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It’s a beautiful fucking day.
I swing the windows open to the birds chirping. An icy blast of morning air hits me, purging the last bit of sleep. It’s crisp and clean. Fresh.
After a quick shower and fresh pair of bandages for the cut on my chest, I head to the kitchen to make breakfast. I’m glad no-one’s around to see me, since I probably look like a chipper cartoon character practicallyskippingto the kitchen.
Last night was exactly what I needed.
Alize likes to lie about what she thinks and what she feels—through no fault of her own, of course. I think she does it because she assumes it will protect her from me. But her body never lies to me. Her hatred only goes as far as her lust will allow.
She’s still a slut formycock, she still loves it when I hurt her then fuck the pain away. She’s stillmine.Last night was what we needed to reset the balance of our relationship.
Do I expect her to change overnight? No.
Alize is stubborn. I half expect her to try to stab me in my sleep with that pretty knife of hers tonight. But it’s the beginning of something new. Once I’ve proven that I wasn’t the one who did this to her, then her resistance will melt along with it.
Even when this is over, though, I might keep punishing her. To have her pliant beneath me, trusting me to break her just the way she likes—the feeling was unmatched. I relive my favorite moments from last night while I make breakfast for us both.
This is the first time I’ve even made breakfast for myself since we got back from that ill-fated trip to the mountains. My stomach rumbles as the smell of eggs and sausages fill the air. I even make pancakes, as Alize likes that sort of thing.
I’m shirtless, but wear an apron to protect my chest. The last thing I need is hot oil giving me another wound to tend to. As casual as I was about the injury, I did lose a lot of blood last night. If I move too quickly, my head spins.
If she had slashed me any harder, she might have killed me.
While the food cooks, I make a pot of coffee. I sip on a mug of it—pitch black, the way I like it—while I finish up breakfast and plate the food. Checking my watch, it’s ten in the morning.
Alize should be out soon.
She had alongnight. My cock gets hard as images of her on her knees before me, with her bare ass in the air, her pretty pussy drooling juices down her leg, hot and begging for my c—
“Alexander!” A hoarse voice cuts through my thoughts.
A second later, a five-foot-two curly-haired angel bursts from the hallway, her hands balled into fists and a scowl on her face. I can’t help the smile that twists my features. She looks like she’s ready to spit fire.
I don’t respond—this conversation will happen whether I want it to or not—so I take a seat at the table, and start putting food on my plate. My lack of interest spurs her on further, and I have to stifle a laugh. She storms over to the table, arms akimbo.
“Don’t you hear me fucking talking to you?” she snaps.
I indulge her. “What is the matter, sweetheart?”
That douses oil on the blaze burning behind her eyes. I look her over appreciatively. Just as I hoped, she wears my marks—a bruise the shape of my palm blooms at the base of her throat, and the tip of a small scar from the knife peaks out from the neckline of her jumper.
I bet there’s more.
I’m tempted to strip her right here and now to look at them. She won’t be as yielding as last night, though. I see it in the set of her jaw, her downturned eyebrows, her scowling plump lips. When I suggested that she could hate me in the morning, I didn’t actually mean it.
She’s probably already told herself that it was a one time thing. That it will never happen again. Whatever makes her sleep at night, I guess.
Only, I own her dreams too—and she clearly hates that.
I’m inescapable. I fucking love it.
“Don’t fucking act like you didn’t break into my room and take advantage of me last night.” I’m sure her skin is hot to the touch with how angry she is. I curl my fingers to stop myself from testing the theory.
A mirthless chuckle leaves me. I lean my chin on my fist, dipping a piece of toast in the runny yolk of my egg. It gives me flashbacks of watching my cum spill out of her last night. Everything reminds me of her.
“I know it must be hard for you to admit, but you and I both know you loved it.” I take a bite. It’s not as good as when the chef makes it, but it’ll do. “You camethreetimes.”
“Yes, but I—”
