 

She stayed until midnight. They kissed. Touched. But didn’t take it further. This night was about connection. About understanding each other. The sex could wait. I would wait. Until they were both ready to admit what this really was. 

When she finally left, Caspian stood at the window watching her car disappear into the night. His body ached. His cock was hard. He wanted her so badly it hurt. 

But he could wait. For her, he could wait. 

He went to the bathroom. Stripped off his clothes. I turned on the shower. Hot water beat down on his shoulders as his hand wrapped around himself. He closed his eyes and thought about her. About the way she’d looked tonight. About the sounds she’d make when he finally got her underneath him again. 

“Fuck, Lia,” he groaned. His hand moved faster. “Gonna make you mine. Gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name. Gonna make you scream for me.” 

He came hard. Her name on his lips. Cum painting the shower tiles. His legs shaking from the force of it. 

Soon. Soon he’d have her for real. And when he did, he was never letting her go.