Chapter 3: Breakfast Rituals
The pristine kitchen smelled of expensive coffee and his soap on her skin, the starched white cuffs of Julian’s dress shirt swallowing her hands as she fumbled with the heavy ceramic grinder. His shadow fell over her, a warm, solid presence at her back, and his knowing fingers traced the sensitive skin just beneath the hem where the shirt ended high on her thighs. "Good girls don't spill the coffee, Mouse," he murmured, his teeth grazing the fresh, dark bruise on her neck from the dawn, his other hand already sliding up her stomach beneath the fine cotton. A shiver, part pleasure and part pure, electric fear, ripped through her as his palm closed possessively over her breast, his thumb circling her nipple until it hardened against the fabric. She went perfectly still, the grinder forgotten, every atom of her being focused on the slow, deliberate claim of his touch, understanding now that breakfast was merely the pretense for her next lesson.