Chapter 5: Breakfast Interrupted
Danny awoke to the faint, dusty glow around the edges of the blackout curtains. His body was a map of pleasant aches. The first thing he registered was warmth—the deep, soft warmth of Chloe’s back pressed against his chest, his arm slung heavily over her waist. The second was the knit texture of her thigh-high socks against his bare legs. She was still wearing only those, the black fabric stark against her pale skin in the murky light.
She stirred, a slow, subconscious roll of her hips. Her naked ass ground against his already hardening cock. A low groan vibrated in his throat, escaping into the hair at the nape of her neck.
She went still. Then, fully awake, she melted back into him with a tiny, satisfied sigh. “Morning,” she breathed, her voice sleep-rough.
“Yeah.” He nuzzled her shoulder. His hand slid up from her waist to cover her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple. She arched into the touch.
She turned in his arms, a careful maneuver in the tangle of sheets. They faced each other. In the flat grey dawn light, without her makeup, she looked younger. Softer. Her dark eyes searched his, wide and a little uncertain. He knew the feeling. The memory of the night before—the shattered bedframe, the raw words, the sheer number of times—felt like something that had happened to two other, much braver people.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi back.” He pushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “You okay?”
A shy smile touched her lips. “I think my internal organs have been rearranged. In a good way.” She bit her lip. “Was it… was it too much? The things I said?”
He laughed, a quiet, delighted puff of air. “Are you kidding? I have them all saved in a hidden file in my brain. For, you know. Personal use.” He adjusted his glasses from where they sat on the nightstand, the world snapping into focus—her, only her.
She relaxed, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Good.” Her fingers traced the old scar on his collarbone. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Me neither.”
They lay there for a while, just looking. The silence was comfortable, charged with a new, quiet understanding. Her stomach growled, a loud, prosaic interruption. She laughed, burying her face in his chest. “Shut up.”
“Someone’s hungry.” He kissed the top of her head.
“I could eat,” she mumbled into his skin.
He shifted, propping himself up on an elbow. A mischievous glint lit behind his lenses. “What do you want for breakfast?”
She looked up. “I don’t know. Toast? I have Pop-Tarts.”
“Hmm.” He leaned down, his lips grazing her earlobe. “I was thinking of something else on the menu.”
“Danny, I’m serious, I’m starv—” Her sentence cut off as he moved, sliding down her body with a purpose that made her breath catch. He kissed the inside of her knee, just above the top of her sock. Then higher, on her thigh. The intention became blazingly, wonderfully clear.
“Oh,” she breathed.
He didn’t answer with words. He hooked his hands under her knees, easing her legs apart. The morning air was cool on her exposed skin. He looked up the length of her body, meeting her wide-eyed gaze, and held it as he lowered his mouth to her.
The first touch was a flat, experimental stroke of his tongue. Chloe jerked as if shocked, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat. Her hands flew to his hair, not pushing him away, but gripping, anchoring.
“You’ve never…” he murmured against her, the vibration making her thighs tremble.
She shook her head, unable to speak. It was true. The guys before had been fumbling, selfish. This was different. This was dedicated. Intentional. His tongue wasn’t tentative; it was curious, mapping her, learning what made her hips jerk and what pulled a choked whine from her lips. It was wet and slow and utterly focused. The sensation was bizarre at first—intimate in a way penetration wasn’t, vulnerable in a new dimension—but the bizarre feeling burned away under a gathering heat.
“Danny…” His name was a plea.
He hummed in response, the sound travelling straight through her core. He settled into a rhythm, licking into her with a slow, thorough pressure that made her toes curl inside the socks. One of his hands slid under her ass, tilting her up to him, and the angle changed everything. The broad, flat passes of his tongue were replaced by a more precise, relentless attention to one swollen, desperate spot.
A coil, tight and electric, began to wind deep in her belly. Her breathing turned to ragged pants. She was really, really into it. The shyness was ashes. This was him worshipping her, and she was letting him, her back bowing off the bed, her fists clutching the sheets. The pleasure was a cresting wave, so close, so—
The doorknob rattled. Turned.
The door swung open.
“Rise and shine, night owl! I come bearing emergency nacho details and—oh.”
Jessica stood in the doorway, a blur of bright blonde hair and enthusiastic energy. Her eyes, taking in the scene, went round. Chloe sat bolt upright, a move of pure panic. In one frantic motion, she yanked the rumpled duvet up and over Danny’s head and shoulders, concealing him completely. He went still beneath it, a hidden lump at the foot of the bed.
“Jess!” Chloe’s voice was an octave too high. “What are you—you can’t just walk in!”
“I always just walk in!” Jessica protested, her eyes darting from Chloe’s flushed, bare shoulders to the suspicious mound of covers. A knowing, delighted smile spread across her face. “Whoa. Okay. So the date went… well?”
“Fine. It was fine.” Chloe’s heart hammered against her ribs. Beneath the sheets, Danny remained motionless. Then, slowly, deliberately, she felt his hands grip her thighs again. His mouth returned to her, his tongue dragging through her wetness in a long, slow stripe.
She clenched every muscle in her body to keep from jolting. A stifled moam lodged in her throat. She cleared it, trying to sound normal. “It was good. We came back here. To watch a movie.”
“A movie,” Jessica echoed, leaning against the doorframe, clearly not buying it. “Right. Which one?”
“The Creature from the Black Lagoon,” Chloe gasped out, the title bursting from her on an exhale as Danny’s tongue flicked rapidly, expertly. Sparks shot up her spine. She could feel her own slickness on his chin, hear the soft, obscene sounds he was making, sounds she prayed were muffled by the heavy duvet.
“The old monster movie? Nice.” Jessica’s grin was incorrigible. “And where is the film critic this morning?”
“Bathroom,” Chloe choked out. She felt a tremble start deep in her belly. He was building her back up with ruthless efficiency, his mouth a devastating instrument. She crossed her ankles over his back, trying to hold herself still, to quell the shaking. “He’ll… he’ll be out in a minute. You should go.”
“I just wanted the deets! You never texted back. I was worried he’d be a dud.” Jessica took a step into the room, peering. “So, not a dud, then.”
“Not a dud,” Chloe confirmed, her voice strained. Her knuckles were white where she clutched the sheet to her chest. Danny doubled his efforts, adding a gentle suction that made her vision blur. She was hanging over the abyss again, the need to scream, to buck against his face, was a physical torment. She pressed her head back into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut.
“You okay? You look… flushed.”
“I’m fine. Just. Morning. Tired.” Each word was a struggle. She could feel the climax gathering, a storm about to break. She dug her heels into his back, a silent, desperate plea for him to stop or to never, ever stop.
Beneath the covers, he misinterpreted. He took it as encouragement. His hands held her hips down firmly as his tongue lashed her, fast and unforgiving.
“Okay, well…” Jessica said, drawing the word out, her suspicion morphing into dawning, hilarious comprehension. Her eyes flicked to the vibrating duvet. “I guess I’ll let you get back to your… movie.”
Chloe couldn’t answer. A low, broken whimper escaped her clamped lips.
Jessica’s laugh was a bright, knowing thing. “Tell your movie I said hey.” She backed out, pulling the door shut with a soft, definitive click.
The second the latch engaged, Chloe threw her head back and came apart, a silent, searing climax ripping through her with such violence her body arched clear off the mattress. The only sound was her ragged, sobbing intake of air and the wet, frantic sounds from beneath the sheet.
Danny worked her through it, gentling his touch until she collapsed, boneless and trembling, onto the bed.
He emerged from under the covers, hair sticking up wildly, his face glistening. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a slow, proud smile spreading across his face. “So,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Breakfast.”
She stared at him, at the proud, messy reality of his face. Her body still hummed, a live wire of aftershocks. She pulled him close and kissed him, hard. Her mouth tasted herself on his lips, a shocking, intimate flavor that made her dizzy. She couldn’t believe what just happened, that he’d done that, or that he’d done it with Jessica in the room.
But the dizzy, floaty feeling was already being crushed by a sharper, more basic demand from her stomach. She really was hungry. “Food,” she mumbled against his mouth. “Actual food. Now.”
She rolled away before he could pull her back, the cool air hitting her sweat-damp skin. His stained graphic tee from last night was a puddle on the floor near her vinyl shelf. She snatched it up, pulling it over her head. The soft, worn cotton swallowed her frame, the sleeves hanging past her fingertips, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. Dressed in only the shirt and the same socks from last night, she padded toward the bedroom door.
She paused at the threshold, throwing a glance over her shoulder. Danny was sitting up in the wreck of her bed, the sheet pooled in his lap. She watched his gaze drop, taking in the long lines of her legs in the black socks. A slow, deliberate smile touched his lips. She arched an eyebrow, then deliberately hiked the back of his shirt up just a little, showing off the curve of her ass and the tops of her thighs before letting it fall.
She made eye contact as he slowly took himself in hand, his fist moving in a lazy, appreciative stroke as he watched her leave. Chloe felt a naughty thrill shoot through her, bright and electric. She would never have even thought about doing that before meeting him.
The linoleum of the kitchen floor was cold under her socked feet. She moved to the fridge, the oversized shirt swaying around her. The mundane task of retrieving eggs and butter felt surreal, a stark contrast to the memory of his mouth between her legs minutes ago. She could still feel the phantom pressure, the wet heat.
The sizzle of butter in the pan was a comforting, normal sound. She was cracking the second egg when his arms slid around her waist from behind.
He’d pulled on his boxers, nothing else. His warm, bare chest pressed against her back through the thin cotton of his own shirt. “Smells good,” he murmured into her hair, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below her ear. He started kissing her neck, slow and distracting.
“You’re going to make me burn these,” she said, but she leaned back into him, a soft sigh escaping her as his hands splayed across her stomach beneath the shirt.
“I’ll eat them anyway.” His thumb stroked the dip of her hip bone. “You okay? After… with Jess?”
“I’m mortified. And also weirdly not.” She nudged an egg with the spatula. “It’s like you unlocked a different person in me. One who doesn’t panic when her best friend almost catches her being devoured.”
He laughed, the vibration tickling her neck. “She knew. The second she saw my shoes by the door.”
“She definitely knew.” Chloe tilted her head, giving him better access. His hand drifted higher, cupping her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple to a stiff peak through the fabric. Her breath hitched. “Danny…”
“Hmm?” He was fully hard again, pressed against the small of her back.
“We should… eat.”
“We are.” His other hand slid down from her stomach, his fingers teasing through the thatch of hair at the junction of her thighs.
She let her head fall back against his shoulder, the spatula hovering uselessly over the pan. This was new, too, this easy, touching familiarity in the harsh fluorescent light of her kitchen. It felt more vulnerable than anything they’d done in the dark.
“Your coding skills are shit, by the way,” she whispered, eyes closed.
His fingers stilled. “What?”
“Last night. I lied. They’re probably amazing. I just wanted to say something filthy.” She opened her eyes, turning her head just enough to see his baffled, delighted expression. “It worked.”
He was about to reply, his mouth curling into a smile, when a sharp, deliberate sound cut through the kitchen’s intimacy.
Ah-hem.
Jessica cleared her throat from the kitchen doorway.
Chloe and Danny froze, a statue of entangled limbs. Chloe’s hand was still on the spatula. Danny’s hand was still tucked between her thighs beneath the shirt. They hadn't heard the apartment door open. They hadn't heard her approach.
Slowly, as if moving through syrup, they turned their heads. Jessica was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, holding two paper coffee cups. Her expression was a masterpiece of amused patience. She took a long, slow sip from one cup, her eyes darting between Danny’s bare chest, Chloe’s bare legs, and the general area where Danny’s hand was very obviously hidden.
“So,” Jessica said finally, her voice dry. “You two wanna just get a room or something?”
The laugh that burst from Chloe was pure, unadulterated shock. It shattered the frozen moment. Danny’s hand snapped away from between her thighs like he’d been burned, but in the same fluid motion, his palm settled firmly on the curve of her ass, hidden beneath the long hem of the stolen shirt.
His touch was a warm, secret anchor.
“We have a room,” Chloe managed, her voice still unsteady. “You’re in it.” She clicked off the stove burner, the eggs half-scrambled and forgotten. Danny’s hand guided her gently, subtly, away from the counter and toward the small, cluttered kitchen table.
“Coffee diplomacy,” Jessica announced, placing the two cups on the wooden surface with a soft thud. She pulled out a chair, its legs scraping against the linoleum, and sat without waiting. Her eyes were bright with forensic curiosity. “Sit. Spill. I require payment for my discretion and for these overpriced lattes.”
Chloe sat first, tucking one leg beneath her. Danny slid into the chair beside her, his movements careful. As he sat, the tent in his boxers was unmistakable. Without looking at him, Chloe lifted her socked feet from the cool floor and deposited them squarely into his lap. The thick knit of the socks met the strained cotton of his boxers. She pressed her soles deliberately against the hard, hot length of him.
He inhaled, sharp and quiet through his nose.
“So,” Jessica began, blowing on her own coffee. “Walk me through it. I leave the party with Mark from the band, assuming my best friend is getting a cab home to her creature features. Instead, I find this.” She gestured a circling finger at the two of them. “What was the master plan if I hadn’t barged in to check on you? Were you gonna, like, casually amble out here for breakfast eventually?”
Chloe took a sip of the latte. It was perfect, just sweet enough. She felt the weight of Danny’s stare, the tense heat under her feet. The shyness that usually clamped her mouth shut was gone, incinerated in the night’s fire and this morning’s shocking intimacy. She looked directly at Jessica, a slow, confident smile touching her lips.
“Honestly?” Chloe said, her voice calm. “We probably would have ended up in the same place as last night. Maybe the floor. The wall was already complaining.”
Danny choked on his first gulp of coffee. It sprayed back into his cup in a sputter, a few drops catching on his chin. He coughed, his glasses slipping. The shock of her bold statement, delivered in that measured, quiet tone, hit him like a physical jolt. The twitch was involuntary, a full-body shudder that made him jump in his seat.
Beneath the table, Chloe felt it. The hard length under her feet jerked violently.
She flexed her toes, the soft black knit rubbing against him in a slow, circular knead. She didn’t break eye contact with her best friend.
Jessica’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. She leaned back in her chair, a grin of pure, triumphant delight spreading across her face. “No way. Chloe fucking Williams. Who are you and what have you done with my wallflower?” She turned her glee on Danny, who was dabbing his chin with the back of his hand, his ears flaming red. “And you! You quiet nerd! You monster movie Casanova! I am impressed.”
“It’s not—” Danny started, his voice hoarse from coughing. He adjusted his glasses with a trembling hand. “It wasn’t a plan. It just… happened.”
“Things keep ‘just happening’,” Chloe murmured, taking another serene sip. Her foot slid up an inch, applying a firmer pressure. Danny’s breath hitched. She could feel every frantic heartbeat through the thin fabric separating her skin from his.
“Clearly,” Jessica said, drawing out the word. She watched them, her gaze flicking between Chloe’s composed face and Danny’s evident, delicious struggle. The dynamic was fascinating, utterly reversed from anything she’d witnessed before. The air in the kitchen was thick with unspoken history and a very present, very specific tension. “Well. The wall, huh? My nacho stories feel suddenly inadequate.”
“They were always inadequate,” Chloe said, a bit of her familiar dry wit returning, but laced with a new, easy power.
Jessica laughed, a loud, happy sound. “I can take a hint. My mission is complete. My best friend is officially, catastrophically, not-a-virgin.” She stood up, pushing her chair back. “I’m gonna go. Mark might still be at my place. This has been more educational than my entire semester.”
She rounded the table and planted a loud kiss on the top of Chloe’s head. “You,” she whispered, low enough for only Chloe to hear, “are glowing. It’s disgusting. I love it.” She nodded at Danny, who managed a weak, mortified wave. “Be good to her, Coder Boy. Or I’ll hack your… whatever it is you have.”
And with that, she was gone, the apartment door clicking shut behind her, leaving a ringing silence in her wake.
The silence pooled around them, heavy and expectant. The only sounds were the hum of the refrigerator and the faint, wet click of Chloe swallowing another mouthful of coffee. She finally looked at Danny. His face was a spectacular shade of crimson, his eyes wide behind his lenses.
Under the table, her toes curled, squeezing him.
“You,” he said, the word strained, “are trying to kill me.”
“Is it working?” She set her cup down with a soft tap.
In answer, his hands closed over her ankles, his thumbs stroking the arches of her feet through the socks. He held her there, pinned against his arousal, his gaze locked on hers. The embarrassment in his eyes was rapidly transforming into something darker, more possessive.
“She thinks I’m some kind of smooth operator,” he said, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. “She has no idea I was about to pass out when you first talked to me at that party.”
“But you didn’t.” Chloe slowly pulled her feet back, sliding them from his grasp and planting them on the floor. She stood up, the shirt falling around her thighs. “And you’re not passing out now.” She walked around the table, the cool linoleum a sharp contrast to the warmth he’d provided. She stopped beside his chair, looking down at him. The scrambled eggs were congealing in the pan, forgotten.
He looked up at her, all the nervous energy focused, distilled. “No,” he said, his voice quiet and certain. “I’m not.”