Danae’s POV
A black Maybach waited close by, all sleek lines and dark glass.
Caspian carried me to it as though I weighed nothing.
When he settled me on the leather back seat, he supplied the rest of his answer with one quiet word.
“This.”
Then he kissed me again.
The urgency in his mouth left little room for thought.
His hands slipped under my shirt, moving over my skin, and I trembled at how fiercely I wanted him.
It was almost frightening, that response.
Yet through the haze, one practical concern refused to disappear.
I put my hands against his chest and pressed lightly.
“Wait.
We haven’t got protection.
I don’t want to get pregnant, Caspian, and I don’t want to take those pills again.”
A sharp light crossed his blue eyes.
“You want to stop?
Now?”
My body wanted something else entirely.
I nodded anyway.
“Yes.
I need to think this through.”
He said nothing as he reached toward the front of the car.
The glove compartment opened; he took out a box of condoms and showed it to me.
Unopened.
The seal was still intact.
I lifted a brow, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
“Do you bring women back here so often that you keep supplies?”
The question startled me almost as much as it seemed to amuse him.
Why should I care?
His smile turned unmistakably wolfish.
“Easy, little deer.
I bought them a few days ago, with you in mind.
In case we crossed paths again.”
My face burned.
“You were planning for this?”
“Hoping,” he corrected softly.
“There’s a difference.”
His mouth returned to mine, and his fingers began working the buttons of my blouse.
The last of my sensible arguments slipped away.
I reached for his tailored shirt, wanting the barrier gone, wanting to touch him without fabric between us.
He pulled the shirt off.
For a moment I could only look at him—the strength of his chest, the clean definition of muscle, a body with the polished perfection of something carved.
Then my trembling hands moved across it, following the firm contours beneath my palms.
My bra gave way beneath his practiced fingers.
His hands replaced it, warm against my breasts, and his voice roughened.
“Even more beautiful than I pictured.”
Beyond the tinted windows, the world felt remote.
Inside, the leather and the narrow space enclosed us, our warmth beginning to mist the glass.
Anticipation made my hands unsteady when I reached for his belt.
The buckle was cold against my fingertips.
Its small clink sounded startlingly loud, as though that ordinary sound had made what we were doing suddenly real.
I drew the belt loose and glanced up.
I needed a little courage; his unwavering attention made finding it harder.
His eyes were dark, his mouth curved in the faintest smirk.
While he watched, I struggled with the button of his trousers, clumsy with the same urgency that made me unwilling to stop.
After that, undressing became a hurried, awkward business.
In the dim streetlight seeping through the windows, I felt painfully exposed without my clothes.
Exposed, and exhilarated.
My cheeks stayed hot under his gaze.
Caspian looked over me with undisguised hunger before opening a condom.
The wrapper tore in his hands.
I watched him roll it onto his erection, the confidence of the familiar movement making my stomach tighten.
Nerves and longing tangled until I could hardly tell one from the other.
Then I moved onto his lap.
My knees pressed near the edges of the seat as I straddled him.
He steadied my hips, giving me something firm to trust while I lowered myself.
A gasp escaped me when he entered me.
For an instant, all my awareness narrowed to the contact between our bodies.
It was that startling sense of fitting together, of something settling into place, that tightened my chest.
The warmth and fullness of him, the closeness enforced by the back seat—I felt every part of it as I began to move.
Tentatively at first.
Then with greater confidence as pleasure answered each small shift.
“God.
You’re perfect.”
The words came out as a rough growl against my neck, his breath hot on my skin.
I held his shoulders, fingers tightening, and moved more quickly.
The heat gathering inside me drew me onward until thought gave way to rhythm.
My nails pressed into him as I stopped fighting what I wanted and let the pleasure carry me.