“Sit.” He gestures to a bar stool before the marble island.
I hover in the doorway, arms folded. “I need a shower first.”
“No.” He sets a bowl of strawberries on the counter, then yoghurt, muesli, and milk. The coffee machine bubbles behind him, and he rests his hands on the counter. “Breakfast first, then we’ll see. You want eggs?”
I shake my head but my stomach growls at the question. When did I last eat? I threw my sandwich on the lawn for the birds when I got home and only picked at my tea. Apart from two glasses of wine and my nightly cocoa, that was it.
I sit, pulling the hem of my shirt, the wooden seat cold underneath me.
“You seem on edge,” he says with a lazy grin.
“I’m fine.” I arch my eyebrows. “Just don’t complain later that you wasted a turn for nothing.”
“It wasn’t for nothing.” His lips drift closer, making mine pulse with anticipation. “And although I very much enjoyed my breakfast, it doesn’t count.”
“You came. That counts.”
He rolls his eyes. “I jerked off. If we’re adding that into the mix, I used up your teeny tiny quota on the first day.”
Before I can argue further, a strawberry pushes against my lips and I bite into its juicy flesh. He lifts another one. “I can feed myself.”
His arms close over my chest, hugging me back against his torso. “But today, you don’t need to.”
From the moment Damien first confronted me, I’ve felt attraction, my desires practically rolling around in his red flags, despite how much my common sense protested.
But it’s nothing like this touch-starved comfort, his warmth bleeding into my back, arms tight around me.
And I no longer believe his self-diagnosis. Last night, those emotions he claims not to have were fully evidence. Lost in panic, he showed his hand.
I part my lips and he slides the strawberry inside, fingers still brushing my lips as I bite down. Juice floods my mouth, sweet and slightly tart. He still hasn’t withdrawn his fingers, and my lips close around them, sucking them clean without thinking.
“Good girl.” He takes the seat beside me, pupils expanding despite the lightness of the room. “Another?”
His eyes are ravenous when I accept the food without further protest. My body hums with tension, the ache between my legs growing more insistent with each passing minute.
“You look good like this.” He feeds me a grape, his fingers lingering at my lips. “All soft and obedient, letting me take care of you.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
“Always.”
His hands suddenly circle my waist and lift me onto the marble island. The cold surface makes me gasp, shocking against my overheated skin. My fingers scramble for purchase but he’s already between my legs, spreading them wide.
“Arms up.”
My eyes flicker to the enormous windows. Anyone could be outside, staring in.
“You should worry less about who’s outside, and more about who’s right in front of you.” Damien’s baritone gruffness lends the words a delightful menace. “Now arms up”—his fingers find my shirt hem, bunching the fabric—“or I’ll tear it off.”
I raise my arms and he pulls the shirt over my head in one smooth motion, leaving me completely naked, perched on the breakfast island like an offering.
“Thought we might take a walk later,” he says, softer than usual but still carrying a distinct undercurrent of authority. “Explore the native bushland nearby. Maybe go for a swim. There’s a set of steps leading down to a private beach. Bit of a killer walking back up, but there’s always the temptation of nude sunbathing.”
“Yeah.” I flash my pale arm before his eyes. “Not really on my radar, even with copious amounts of sunscreen.”
“In which case, we can stick around the indoor pool. My dad’s overseas, so we’ve got the place to ourselves. Lie back.”
My spine protests the cold stone, and my nipples peak instantly. I brace myself on my elbows, but he pushes me flat. My head tilts back, hair spilling over the edge of the island.
