Asena
I should leave.
That thought repeats itself over and over inside my head, even while I sit trapped between them on the bed, even while Caspian’s hand slides slowly along my waist, even while Zavian watches me with those calm, dangerous eyes as he strokes himself slowly over his sweatpants.
But I don’t move. Maybe because I am tired. Maybe because I am weak. Or maybe because being wanted this desperately is addictive after spending most of my life feeling unwanted.
The room is dim except for the golden light near the bedside table, soft shadows stretching across dark sheets and tangled limbs, and somehow the atmosphere feels heavier tonight, more intimate, more dangerous as though all three of us understand something silently without speaking it aloud.
“You’re thinking again,” Ca
