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Shaking off the slight rage beginning to fill me at thewhat-ifscenario, I start untangling us so I can slip out of the bed. I need to pee, and my stomach is screaming at me to eat. Finally freeing myself, I get out of bed and that’s when I feel the skin of my stomach pulling taut. Rubbing my fingers over it, I feel something and that’s when I notice the dried spots of come dotted against the cotton panties I wore last night.
I guess Daddy Dearest decided to mark me as I slept. The proof of this and the sheer fact he was in bed with me, regardless of if it’s his bedroom, gives me a little bounce in my step as I walk out. He can say whatever lies from his forked tongue of sin, but he wants this as much as I do.
Heading to my bathroom, I shower quickly, foregoing washing my hair. It’s still good for another day or two before I need to clean it, but I need to scrub the dried come from my belly because this shit is uncomfortable.
Hoping I have enough time before he wakes up, I throw on shorts and a tank top and get to work on making breakfast. I think I’ll make one of his favorites that we hardly ever take the time to prepare. A German Apple Pancake. I pull my phone out and turn on my Lana Del Rey playlist as I move about the kitchen, preparing everything.
Sliding the dish into the oven, I start cleaning up the mess I’ve made because if he comes downstairs and sees the disaster of a kitchen, I know his eye is going to start twitching. I prefer to not start the day with him already heading to a ten.
I’m scrubbing a dried spot of batter off the counter when I feel him right behind me as his arms box me in against the counter. The inked forearms flex and the veins are prominent as I see the back of hands spread against the counter.
“Morning, O. Smells good in here.” Speechless. I’m never fucking quiet, but right now I can’t seem to find words. All of this feels so… domestic. It feels right and I realize that I want this also. Not just the sex. I want him. Like as a partner, in life.
The feeling smacks me in the face. I never really gave much thought to settling down. I’m only twenty-two, but even taking that out of the equation, it never appealed to me. I’ve had relationships, short ones, and longer ones, but nothing that I would ever truly consider serious. Despite some of the people I’ve dated. But the way we’re standing here in the kitchen, with his nose buried in my hair, pressing his entire body against mine and holding me tight, I feel my eyes water.
Shrugging my shoulders, “Just was craving an apple pancake. Sorry about falling asleep in your bed.” I’m trying to appear nonchalant when all I feel from the butterflies in my gut and the emotions hitting me is that I might vomit, metaphorically or physically. Who’s to fucking know?
“Mm. Yes, I’m sure you are. Purely by accident. Just tripped and fell into my bed, rubbing yourself against my sheets while you breathe the scent of me in.” He turns me around so our eyes lock. “Lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me. Save the effort and just don’t even try. I can read you better than I can read myself, my little twin.” He bops my nose at the exact time the oven timer starts beeping and he backs up, letting me escape the sanctuary of his arms.
I pull the cast iron pan out and the smell of apples and cinnamon assault me, and I hear both of us groan. This really is one of our favorite breakfast foods. Setting the hot pan on top of the stove, I drizzle a bit of Honeycomb Hideaway honey across it, followed by a sprinkle of powdered sugar.
Cutting the pancake in half, I plate both before turning around to carry them to the island bar top. He watches me with hooded eyes. He must have turned around to lean against the counter when I was getting everything out, and all I can focus on is his broad shoulders and the low-slung basketball shorts he has on.
“Coffee?” I ask, moving to the pot I brewed and automatically pouring two cups. I already know he wants coffee, and then he’ll drink a cup of tea after it before switching to water for the rest of the day.
Hydrate every day all day long, October. It’s important.
Dad’s words of wisdom for as long as I can remember.
We eat in silence except for our hums of approval as the sweet flavors invade our mouths. The only other sounds are the haunting voice of Lana as she croons about a dark paradise. My obsession with her is unhealthy and as I sit here and really listen to her lyrics, it’s like she wrote this song for him and I.
He finishes up, and he’s taking his plate to the sink when my phone goes off on the counter next to him, interrupting the music. He glances down at it and whatever he sees changes everything.
All of a sudden, it feels like the room got colder, his sharp jaw twitches, and he’s got a death grip on the dish.
“Why the fuck is Turner texting you?” I pause in confusion before the realization hits me. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I don’t know why the hell that man is sending me a message. I assumed he got the hint after Dad kicked his ass the other night at Onyx. If he was going to contact me, it would have made more sense to do it yesterday.
Lifting my fork up in a shruggingI don’t knowmotion, “I really don’t know. I didn’t expect to hear from him after you went all Apollo Creed on him. Guess he’s not very bright then if he’s reaching out. Either he’s got a death wish, or he really wants to piss you off. Possibly both.”
“Don’t be fucking smart, October. Unlock your phone.” He tosses the device across the counter until it stops to rest right by me.
“Uh, excuse the fuck outta you,Daddy. One, you don’t bark orders at me unless we’re fucking. Two, the invasion of privacy stopped once I turned eighteen. Three, how about fuck no? I just fucking told you I don’t know why he did. I’m not fucking talking to him, and my word should be good enough. Do you know me to fucking lie about things like this? And even if I was fucking lying, wouldn’t you know? You said it yourself just earlier that I can’t lie to you because you can read me. Take your little alpha posturing bullshit and knock it off. I might like when you boss me around when bent over your desk, but this… this is going too far.” Angrily, I push up and away from the bar top, leaving my plate and phone behind and walking away.
If he wants to be an asshole, then he can watch my ass walk the fuck away. I don’t give a fuck about the phone, nor do I care about if he looks at it. I literally have nothing to hide except maybe my weird as fuck NSFW Twitter feed. It’s the tone and expectation of it. He shattered all those emotions and butterflies from before, and all that’s left is a bitter feeling.
“October Leigh, don’t walk away from me.” I flip him off without turning around. I’m starting to ascend the stairs when I hear him behind me, “How the fuck did you even meet Turner, and don’t give me that bullshit about someone. Tell me who the fuck introduced you two.”
Pausing, I let a smirk cross my face, turning toward him. “Oh, this is gonna be good. You’re going to lose your shit. Monica, of course. She introduced us. I wonder if she knew this would happen.” I gesture between our two bodies before continuing upward, listening to him curse under his breath as he stomps back to the kitchen. No doubt to finish cleaning up and stew on how he’s going to handle Monica. He can’t fire her, nor do I think he even wants to.
Neither of those things are my problem though.
I need to get out of the house today and set about packing a bag to head to the beach for the day. I don’t work tonight at Onyx, so maybe I can convince Justina to order takeout and watch trash TV with me before I crash at her place.
CHAPTER19
MAVERICK
“Monica. Are you fucking kidding me? What the fuck were you thinking?” I holler out as I walk into Flesh and Fiddle and see her behind the bar.
