Page 38 of Hidden Desires

He doesn’t turn around, but he knows I’m there. “Sleep okay, sweetheart?”

“Like a corpse,” I yawn, sliding onto a stool. “You always make breakfast for your conquests?”

He laughs, and the sound is warmer than the sun slanting in through the kitchen window. “Only for the ones who survive the night.”

I smile sweetly, stretching, and let his shirt ride up just enough to see if he’s watching. He is, and the way his eyes darken makes me shiver.

“Hungry?” he asks in a casual tone.

“Always,” I say, and it’s true in every possible way.

He plates the food, pours two mugs of coffee, and we eat at the island, knees bumping under the Formica. It’s shockingly easy, the conversation moving from TV shows to work horror stories to whether we’d survive a zombie apocalypse (“I’d die first,” Jack claims, “because I’d refuse to eat canned fruit. You, on the other hand, would thrive.”)

We’re halfway through breakfast when he leans over and wipes a bit of powdered sugar off my lip with his thumb, slow and deliberate. “You’re cute like this,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

“Like what?” I ask, mouth full of syrup.

“Messy. Human. Not trying so damn hard.”

I freeze, suddenly aware of how rare that is for me. I’m always trying—at home, at work, even on camera. But with Jack, it’s easy to forget. I want to be good for him, but I also want to be real, even if it’s ugly.

“I could get used to this, Eliza,” he says, softer now.

“So could I,” I whisper, and the moment hangs there, fragile and perfect, before the spell breaks.

He stands, pushing his chair back, and lifts me off the stool with a single motion. I yelp, but he kisses me before I can protest, and the taste of coffee on his tongue is the best thing I’ve ever had.

He sets me on the counter, and I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him in tight. The French toast is forgotten as his hands slide under the hem of my shirt, thumbs circling my bare skin. I’m still sticky with syrup, and I can tell it’s driving him crazy.

“Someone’s going to have to clean this counter,” he growls, voice low and rough.

“Maybe we should get it dirtier first,” I reply, tugging his waistband down. “More efficient, right?”

Jack laughs, but it’s cut short as I reach in and wrap my hand around his cock, already hard and hot. Oh my god, he’s big and stiff, so thick that I can hardly get my fingers to touch around the diameter. He groans, kissing me harder, and the world narrows to this: the cool stone under my thighs, his big body pressed against mine, the sun slicing across the countertop and catching the glint of sweat on his temple.

But my pleasure is always important to Jack. The alpha male pulls back for an instant, his fingers grazing over my inner thigh, and then slides two fingers inside me, hot and wet. I gasp, clinging to his shoulders for balance.

“Fuck baby,” he mutters in my ear. “You’re always drenched.”

“I know,” I whisper in a panting voice, clinging to his shoulders. “I need you, Jack. Now, please!”

Jack growls deep in my chest. He’s learned my body already, knows exactly how to touch me, how to make me forget everything else. I’m wet, hungry, and he pulls his fingers out, before lining that big dick up at my little hole. Then, when he thrusts into me, I bite his shoulder to keep from screaming.

“Unnh,” is my low moan. “Ohhhh!”

“That a girl,” he rasps, going still to let me adjust to his massive size. “Fuck.”

Soon, I’ve started breathing again, and he fucks me slow, controlled, each stroke a master class in how to ruin a girl for anyone else. The edge of the counter digs into my ass, but I don’t care. I want it to hurt, want to feel him everywhere, want to remember this in every cell of my body.

“Jack,” I whimper, “mmm, harder.”

He obliges, gripping my hips and slamming me down onto his cock, the impact echoing off the tile. The plates rattle, the syrup bottle tips, but nothing matters except the fire building between us.

“Oh!” I squeal, clutching at his shoulders. “Oh Daddy, it’s coming⁠—!”

I climax like a hurricane, clenching around him, the pleasure blinding. He holds me through it, lips on my neck, murmuring sweet, filthy things in my ear, but the insistent pulsing of my cunt is too much. His cock jerks once, hard, and then the shoot at the base begins to pulse. With a growl, he erupts, teeth scraping my jaw as he shudders inside me.

“Fuck!” he roars. “Ohhhh shit!”