“Did you sleep at all?” I ask, turning on the faucet.
She stands limp and doesn’t respond.
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” I slowly lift the hoodie above her head along with her pajama top before gently pulling the tie from her hair. It falls heavy around her shoulders, and at the sight of it, I get hard.
She’s sleep-deprived, shell shocked, and seems defeated, and I hate it. I want her fight, but her game is off. And that’s on me.
“I had to come to you ready, Cecelia. I had to. Too many people depend on me. I had too many plates spinning. I had to plan my exit strategy and get my head together. I promise you, somehow I’ll make you understand.”
“I doubt it.”
“Those lies I told you when you were fighting so hard, they were my last,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple as I unclasp her bra. Unable to help myself, I bend and pull a nipple into my mouth, and instantly her fingers tangle in my hair, the breath leaving her as she rips at me, full of resistance.
Fighting her, I draw her other nipple into my mouth and suck, flicking my tongue over her silky flesh before lifting my eyes to hers. Her chest pumps with rapid breaths as she watches me, rapt but furious.
“I need you,” I whisper before again pulling half her breast into my mouth, drawing a soft cry from her. Her chest glistens when I release her, her body becoming lax as I hold her firmly in place. “I need you, Cecelia. I need to make you come. I need to feel you stretch around my cock. I need to hear my name coming from your lips. But I need you more.”
Kneeling, I tug down her pajama bottoms before slowly dragging her panties to join them on the floor. Eye level with her pussy, I press my lips to the top of it and inhale her scent, cock throbbing, begging to be set free.
Unable to handle the need for a taste, I run my tongue along her slit as she digs her nails into my scalp, a choppy moan leaving her. I revel in the burn of the pain she’s inflicting, because she’s fighting, but not nearly hard enough. I pull away and gaze up at her. Her return stare full of blue fire.
Neither of us can fight our draw, and we have never been able to, no matter how at odds we were. But I need more than her body’s submission to act.
Standing, I run my thumbs along her jaw before briefly kissing her. She trembles with want. Her eyes imploring, while her lips refuse to move, to ask for what she needs, and it’s fucking agony pulling away.
“Shower. I’ll make breakfast. We’ll talk more.”
She nods, her gaze losing focus, to another time—a time where, no doubt, I’ve hurt her because that’s all I’ve ever done.
“No one hates me more for what I’ve done to you, than me,” I admit before I fully release her and leave her in a room full of steam.
She’s been on autopilot since she got out of the shower, mindlessly sipping her coffee while feeding Beau her bacon. It’s not the breakfast I pictured we’d have. But I set my hopes high.
“Ask me anything,” I urge from where I’m seated at her four-seat kitchenette. She bites into her French toast and downs her coffee before I shove the first bite in my mouth.
Our eyes meet as I cough it down while a faint smile twists her lips.
“Putain,” Fuck. I grab her plate and mine and walk them over to the sink while continuously trying to clear my throat.
She speaks up behind me with a little mirth in her tone. “It was a good effort.”
“I’ve never cooked with cinnamon.” I shove the crisped bread into the garbage disposal and click it on. The slide of her chair alerts me to what I knew was coming. Shutting off the sink, I turn and grip the counter behind me. “You can’t take a day?”
She slowly shakes her head, and I accept the lie.