His laugh echoes from the bathroom, followed by the sound of running water. That smug bastard is probably standing under the hot spray right now, stroking himself and thinking about how he just left me high and dry—or rather, embarrassingly wet.
I need to get out of here. I need space to think about what the hell happened last night and why I’m not running for the hills right now.
Sliding off the bed, I wrap his navy sheet around my body, tucking it securely above my breasts. The expensive Egyptian cotton drags behind me like a queen’s train as I pad toward the door.
My legs are still a little shaky from last night—Lucien wasn’t exactly gentle, and the tenderness between my thighs reminds me with every step just how thoroughly I was fucked.
My bag is right where I dropped it yesterday in my rage, tossed haphazardly by the front door. I dig through it until I find my phone, wincing at the dozen missed calls from my mother. She can fuck right off. I’m not in the mood for whatever manipulative bullshit she’s cooking up today.
My stomach growls so loudly it practically echoes through the foyer. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, too caught up in the fury of discovering what went down at that council meeting. And then, well...I got distracted by a different kind of hunger.
I wander into Lucien’s massive kitchen, the cold marble floor sending shivers up my bare feet. Everything is sleek, modern, and I could care less. Just give me coffee.
I head straight for the coffee maker, the fancy Breville that probably cost more than St. Augustine tuition. Lucien might be an asshole, but he has good taste in kitchen appliances. After a few weeks here, I’ve mastered this thing—measuring the grounds, adjusting the settings for the perfect brew strength. The rich aroma fills the air as it starts dripping, and I inhale deeply, already feeling more human.
My stomach growls again, practically screaming for attention. I’m making food. I’ve been tiptoeing around this house like a guest for too long, even though I practically live here now. It won’t kill me to cook while he’s home even though I’ve been avoiding it.
Like I don’t notice the stocked fridge and any time I use something it gets replaced right away. As if a food fairy is keeping my favorite things. It looks like an organic grocery store took over this kitchen at any given moment.
I grab what I need and set it on the counter, still clutching the sheet around me with one hand. The sizzle of bacon hitting thehot pan is practically pornographic. My mouth waters as I crack eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a splash of cream I find in the door of the fridge.
“Look at you, playing house,” comes Lucien’s voice from behind me.
I don’t turn around, focusing on flipping the bacon. “I’m hungry, not playing anything. And you left me hanging upstairs, so cooking seemed like a better option than murder.”
He steps closer, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he smells like expensive soap and toothpaste. He’s wearing nothing but basketball shorts slung low on his hips, the bastard.
“I’ve never seen you cook before,” he says, his voice right at my ear now. His hand slides around my waist, fingers splaying across my stomach through the thin sheet. “It’s...domestic.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I mutter, trying to ignore how good his touch feels. “I’m just starving. Surprised you don’t have a camera in here to watch me while you’re gone.”
I pour the eggs into another pan, watching them start to set at the edges. Lucien doesn’t move away, his chest pressed against my back as he watches over my shoulder. His thumb traces lazy circles on my hip, and I can feel him hardening against my ass.
“Seriously?” I snort. “Again?”
“Can you blame me?” His lips brush against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my sheet, cooking breakfast. It’s like a fucking fantasy.”
I roll my eyes even as heat pools between my legs. “Your fantasies are pretty basic then.”
His hand tightens on my hip. “Trust me, there’s nothing basic about what I want to do to you right now.”
“Don’t you have an entire team to go terrorize?”
“Yes but you’re cooking me breakfast so they can wait,” he says, his voice dropping to that seductive rumble that makes my insides clench.
“Bold of you to assume I’m cooking enough for two,” I fire back, focusing on the eggs so he doesn’t see how his proximity affects me.
Before I can react, his hands grip my waist through the sheet. He lifts me effortlessly, spinning me away from the stove and planting my ass on the cold marble countertop. The sheet rides up my thighs as I gasp in surprise.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he drawls, moving between my spread legs, his hands gripping my bare thighs. “Are you eating an entire slab of bacon and six eggs yourself? I was unfamiliar with your game.”
I try to scowl at him but it’s hard when his thumbs are tracing little circles on the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. “Maybe I am. You don’t know my life.”
“I know you better than you think,” he murmurs, leaning in until his lips brush my ear. “Like how you’re pretending to be annoyed right now, but your pupils are dilated and your pulse is racing.”
“You’re going to be late,” I remind him, even as my body betrays me by leaning closer to him. The eggs are probably overcooking, but suddenly I could care less.
“Worth it,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to where the sheet has slipped lower, revealing the tops of my breasts. “I’d rather feast on you anyway.”
