“Ryder.” His voice is a controlled rumble, too formal for someone whose cock plowed into my ass just last night.
I know that look. The same one a gambler gets after losing big—like they want to rewrite history, pretend it never happened. Dom’s building his walls back up brick by fucking brick right before my eyes.
“You sleep okay?” I ask, my fingers still tracing lazy patterns on his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the tension radiating off him. With Dominic, pushing only makes him retreat further.
His eyes dart to Liam, then Cora, confirming they’re still asleep. “Fine,” he says, the word clipped.
“You were fucking beautiful last night,” I murmur, my honest nature incapable of dancing around what happened. “Never seen anything hotter than you letting go like that.”
His eyes narrow, but I don’t back down. Instead, I lean forward slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away. When he doesn’t, I press my lips against his—gentle, nothing demanding.
For one terrible moment, he’s stone beneath my touch. Then something shifts, a nearly imperceptible softening. His lips move against mine, just barely, but it’s enough.
When I pull back, his eyes have lost that haunted look. He’s not completely comfortable, but the panic has receded.
“Coffee?” I offer, giving him the escape route I know he needs right now.
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Black. No sugar.”
I slide out of bed, careful not to wake Liam and Cora, and head to the kitchen. Dominic follows, leaning against the marble counter while I brew his coffee. The familiar routine grounds me—grinding beans, heating water, the rich aroma filling the space between us.
“Figured I’d make everyone breakfast,” I say, pulling eggs and butter from Dominic’s ridiculously organized fridge. “You want an omelet? Got some prosciutto and that fancy cheese you like.”
Dom takes his coffee, nodding. “That works.”
The TV clicks on automatically as part of Dom’s morning automation system, blaring a news segment. Mayor Pike’s face fills the screen, his voice droning about “family values” and his gubernatorial campaign.
“Jesus, I can’t escape that asshole even at breakfast,” I mutter, cracking eggs into a bowl. I whisk them with practiced strokes, adding cream and herbs. Cooking has always been my therapy—something real and tangible when everything else feels uncertain.
Dom stands frozen, staring at Pike’s image. The kitchen feels charged with everything we’re not saying. Last night changed us. The four of us crossed a line that we can’t uncross, and I know Dom’s wrestling with it.
I slide the first omelet onto a plate and hand it to him, deliberately brushing my fingers against his. “It’s okay, you know. Whatever you’re feeling about last night.”
His jaw tightens. “I don’t need reassurance.”
“Maybe I do,” I counter. “Maybe I need to know we’re okay after what happened.”
The bedroom door opens before he can answer. Cora emerges wearing Dom’s discarded shirt, hair tousled from sleep. She walks straight to the remote and switches the TV off, silencing Pike mid-sentence.
“Not in our home,” she says, then smiles at the sight of breakfast. “Smells amazing.”
Liam appears behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Morning,” he says, meeting Dom’s eyes over her head. Something passes between them—acknowledgment, acceptance.
I flip the omelet, hiding my smile. Our home. Not Dom’s penthouse anymore. Ours.
“Coffee’s fresh,” I say, gesturing with my spatula. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
Liam pads into the kitchen in Dom’s black silk robe, his hair still damp from a quick shower. The robe hangs open just enough to show a strip of tanned skin down his chest. He heads straight for the coffee, moving with that easy confidence that makes my stomach flip.
“Morning, counselor,” I say, sliding an omelet onto a plate for him. “Sleep well?”
“Better than I have in years,” he admits, accepting the plate with a smile.
Cora follows behind him. She’s fastened only the middle few buttons on the shirt she’s wearing, leaving it gaping dangerously at her chest. No bra underneath—the morning chill makes that obvious.
“Coffee?” Dom asks her, already reaching for a mug.
“God, yes.” She accepts it gratefully, leaning against the counter.
