“Good morning, Doll,” Knight purrs, the sound of his voice vibrating through his chest.
“Hey,” I croak, shifting my hand from his chest to rub at my eyes.
“It’s time to get up.”
“What time is it?” I groan, my body still heavy with sleep.
“It’s 0500 hours.”
“What? Oh-five-hundred what?” I slur, falling back to sleep while I talk.
“We get up at 0500 hours to work out. Breakfast is at 0700.”
“Go back to sleep,” I groan, flipping to my side and closing my eyes again.
Knight wakes me again, but I bat him away, letting myself easily fall back to sleep.
“Doll, breakfast is ready,” Knight says, his voice permeating my haze of sleep.
“Urgh,” I moan, just managing to force my eyelids apart.
“It’s time to get up, Octavia,” Knight growls, his tone stern and determined.
Blinking to clear my vision, I tip my head back so I can look at him properly. He’s shirtless, but his hair is wet, and he looks wide awake, not like he just opened his eyes.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“Breakfast is at 0700 hours.”
“Oh-seven-hundred hours?” I question grumpily. “Do you mean seven a.m.? Jesus, it’s seven in the morning?”
“Yes. Would you like one of my shirts to wear while we eat?” he asks, stroking his finger along my cheek, before cupping my face with his palm and leaning down to kiss me.
The kiss is soft and sweet, and I find myself melting into him, my palms flat against his chest while my body tries to merge into his.
“Come. Breakfast,” he urges as he pulls away from my mouth.
“It’s too early. Let’s go back to sleep, and we can eat in like three hours,” I groan, burying my face into the curve of his shoulder and closing my eyes again.
“Breakfast is at 0700 hours,” he says more intently, pushing one hand beneath my butt and somehow scooping me off the bed and sideways onto his lap. The hard evidence of his arousal pokes into my butt, but instead of grinding me against it or spreading my legs and filling my now wide-awake pussy with it, he stands with me in his arms and heads for the stairs.
“I’m naked,” I cry as he reaches the door.
Sighing with clear annoyance, he turns and marches us into the closet, grabbing a khaki shirt from the dresser. Gripping it in his fist, he jogs us down the stairs, places me on the stool at the counter, and tugs his shirt over my head, waiting for me to push my arms through the sleeves. The moment I’m free of his hold, I turn to look at him, scowling at his high-handed behavior, but instead of his usual neutral expression, he looks…perturbed.
Once he’s satisfied that I’m covered, he strides purposefully into the kitchen and returns carrying two plates of steaming food. Placing one in front of me and the other at the place setting beside me, he heads for the kitchen again, returning with two mugs of coffee.
“Eat,” he orders, standing beside me at the counter and immediately starting to shovel eggs into his mouth from the heap of fluffy yellow goodness on his plate.
Turning from him, I look down at the plate in front of me that’s filled with crispy bacon, eggs, and triangles of toast. It’s far more than I can eat, but it looks delicious.
“What time did you get up to make all of this?” I ask, slicing some bacon and slipping it into my mouth.
“I wake up at 0500 hours. I work out, then breakfast is at 0700 hours,” he tells me robotically, his attention on his plate as he eats from one side, working his way to the other.
“You’ve been up since five a.m.?” I question, shocked.
“Yes.”
