I need to be patient.
With a quiet exhale, I straighten, pulling. I take the sushi platter and head back downstairs, pulling out my phone to call the doorman.
“Mr. Alexander?”
“I over-ordered sushi. Do you want some?”
The man’s grateful response is immediate, and I don’t waste time handing it over before heading to the gym. I need to clear my head.
For the next two hours, I lose myself in the rhythm of my workouts. Lifting and then boxing. My fists collide with the bag in sharp, precise hits, but it’s not enough.
Lucas is still in my head. I want to possess him. Claim him.
But for the first time in my life, I’m hesitating.
***
The eggs sizzle softly in the pan, the scent of butter and toast thick in the air. I plate the food neatly, pouring coffee into two mugs.
I feel him before I see him.
The weight of his gaze prickles along my skin, dragging my attention upward. Lucas stands hesitantly at the entrance of the kitchen, barefoot. His blonde curls are a mess, sleep-heavy, and his lips are slightly parted as if he’s unsure whether to speak. But my eyes drop lower.
The mark I left on his neck is there, deep and visible, a perfect imprint of my teeth against his pale skin, and a pulse of satisfaction rolls through me.
He catches my stare and shifts uncomfortably, his fingers brushing over the bruised skin. His cheeks darken, the color creeping to his ears.
I smirk.
“You sleep for a long time,” I say, my voice low, smooth. “Good morning.”
His blush deepens, and I watch as he presses his lips together, flustered. “I-I was tired.”
I don’t respond, just raise an eyebrow before turning back to the food. A few beats of silence pass before he clears his throat.
“I, um… saw a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. It was sealed.” A pause. “I used it. Is that okay?”
I nod. “Have a seat. Breakfast is ready.”
He hesitates. He always does, as if he’s unsure of his place, unsure of me. But after a moment, he moves forward, settling onto one of the stools at the counter.
I slide a plate in front of him, full and balanced—eggs, bacon, toast, fruit. I place a cup of coffee beside it, watching his fingers brush against the warm ceramic.
“…Thanks,” he mumbles, eyes lowered as he starts to eat.
I stand arms crossed, my gaze locked onto him. Watching. Always watching. The way his shoulders stay slightly tense, the way his throat moves when he swallows. Halfway through his meal, he suddenly stops. Looks up at me. His eyes widen slightly.
“The sushi…”
“Gave it away,” I say with a shrug.
His lips part, his brows pulling together in an expression that almost looks guilty.
“Oh. Sorry…”
I shake my head, brushing it off.
“What kind of sushi roll do you like?”
