I WANT HER
1103 Words
Adrian's POV
“I better go check on the girls.”
Felix left the room.
I stayed seated, the silence louder than before, my fears still there but no longer unchallenged, thanks to Felix.
For a while, I didn’t move. Just sat there, staring at nothing, replaying the evening in fragments. Clara at the table, the way she barely touched her food. The way she smiled politely but looked tired, like she was running on pure adrenaline and fear of disappointing us.
Eventually, I stood.
The villa felt different at night. It was quieter, softer. Like it was holding its breath for me. I walked toward the movie room, telling myself I was only going to check if everything was fine.
Nothing more, nothing dangerous. I repeated it several times in my head.
By the time I got to the movie room, she was alone.
Clara was sprawled on the couch, her shoes were abandoned on the floor like she’d given up halfway through taking them off. One leg was tucked under her, the other stretched out awkwardly. The movie was still playing, but she clearly wasn’t watching it.
Her wine glass tilted dangerously in her hand like the wine was about to spill.
I stopped at the doorway, taking in the scene before me like I was trying to burn it into my memory.
She looked… relaxed and refined. Nothing like the version of her I saw every morning in outfits that showed off her lucius curves.
I cleared my throat.
Her head lifted slowly, eyes were unfocused at first, then lighting up when she saw me clearly.
“Oh,” she said, smiling wide. “You’re came.”
“It’s late,” I said. “You should be asleep.”
She squinted at me. “You sound like my dad.”
“I am not your—.”
“I know,” she laughed softly. “You may be old, but definitely not my Dad.”
She was deliberately teasing me, something Clara wouldn't do on a regular day, further proving my point about her being drunk.
“Clara,” I warned.
She grinned. “See? You sound like a dad trying to scold his teenage daughter who comes home drunk.”
“I don’t,” I said evenly.
“You do,” she sighed dramatically. “You would make a really, really hot dad,” she said, biting her lips.
Despite myself, my lips twitched.
She noticed immediately.
“You smiled,” she accused, pointing at my face.
“I did not.”
“You did,” she insisted. “I saw it. Tiny smile. Very tiny. Like this.” She tried to demonstrate with her fingers and failed completely.
I shook my head. “Stand up. Let’s get you to bed.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“You are.”
“Okay,” she nodded. “But I’m aware of everything going on.”
She tried to stand. Tried being the key word. She swayed, grabbed my arm without hesitation, fingers curling into my sleeve like she’d done it a hundred times before.
Her grip tightened.
“You’re solid,” she murmured. “Like… annoyingly solid.”
“Careful,” I said. “You’ll fall.”
“I won’t,” she said confidently, immediately stumbling.
I steadied her.
She looked up at me then, suddenly serious.
“You’re mean to me sometimes.”
The words landed heavier than I expected, making my heart squeeze uncomfortably.
“I’m not mean.”
“You are,” she said quietly. “You don’t yell anymore though, but you do this thing where you look at me like I’m about to mess up. Like I’m one step away from disappointing you.”
“That’s not true.” I replied with a slight frown on my face. How could she think that when all I seem to think about is how hot she is and how I'd like to bend her over my desk? Every day in the office I feel my restraint slipping.
“It feels true,” she whispered.
I didn’t have an answer for that.
We walked slowly toward her room, her leaning into my side, steps uneven but determined. She kept talking, rambling, her thoughts spilling out without filters.
“You know I’m good at my job,” she said. “Right?”
“You are,” I replied, my jaw tightening because I'd never meant to make her feel incompetent.
“And I work hard.”
“You do.” I replied stiffly again.
“And I don’t send pictures to my boss usually.”
“Clara—” I started as the image resurfaces in my head. I know Benny had something to do with it.
“That was a joke,” she said quickly. “Mostly.”
I glanced down at her. She was smiling again, eyes glassy but playful, making me smile a small smile.
At her door, she turned to face me.
“Stay please,” she said simply.
“Just until I sleep,” she added, softer now. “Please Adrian.”
Hearing her call me by my name for the first time, it sent blood to my groin.
I hesitated a bit, then nodded.
Once inside, she climbed onto the bed and, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she immediately reached for me, fingers finding my hand again.
“You’re not so scary,” she murmured. “You just need a little bit of love.”
The word lodged in my chest.
She squeezed my hand. “You should smile more. You’d be nicer.”
“I am nice.”
She hummed. “Debatable.”
Minutes passed. Her breathing slowed. Her grip loosened but didn’t let go.
I stayed longer than I should have.
At some point, sleep claimed me too.
I woke early, too aware of how close she was, she wiggled her ass, brushing over my hardness. I froze, then carefully untangled myself without waking her.
She didn’t wake, just turned and grabbed the pillow I used, clearly thinking I was still there.
I looked at her one last time, she looked peaceful and unaware. I realized she trusted me more than I thought she ever could.
I left the room quietly, heart heavy but clear.
This wasn’t something I could keep pretending wasn’t happening.
I was done running.
If wanting her made me reckless, so be it.
If chasing her meant bending rules, inventing excuses, rewriting contracts like Benny suggested, I would do it.
I was ready.
And this time, I wouldn’t stop myself.
- Writer
