The spa was warm, dimly lit, the scent of sandalwood and cedar thick in the air. Felicia stood before him, her robe already discarded, revealing smooth, bare skin beneath the flickering glow of candlelight. She was stunning—a perfect picture of submission wrapped in indulgence.
Caspian sat comfortably in the high-backed chair near the massage table, rolling his cuffs as he studied her. His movements were slow, deliberate, a calculated contrast to the way she stood, her breath just a little uneven, anticipation coiling in her muscles.
“Turn around,” he murmured.
Felicia smirked but obeyed, pivoting too slowly, drawing it out. Teasing. She always had a flair for dramatics. But tonight, there was something else. A subtle sharpness beneath the act. Caspian’s gaze roamed over her—assessing,
