I wanted her laughter in my kitchen. Her arguments at my dinner table. Her fire. Her softness. Her everything.
I dragged a hand down my face, jaw tight.
Christ.
I was becoming pathetic.
Breakfastwaswaitinglikenothing had changed.
I was already at the head of the long marble table when Aurora finally wandered in, still half-asleep and wearing one of my black button-down shirts that swallowed her whole. The hem brushed her bare thighs, and the sleeves hung past her fingertips. She looked thoroughly fucked and completely innocent at the same time.
My cock twitched at the sight. Traitor.
She padded into the kitchen barefoot, hair messy from my pillows, and the entire room shifted.
Matteo looked up from his plate and broke into a shit-eating grin so wide I considered shooting him. Marco, who rarely drank before noon, reached for the bottle of whiskey and poured a generous amount into his coffee. The cook became extremely focused on flipping eggs that didn’t need flipping, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.
They all knew.
Of course they knew.
Aurora had spent the night in my room. Not just in my bed, though God knows that was bad enough, but in my space. In my territory. She’d slept naked in my sheets while I held her like she was something precious instead of the weakness she was becoming.
And in this house, that was louder than if I’d fucked her on the dining table.
Aurora, bless her oblivious heart, had no idea. She rubbed one eye with her fist and yawned softly as she slid into the chair to my right, the chair that had somehow become hers without anyone discussing it.
“Morning,” she mumbled, voice still husky from sleep.
“Morning, sis,” Matteo said, far too cheerfully. He waggled his eyebrows at me behind her back.
I shot him a look that promised violence later. He just grinned wider.
Marco took a long sip of his spiked coffee, eyeing me over the rim.
“Sleep well?” he asked, tone deceptively mild.
“Fine,” I answered flatly.
Aurora reached for the fresh fruit and yogurt like nothing was wrong. “Why is everyone being weird this morning?”
Matteo choked on his laughter. Marco found the ceiling fascinating. The cook muttered something about needing more basil and practically fled to the pantry.
I leaned back in my chair, resting my arm along the back of Aurora’s seat. My fingers brushed her shoulder possessively. She leaned into the touch without thinking, and something dangerously warm settled in my chest.
“No one’s being weird,” I said, voice calm. “They’re just nosy bastards who need to mind their own fucking business.”
Aurora blinked at me, then at her brother. “Did something happen?”
Matteo opened his mouth. I pinned him with a stare that could freeze hell. He wisely closed it.
“Nothing happened,” I told her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. My thumb lingered on the shell of her ear, remembering how she’d trembled and begged last night. “You slept in my room. That’s all.”
Her cheeks flushed as the memory clearly hit her. The way she’d begged to see my cock. The way I’d stood over her, stroking myself while she watched with desperate, hungry eyes. The way I’d denied us both because I wanted her completely broken for me when I finally took her.
“Oh,” she whispered, very interested in her yogurt.
Marco coughed into his fist. Matteo looked like Christmas had come early.
