I BELONG TO MY DAD’S BEST FRIEND

Don’t Touch What’s Hers.

ISLA’S POV

The scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee pulled me downstairs before my brain fully woke up.

Hunger gnawed at me sharper than the leftover ache between my thighs from last night’s restless tossing. I’d barely slept, replaying the way Caspian’s thick c**k had brushed so close, the possessive grip on my ass, that dark promise of punishment still echoing in my ears. My body had stayed wound tight, fingers slipping between my legs more than once in the dark, chasing relief that never quite satisfied.

I padded into the sleek, sunlit kitchen in the cream sweater and matching pants I’d pulled from the closet. Soft, expensive fabric that felt like a second skin.

Comforting.

Caspian stood at the stove, broad back to me, muscles shifting under a fitted black shirt as he flipped strips of bacon with practiced ease. The domestic sight hit me somewhere vulnerable.

Caspian Volkov. Owner of Volkov Enterprises. My father’s best friend. My ultimate Fascination.

He was cooking breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world and it looked like he did quite enjoy it.

He was humming an ancient 2000s song. I knew the tune so I joined in too.

He turned.

And everything shattered.

His storm-gray eyes landed on me and froze. The spatula stilled mid-air. His jaw tightened so hard I heard the faint grind of teeth. The easy morning warmth drained from his face, replaced by something cold and furious.

“What the f**k are you wearing, Isla?”

I startled, nearly dropping the glass of water I’d grabbed.

“What’s wrong with it? I saw it in the wardrobe last night… I didn’t bring any clothes, remember? Dad said you’d handle clothes and everything else, so I thought–”

His jaw clenched so hard his facial muscle jumped. Anger rolled off him in waves, hot and suffocating.

He cut me off with a harsh scoff that sliced straight through me. “That suite you slept in belonged to my ex-wife. Those clothes? Every single piece belonged to Tiana. You’re only a guest here, Isla. Nothing more. I let you use the room because it was the nicest one ready, but you do not touch anything that was hers. Ever again. Do you understand?”

Ex-wife.

It landed like a slap. Tiana. I’d almost forgotten she existed in the haze of everything else. Only a guest. The reminder stung deeper than it should have, carving out a hollow spot in my chest. I was twenty-three, arched on my back last night, dripping with need for him, and he still saw me as nothing more than a guest. Replaceable.

“So I’m allowed to sleep in her bed but not touch her clothes?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, laced with hurt I couldn’t try to hide if I wanted to. “How exactly does that work, Caspian?”

“Careful how you speak to me.” His tone dropped, low and warning. “I’m still your uncle.”

Uncle.

The word twisted like a knife. Of course. To him I’d always be the awkward girl running around his best friend’s house, the one he patted on the head and called “trouble.” Never the woman who had moaned against his bare c**k less than twelve hours ago. Never someone he could want.

“Fine.” I grabbed the hem of the sweater and yanked it over my head in one defiant motion. Cool kitchen air kissed my bare breasts instantly, n*****s tightening into hard peaks under his gaze. I didn’t cover myself. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of the pants and shoved them down my legs slowly, stepping out of the fabric until I stood completely naked in front of him.

His eyes darkened to near-black.

He didn’t look away. Not for a second.

That intense stare dragged over every inch of me…lingering on the swell of my breasts, the curve of my waist, the bare strip of skin between my thighs where I was already growing slick again from the sheer power of his attention. My pulse hammered in my throat. Heat flushed across my skin like wildfire. I felt exposed in the most delicious, terrifying way, every nerve ending alive under his scrutiny.

His chest rose and fell faster. The hand holding the spatula flexed hard at his side, knuckles whitening, as if he was physically restraining himself from closing the distance and taking what his eyes clearly hungered for. His throat worked on a swallow. The front of his pants visibly tightened.

“Isla… what the hell are you doing?”