Heated Breakfast
Morning sunlight burns through the blinds, cruel and exposing, like it knows what I did. What I took.
She’s sitting across from me at the kitchen island, bare legs tucked under the oversized T-shirt she threw on like it could hide the bruises I left on her throat, the red marks blooming along her thighs.
It doesn’t. My eyes keep dragging back to them, my body remembering the way she clenched and begged and broke for me.
“Coffee?” she asks Kate, her voice just a little too high, a little too careful.
Kate yawns, stumbling in barefoot, hair a tangled mess. She doesn’t notice at first. She never does. But then she glances between us, and something flickers in her eyes—curiosity, suspicion.
“You two are… up early,” she says, grabbing a mug.
I force my mouth into a flat line, the way I always do when I want people to stop looking too closely. “Habit,” I answer. My voice sounds rough, dangerous, even to my own ears.
She looks at me for too long. Then at her. Then back at me.
Fuck.
I take a slow sip of my coffee, pretending it doesn’t taste like guilt, pretending I can’t still smell her perfume clinging to my shirt, pretending my cock isn’t hard under the table because all I can think about is bending her over the counter with my daughter standing right there.
“You’re quiet this morning,” Kate teases her.
She laughs too quickly, too forced. “I didn’t sleep much.”
My hand tightens around the mug, knuckles white. I want to silence her, to remind her who owns this excuse. Instead, I keep my face blank, unreadable, the same mask I’ve worn in boardrooms, courtrooms, fucking battlefields.
Kate leans an elbow on the counter, narrowing her eyes. “Not like you.”
I watch her shift under the weight of her best friend’s stare, biting her lip. I want to bite it for her, drag it between my teeth until she gasps my name again.
No.
Not here. Not now.
“I’m fine,” she says quickly, too quickly.
Kate doesn’t believe it. I can tell by the way her gaze lingers, suspicious, like she’s piecing together a puzzle she doesn’t even know exists yet.
My blood runs cold and hot all at once.
I should be terrified.
I should stop this before I burn every bridge left between me and my daughter.
But when her eyes meet mine over the rim of her mug, wide and guilty and still begging me without a word.
All I can think is: mine.
Kate props her chin in her hand, mug steaming in front of her, eyes narrowing as if she’s watching a chess game only she doesn’t know the rules to.
“You’re both… weird this morning,” she says finally. “Like… off.”
My jaw works as I swallow down the curse I want to spit. Off? Christ. She doesn’t know the half of it.
“I’m always the same,” I say flatly, but I feel her—my girl—shift in her seat beside me, thighs brushing together under the table like she’s trying to hide the soreness I gave her.
My cock twitches traitorously, and I grip the edge of the counter so I don’t reach under and spread her open right here in front of Kate.
She laughs too fast again. “Maybe I’m just tired. Kate dragged me around all day yesterday.”
Kate leans back, studying her with lazy suspicion, but her eyes flick to me for half a second before returning to her. “You never complain about my plans.”
“I’m not complaining.” She forces a smile. Too sweet, too strained. “It was fun.”
Kate stares at her. Then at me. Then back at her.
My stomach knots, but I keep my face cold stone.
Kate tilts her head. “So… what did you two get up to while I was asleep? You’re both so chipper for people who were up late.”
My pulse slams.
The silence stretches too long.
I hear the faint tick tick tick of the wall clock like a countdown to exposure.
“I read,” I lie smoothly, sipping my coffee. My voice is iron. Unshakable. “She went to bed.”
But my girl’s hand twitches on the counter. Just the slightest tremor, a giveaway. My eyes cut to hers, hard, sharp, warning: Don’t.
Kate narrows her gaze. “Right…”
Her suspicion blooms, filling the space like smoke. My daughter—my innocent little girl who still thinks the worst thing I do is work too late — is looking at me like she doesn’t quite recognise the man sitting across from her.
And she shouldn’t. Because I’m not a father at this table. I’m the monster who ruined her best friend while she slept.
“Anyway,” Kate says after a beat too long, standing to fetch the orange juice, “if you two are keeping secrets, I’ll find out.” She laughs lightly, but there’s steel beneath it.
I remain still and silent until she turns around.
Then I lean slightly closer, so low only she can hear. “Smile,” I murmur against her ear. “Or she’ll eat you alive.”
She jumps, eyes wide, cheeks flaming as she forces a shaky laugh at nothing. Kate turns back, and I sit back smoothly, sipping my coffee, mask flawless.
But under the table, I let my knee brush hers—just enough pressure to remind her who she belongs to.
She flinches, then presses back.
Kate doesn’t notice.
But she will.
And the danger of it—the sharp edge of almost being caught—makes me want to drag her upstairs and fuck her until she screams.
Kate sets the juice on the counter, pours herself a glass, and leans against the island, eyes flicking between us like she’s watching some private show. She sips slowly, deliberately, like she’s waiting for one of us to slip.
“Tell me,” she asked, her voice light, “what did you two chat about last night?”
My grip on the mug tightens. She’s testing me. She doesn’t know why yet, but she smells blood.
“Work,” I answer, clipped. “Deadlines. Numbers. Boring things.”
Kate hums, unconvinced. Her gaze slides to her, sharp as a blade. “And you couldn’t sleep after all that thrilling business talk?”
She stumbles, caught between the truth and the lie. “I—just… my head was busy.”
Kate smirks, the kind of smirk that makes me want to snap, You don’t know a damn thing, little girl, don’t look at her like that.
Instead, I take another calm sip of coffee. Mask. Always the mask.
Kate tilts her head, eyes narrowing, that grin too knowing. “Funny. You’ve never been this cagey with me before.”
“I’m not being cagey,” she blurts, defensive, cheeks colouring.
Fuck. Wrong move. I cut her a look, sharp enough to slit her open, silently begging her to shut her mouth before she burns us both.
Kate notices the look. I saw it land. She blinks, as if she’s filing it away.
“So protective,” she teases, but there’s something underneath, something quieter, sharper. “Since when are you two so… close?”
The air goes knife-edge.
Her eyes dart from her flushed face to my blank one.
One more question. One more slip. And it’s over.
I let the silence drag, heavy, calculated. Then I lean back in my chair, voice flat steel.
“She works for me. That’s all.”
Kate studies me, like she wants to call bullshit. Like she’s daring me to blink.
The clock ticks loudly in the silence. My heart doesn’t. My pulse is a predator’s—steady, ruthless, waiting for the strike.
Finally, Kate shrugs, pushes off the counter, and grabs her glass. “Fine. Keep your boring little secrets.” She smirks. “I’ll find out eventually.”
Her footsteps fade down the hall. A door slams.
The kitchen goes deadly quiet.
I turn my head, lock eyes with the girl still frozen beside me. Her chest heaves. She looks pale, guilty, destroyed.
“You nearly fucked it all up,” I say, voice low, dangerous.
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” My knee presses harder into hers under the table, cruel now, punishing. “One blush. One stammer. She saw it.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but the words die in her throat.
Good.
Because if Kate had pressed harder… if she’d put the pieces together right here at this table…
I don’t know if I’d have stopped myself from dragging her up against the counter and showing my daughter exactly who she belongs to.
The moment her footsteps fade, I’m on her.
Fingers at her jaw, tilting her face up to mine. Her pulse slams against my thumb, eyes wide like a cornered rabbit.
“You think you can blush and stammer in front of her and walk away clean?” I hiss. “One slip, and she’ll know everything.”
Her breath shudders. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
“Didn’t mean to?” My voice sharpens. I push my knee between her thighs under the table, dragging a whimper out of her. “You like it, don’t you? The risk. Sitting here marked up like my filthy little secret while she’s in the next room.”
Her lips part, a desperate little sound escaping, and I almost snap—I almost take her right there on the counter, fuck the fallout.
The door creaks.
We spring apart just as Kate wanders back in, still barefoot, still smirking like she owns the room. My jaw locks, my hands gripping the mug to hide the violence simmering within me.
She eyes us both, slower this time. Suspicious.
Then she sighs, dropping onto a stool with her juice. “I don’t know if I should even stay here,” she mutters, like she’s talking to herself but making sure we hear. “There’s… something I should probably go home for. Something that needs my attention.”
Her words hang there, loaded. A test. A warning.
I force my face blank, sip my coffee like I didn’t just have my hand on her throat seconds ago. Beneath the table, my knee pressed against hers, daring her to twitch or betray me.
“Everything alright?” I ask, voice so smooth it feels like glass about to shatter.
Kate shrugs, swirls the juice in her glass, eyes narrowing. “I’ll figure it out.” She glances at her, gaze dragging slowly, suspiciously. “Unless you two think I should stay?”
The air freezes. Her gaze flickers between us, and for one terrible heartbeat I swear she sees it—every dirty secret, every mark, every lie.
Her throat bobs. She opens her mouth, and I cut in, calm, flat, practiced. “Do whatever you want, Katie. You always do.”
Her eyes linger on me for a second too long. Then she snorts, downs her juice, and pushes off the stool. “Fine. I’ll call later.”
Her footsteps fade again, up the stairs this time.
Only when her door clicks shut do I let myself move, leaning in close, lips grazing the shell of her ear, voice a growl only she can hear.
“She’s circling closer, baby girl. One wrong word, one wrong look and she’ll know her best friend’s already mine.”
The second Kate’s door shuts, I shove the mug away and catch her wrist, yanking her off the stool.
She stumbles into me, eyes wide, lips parting like she’s about to speak. I cover her mouth with my hand before the first syllable slips out.
“You almost ruined everything,” I growl against her ear. “One blush, one stammer and she’s already sniffing at the edges. You want to be caught, is that it? Want to be exposed like the desperate little whore you are?”
She shakes her head, whimper muffled against my palm.
“Then you’ll learn.”
I march her toward the hall, pressing her against the wall hard enough that the picture frames rattle. My hand slips from her mouth to her throat, just enough pressure to remind her where she belongs.
“Say it,” I order.
“I’ll—learn,” she gasps.
“Louder.”
“I’ll learn!”
I smirk, dark and cold. “Good. Then we’ll practice.”
My hand trails down, curling between her thighs, finding her already trembling, already wet. “You’ll stand here. Quiet. Perfect. While I take what’s mine. And you won’t make a sound because if she hears, baby girl, you’ll lose more than just me. You’ll lose her.”
Her breath hitches, panic and lust colliding in her eyes.
I slide into her without warning, muffling her cry with my palm again. The stretch, the sting—it tears a sob out of her throat, one she can’t release.
“That’s it,” I whisper against her temple. “Hold it in. Take it. Let me fuck you right here, with her just upstairs, and prove you can be silent when I tell you to.”
Every thrust is punishment, sharp and merciless, driving her against the wall, the frames rattling louder. She claws at my shoulders, desperate, her muffled moans breaking against my hand.
“Pathetic little thing,” I taunt, low and feral. “I can feel it—you’re about to break. Go on, cum for me. Cum silent. Or I’ll make you scream and let her hear exactly what you’ve been doing with her daddy.”
Her eyes roll back, tears spilling down her cheeks as her body convulses around me, soundless, perfect—her mouth wide open behind my hand, but not a single cry escaping.
I bite her neck, brutal and claiming, holding her there until the tremors fade.
Only then do I release her, letting her sag against the wall, breathless, ruined.
“Good girl,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her damp face. “You learn fast when the stakes are high.”
She slumps against the wall, trembling, sweat cooling on her skin, eyes still glassy from the silent storm I dragged her through.
I don’t let her slide down. My hand clamps onto her chin, forcing her to look at me.
“Open.”
Her lips part instinctively. I slip two fingers inside, still damp with her. She gags faintly, but I press harder against her tongue, watching the fight in her eyes.
“Clean,” I murmur. “Every drop. I won’t have you dripping down the hallway where my daughter can find you.”
Her lashes flutter, but she obeys, hollowing her cheeks, sucking like the good little mess she is. I keep my gaze locked on hers, watching every swallow, every tremor, every flicker of humiliation that only makes her wetter.
When I pull free, strings of spit glisten between us. I smear them across her lips, slow, deliberate. “Pretty.”
She whispers, “Dean…” half-plea, half-prayer.
I catch her throat again, softer now, thumb brushing the bruises I’ve left. “No, baby girl. Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to forget we’ve got company upstairs.”
Her thighs press together, desperate, aching. I smirk, dark and cruel, and push my knee between them to still her.
“Lesson one,” I whisper, mouth grazing her ear. “You keep quiet when I say quiet.”
“Lesson two—you keep yourself ready for me. Always.”
“Lesson three—you never forget who you belong to.”
I press my palm flat against her belly, pinning her to the wall. “Mine. Even when she’s here. Even when you’re looking her in the eye.”
Her breath stutters. “What if I slip?”
I chuckle, low and dangerous. “Then I’ll punish you harder. Until you don’t slip again.”
I tilt her chin, kiss her—not soft, not gentle, but sealing the taste of punishment against her tongue. Her body arches into me, still quivering, still ruined, still hungry.
I break away only when the floorboards above us creak—Kate shifting in her room.
Her eyes snap wide, terror flaring.
I hush her with a finger against her lips, smirking. “That’s your last lesson for today, baby girl. Fear makes you perfect.”
I take her wrist, drag her down the hall, every step a reminder that she’s mine and she’ll learn to live with the weight of it—whether or not she breaks under it.