CHAPTER 73 – CASPIAN
At home, Antonio kicks off his shoes and then just stands, uncertain and on edge. I set my keys down.
He watches me, his posture a question I’ve answered countless times and will keep answering whenever he needs me to.
I can tell he’s still hurting. Still comparing himself to others. Not realizing it is the other way around—he’s the standard I measure everything against.
“Come here.”
He comes, but there’s a strategy in it, in the way his mouth curves in promise. In the way his hands slide up my chest.
Rising to his toes, he brushes his lips against mine, slowly and teasingly—knowing exactly what that does to me.
I feel myself grow heavy with desire, the physical need for him tightening low in my body and threatening to override my better judgment.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he breathes, mouth sliding down my jaw, teeth grazing skin.
I let him continue for a while, standing like a cliff against a current. I don’t reciprocate, which only makes him speed up.
His tongue slips into my mouth, his body pressing more insistently against mine.
I slide one hand to his jaw and still him there, my thumb pressing firmly against his chin.
“Look at me.”
My voice is rougher than I intended, but he’s pushing all my buttons at once.
He doesn’t want to look. He tries one more kiss instead, hoping I’ll abandon the command.
I don’t.
“Antonio.”
Reluctantly, he looks up. His eyes are brimming with insecurity.
“There’s no emergency. No rush. I’m right here,” I say, letting my voice drop into that low, steady register that anchors him the best. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know,” he says. The words trip over one another. “I thought maybe we could—”
He tries to kiss me again, but I won’t let him hide.
“You thought if you kept me busy, we wouldn’t have to talk about how hurt you feel.”
He stills. His fingers tighten in my shirt, bunching the fabric.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were,” I say gently.
He pivots, looking vulnerable and soft.
He cycles through his tactics like he’s testing locks, looking for the one that will open me. God, it’s hard not to let him get away with it when he looks at me like I’m the sun he orbits.
His entire world.
He also knows he’s the only one who can shift my world off its axis—and he shows no fucking mercy when he tries.
His eyes shine with unshed tears.
“I want you so much. I want to make you feel good.”
“I already feel good. I always do when I’m with you.”
My hand slides to the back of his neck.
“You don’t have to be afraid of losing me. You can’t lose me.”
His lips part, but he’s still fighting.
“I’m not afraid,” he insists. “I’m right here. I want you.”
His hands slip under my shirt.
He really doesn’t want to talk, which is all the more reason we have to.
Gently, I stop him, pinning his wrists with one hand.
“You want to make sure I won’t leave,” I correct.
Something in him cracks. Just a little, but it happens, and he hates the exposure.
When his voice wobbles now, it’s real.
He tries to smooth it back into something sultry, but he’s becoming exhausted.
“Maybe I want you so much I can’t think clearly.”
Oh, my clever, vulnerable boy.
I lean closer.
“I know what you’re doing, but Antonio—you never have to audition for me. I’m never going to choose anyone else. It’s not even a choice. You’re inevitable.”
His breath stutters.
I guide him backward until he’s sitting on the couch. I sit and pull him into my lap, wrapping him in the absolute certainty of my presence.
One more time, he tries to offer heat instead of admitting he’s hurt. He rolls his hips, eyes closed, seeking a way to end the conversation.
I want him so damn much my vision is blurring, but I stop him.
“Not like this.”
I smooth his hair back.
“No bargains. No negotiations. I’m already yours.”
“But you weren’t always,” he whispers.
Tears cling to his lashes.
“I’ve been yours since the second I saw you.”
“I know I’m difficult,” he says next. “You should be upset with me.”
“You’re not difficult and I’m not upset. I’m happy.”
“How can you say that!” He looks wrecked. “I’m too much!”
“You’re not too much. You’re perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He presses his face in the crook of my neck.
“I don’t want to share you . Ever.”
“You don’t have to,” I promise. “Ever.”
I slide my hands under his shirt, palms warm against his skin, grounding him inch by inch.
“There isn’t a single thing about you I don’t love with all my heart,” I tell him.
“Your passion, your wit, your humor. Your warmth. Your smile. The way you kiss. I love it all.”
The fight drains out of him. His weight in my lap changes. He’s no longer strategizing or bargaining. Just trusting.
Leaning into my touch, his mouth parts on a shaky breath and his fingers curl in my shirt.
The look he gives me is pure, honest surrender, and heat rushes into me.
He looks at me like that—open, trusting, devastating—and my control falters.
For one reckless second, I want to flip him onto his back, push his knees against his chest and forget patience.
I want to forget every goddamn thing except the hotness of him around my cock when I slam into him.
At this moment, he trusts me completely, and that is the most dangerous, effective way to seduce me.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to slow down.
I smooth my thumb over his cheek, anchoring us both. He blinks, dazed.
“I love how you look when you’re close,” I continue, my voice rougher now.
He shudders.
“I love how you sound when you come. It’s the most beautiful fucking sound.”
His breathing turns ragged.
“Breathe with me,” I tell him. He does. Shaky at first, then steadier.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “I’m so proud of you. My good boy.”
“Your good boy,” he repeats, eyes half-closed. “Will I always be that?”
“You will always be that.”
“Even when I walk away?”
“Even then. I’ll always catch up with you, sweetheart. I won’t let you drift far.”
He nods. His whole body shivers when tension leaves him.
Only then—when he’s not afraid of losing me—do I let the pleasure begin.