I giggle a little, titillated. “You two are animals.”
“We have references,” Brent winks, still paging through the business section. But I catch a tiny upturn at the corner of his mouth.
The coffee machine is one of those industrial, barista-grade monsters. James pours a mug and adds a huge dollop of cream before sliding it across the counter to me in a perfect, practiced move.
“Thank you,” I say, and my voice wobbles.
He leans forward, still shirtless, and lowers his tone. “Sleep okay, sweetheart? Not too worn out?”
I nod, unable to look at either of them. “Great. Actually, amazing. I’ve never… I mean, not like that.”
James’s eyes glint naughtily. “There’s more bacon, if you want. Or should I say sausages?”
“I want both,” I giggle naughtily in return.
I hop up onto a stool, trying not to flash anyone in my compromised state. The stool is too tall, my men’s shirt long,but also too short at the same time, and I’m sure they caught a glimpse of wet pussy, but no one comments.
Brent finally looks at me, gaze measured. “Did you see the file?”
“I saw it.”
He folds the paper, sets it aside. “Do you want to look at it together, or take some time by yourself first?”
I shake my head. “Let’s wait. I want breakfast first.”
James brings over a plate, loaded with eggs, bacon, and a perfect square of toast. He sets it in front of me with a flourish. “Eat, sweetheart. We kept you up all night, so you need the nutrients.”
The three of us are silent for a moment, just the clink of cutlery and the steady drip of the coffee machine. I don’t know what to say, or how to act. I’m used to being on edge, always performing. Here, in this absurdly beautiful kitchen, I feel weirdly safe. Maybe it’s the carbs. Maybe it’s the afterglow. Maybe it’s the fact that, for once, I got exactly what I wanted and it didn’t destroy me.
I take a bite of bacon and almost moan with bliss. “This is incredible,” I say with my mouth full.
Brent grins. “Trade secret. Also, ten pounds of butter.”
James watches me eat, blue eyes unreadable, but there’s a softness there I haven’t seen before. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe he’s just less of an asshole when he’s not in a suit.
I finish my food too fast, and then cradle my mug in both hands. “So, what now?”
James shrugs. “That’s up to you, baby girl.”
Brent leans forward, elbows on the island. “We’re not monsters, Marnie. You can go home whenever you want. Or stay.”
“Or stay?” I repeat, blinking.
James’s gaze is warm, then a little wicked. “We have more coffee.”
“And more bacon,” Brent adds.
I look from one to the other, the night replaying in flashes behind my eyes—their hands on me, the heat, the way I said yes to everything and didn’t regret a thing. The way I moaned and squealed their names as they pushed monster cocks into my tight holes, going slow but also insanely determined and aroused.
I square my shoulders. “I’ll stay,” I say in a mostly-normal voice.
James laughs, low and amused, and the sound winds through the kitchen, up through the glass, out into the city.
Brent smirks and shakes out the paper. “Good. Because we’re not done with you yet, sweetheart. There’s still a long ways to go.”
A thrill runs down my spine as I sip my coffee, smiling, and let myself imagine a world where this is normal. Where I wake up in sunlight and someone makes me breakfast, where secrets are just another thing you share over eggs.
In the gleam of the countertop, my reflection looks wide-eyed, wild-haired, but most of all:alive. I’ve never looked better.
