Chapter 4
FOUR
Virelle
The next morning, I wake up alone in his bed, wrapped in sheets that smell like him. Sunlight streams through the windows, and I can hear sounds from somewhere else in the house.
I find one of his shirts and pull it on, the fabric falling to my mid-thigh. When I pad out to the kitchen, I find it empty but fully stocked.
I decide to make breakfast. It feels natural, moving around his kitchen, finding eggs and vegetables for an omelet, starting coffee. I'm humming softly to myself when I hear footsteps behind me.
Before I can turn around, Lucan's arms wrap around my waist from behind, his large body pressing against my back. His hands immediately move to my ass, kneading the soft flesh through the thin fabric of his shirt.
"You look so sexy when you're cooking," he murmurs against my shoulder, his lips trailing kisses across my skin.
I shiver, my body responding instantly to his touch despite how thoroughly he used me last night.
"Just making breakfast," I say, trying to focus on the eggs rather than the way his hands are now slipping under the shirt to touch bare skin.
"Best sight I've ever woken up to," he says, his teeth grazing my shoulder. "A beautiful woman in my kitchen, wearing my shirt, cooking for me."
I flip the omelet, somehow managing to keep my hands steady. "You're distracting me."
"Good."
But he releases me enough to let me finish cooking. When I plate the food, he sits at the kitchen island, and I stand across from him, feeding him a bite from my fork.
He captures my wrist, pulling me closer, and takes the bite while maintaining eye contact. The simple act feels impossibly intimate.
"This is delicious," he says.
"It's just an omelet."
"Made by you. That makes it better."
I roll my eyes, but I can't help smiling. We eat together, and the conversation flows more easily than I expected. There's banter now, a lightness that wasn't there before.
"So you're telling me," I say, "that you once fired someone for being fifteen minutes late?"
"She was chronically late," he corrects. "And I gave her three warnings."
"Still seems harsh."
"I have standards."
"You have impossibly high standards."
"They're not impossible if you actually care about your work."
I lean forward, propping my chin on my hand. "Is that why everyone calls you the executioner?"
His mouth twitches. "They call me that?"
"You didn't know?"
"I try not to listen to office gossip."
"Well, they do. Behind your back. They're terrified of you."
"Good."
I laugh. "You can't actually mean that."
He looks at me seriously. "I don't need people to like me, Virelle. I need them to respect me and do their jobs well. Fear is an effective motivator."
"But you're not actually cruel," I say softly. "I've seen how tender you are with me. I didn't know you could be this nice."
Something shifts in his expression. "You notice too much."
"You notice everything about me," I counter. "Fair is fair."
He reaches across the island and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is so unexpectedly tender that my heart flutters.
And I realize that somewhere between last night and this morning, I have unraveled way too many layers of Lucan. And that I’m already beginning to have deep feelings for him. The way he gave me aftercare made me feel so safe and cared for.
I crave that kind of intimacy again, but I know that I can’t ask for it.
So I just eat, knowing that things between us will end once I walk out his house.