Chapter 13: Stolen Breakfast
The sharp hiss of batter hitting hot butter filled the sleek kitchen, competing with the gurgle of the espresso machine. Harmony focused fiercely on the swirling liquid in the pan, a fragile shield against the lingering echo of Billie’s sleep-rough ‘Mine’. The borrowed shirt hung loose on her frame, smelling irrevocably of bergamot and cedar, a scent that now twisted her stomach in knots. She gripped the spatula, knuckles white, willing the crepe to release cleanly. Just flip it. Just focus. The city sprawled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent to the tremor in her hands.
Cold, wet arms snaked around her waist from behind.
Harmony gasped, flinching violently. The spatula clattered against the pan’s edge. Hot butter spat. Billie’s bare, damp chest pressed flush against her back, water soaking instantly through the thin cotton shirt. Harmony froze, trapped between the searing pan and the chilling, unexpected embrace.
Billie’s lips found the sensitive shell of Harmony’s ear. A sharp nip, teeth grazing skin, sent a jolt of pure electricity down Harmony’s spine. Her breath hitched, trapped in her throat.
"Focus, Hayes," Billie murmured, her voice a low, sleep-roughened rasp that vibrated against Harmony’s skin. One hand slid upwards, palm rough and demanding, cupping Harmony’s breast through the soaked fabric. Billie squeezed, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh. Harmony whimpered, a small, trapped sound. Her nipple hardened instantly against the wet cotton, betraying her despite the icy fear flooding her veins. "Or," Billie breathed, her other hand sliding down from Harmony’s waist, fingers tracing the waistband of her borrowed sweatpants before dipping lower, pressing firmly against the juncture of her thighs through the fabric, "I’ll have you for breakfast instead."
Harmony’s legs trembled. The crepe was forgotten, smoking slightly in the pan. Billie’s hand between her legs pressed harder, insistent, finding the heat blooming there despite Harmony’s terror. A choked sob escaped her lips. Billie’s chuckle was dark, predatory. She spun Harmony around roughly, pinning her back against the cool marble countertop. The espresso machine hissed like an angry cat. Harmony’s gaze flew upwards, meeting Billie’s intense blue eyes. They were dilated, dark with a hunger that had nothing to do with crepes. Water droplets clung to Billie’s collarbone, tracing paths down between her bare breasts beneath the thin tank top she’d pulled on after her shower. Her damp hair hung darkly around her face, framing an expression of raw, undisguised lust.
"No," Harmony whispered, the word feeble, lost in the charged air. "Billie, please…"
"Please what?" Billie leaned in, her breath hot on Harmony’s cheek. Her hand remained pressed firmly against Harmony’s core, fingers flexing, sending shockwaves of unwanted sensation through her. "Please stop?" Billie’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "Or please more?" She dipped her head, capturing Harmony’s mouth in a brutal kiss. It wasn’t tender. It was claiming, demanding, her tongue forcing its way past Harmony’s trembling lips. Harmony tasted coffee and something sharper, darker. Billie’s hand slid inside the loose waistband of the sweatpants, fingers encountering damp curls. Harmony gasped against Billie’s mouth, her body arching involuntarily as those skilled fingers found her slick folds.
Billie broke the kiss, panting slightly, her eyes locked on Harmony’s terrified face. "Fuck, you’re wet," she growled, her voice thick. "Already soaked for me." Her fingers slid lower, circling Harmony’s clit with ruthless precision. Harmony cried out, her head thudding back against the cabinet. Pleasure, sharp and unwelcome, lanced through her fear, warring with the violation. Billie watched her struggle, a predator savoring the fight. "That’s it," Billie murmured, her thumb pressing hard against the swollen bud. "Let me feel it. Let me feel how much your tight little cunt wants this."
Harmony’s vision blurred. The scent of burning batter mingled with Billie’s skin and her own rising panic. Billie’s fingers plunged inside her without warning, two thick digits filling her, stretching her. Harmony gasped, her body clenching instinctively around the intrusion. "Oh fuck," Billie hissed, her eyes fluttering shut for a second. "So fucking tight." She began to pump her fingers, deep and hard, the heel of her hand grinding against Harmony’s clit with each thrust. Harmony’s legs buckled, held up only by Billie’s body pinning her against the counter and the relentless rhythm of her hand. Pleasure coiled, hot and treacherous, deep in her belly, threatening to overwhelm the terror. Tears pricked her eyes.
"Look at me," Billie commanded, her voice cracking like a whip. Harmony’s eyes snapped open, meeting Billie’s fierce gaze. Billie’s fingers curled inside her, finding that spot that made Harmony’s entire body jerk. "You’re mine, Hayes," Billie stated, her thrusts becoming faster, harder. The wet, obscene sound of her fingers moving filled the kitchen. "Every fucking inch. That alley trash couldn’t touch what’s mine." Her thumb pressed harder, circling furiously. "Come for me. Now."
The command, the relentless pressure, the terrifying mix of violation and intense sensation – it shattered Harmony. A ragged cry tore from her throat as her body convulsed, clenching violently around Billie’s fingers. Wave after wave of brutal, unwanted pleasure crashed over her, leaving her trembling, gasping, tears streaming down her face. Billie held her through it, fingers still buried deep, milking the last tremors, her eyes burning with dark satisfaction.
As Harmony sagged, utterly spent, Billie slowly withdrew her fingers. She brought them to her own lips, never breaking eye contact, and sucked them clean with deliberate slowness. Harmony watched, horrified, mesmerized, the taste of herself on Billie’s tongue a final degradation.
Billie stepped back, her breathing slightly elevated. She adjusted her tank top, the picture of composed control returning instantly, except for the predatory gleam still lingering in her eyes. She glanced dismissively at the ruined, smoking crepe in the pan.
"Clean that up," she ordered, her voice crisp, businesslike, as if the last three minutes hadn’t happened. She turned towards the espresso machine, pulling two small cups from a shelf. "And make fresh coffee. We have a briefing in ten." She poured the dark, fragrant liquid, the steam curling upwards. "Don’t be late."
Harmony slid down the cabinet, her legs unable to hold her, landing hard on the cold marble floor. She hugged her knees, the wet shirt clinging to her skin, the phantom sensation of Billie’s fingers still inside her, the taste of violation thick in her mouth. The espresso machine hissed its final drops. Billie picked up her cup, took a slow sip, her gaze fixed on the sprawling cityscape outside, leaving Harmony shattered on the kitchen floor amidst the scent of burnt batter and sex.