Novel Full Chapter 463: Breakfast with the Dragon (r-18)
Chapter 463: Breakfast with the Dragon (r-18)
Phei moved through Patricia’s kitchen like he belonged there.
He didn’t ask where things were. He opened drawers and cabinets with the quiet confidence of a man who’d already memorized the layout of her life in one night. The morning light poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the dark marble counters gold into a living sheet of molten glass.
He found the coffee beans first—dark, oily, the good stuff she kept in a matte black canister. Ground them fresh. The grinder’s low growl filled the space. Then the French press—simple, heavy glass.
He poured the boiling water over the grounds in slow circles, watching the bloom rise like dark smoke.
Eggs next.
He cracked six into a wide ceramic bowl—bright yolks breaking clean—whisked them with a fork until they were pale gold.
A knob of butter hissed in the pan. He poured the eggs in, stirred slow and deliberate with a silicone spatula, folding them into soft, creamy curds.
No rush.
No noise beyond the gentle scrape of the pan and the low sizzle.
Toast went under the broiler—thick slices of sourdough from the bakery two blocks down, the one she always walked past but never stopped at until last week when he’d dragged her inside and bought her the loaf she pretended she didn’t want.
He plated everything with care.
Fluffy scrambled eggs piled high, flecked with black pepper and a pinch of sea salt that crunched faintly when you bit in.
Two pieces of toast, golden, butter melting into the craters. A small bowl of Greek yogurt swirled with honey and a handful of fresh blueberries he’d found in the fridge drawer.
Two mugs of black coffee—hers with one sugar, his straight.
Phei carried the tray back into the bedroom, bare feet silent on the cool marble.
The morning light had deepened to a rich, honeyed gold, spilling across the navy sheets and painting Patricia’s bare skin in slow, liquid strokes.
She hadn’t moved from where he’d left her—still sprawled on her stomach, silk camisole twisted high around her ribs, ass and thighs exposed to the sun.
The faint red handprints he’d left last night had softened to tender pink replaced by the morning’s, and between her slightly parted legs, the swollen lips of her pussy still peeked out—dark rose, glossy, a thin, slow trickle of her own slick leaking onto the sheet beneath her.
She wasn’t sleeping.
Her breathing had shifted—shallower, quicker—ever since the bathroom door clicked open. The moment he stepped into the room, her hips gave the tiniest roll forward, pressing her mound harder into the mattress.
A soft, needy sound slipped from her throat—half sigh, half whimper—barely audible.
He set the tray on the low bedside table.
Coffee steam curled upward. Butter glistened on the toast.
She turned her head slowly on the pillow, dark hair spilling across her cheek. Eyes still heavy-lidded, lips parted on a sleepy exhale.
“You were cooking,” she murmured, voice wrecked from screaming his name half the night. “For me.”
“For us,” he corrected.
He sat on the edge of the mattress.
The sheet slipped lower, pooling at the small of her back, baring the full heart-shaped curve of her ass. She shifted—lazy, deliberate—rolling her hips once so her bare pussy kissed the sheet again, leaving a small, dark wet spot.
She crawled toward him—slow, feline—until she could rest her cheek against his bare thigh. Her hair spilled across his skin like dark silk. She nuzzled closer, nose brushing the sensitive crease where leg met hip, inhaling him like he was the only thing grounding her to the morning.
He picked up the fork, gathered a bite of eggs—soft, creamy curds flecked with black pepper—and held it to her lips.
She opened for him—slow, obedient—taking the bite with a soft moan that vibrated against the metal.
Her tongue curled around the fork as she pulled back, eyes never leaving his.
“Perfect,” she breathed, licking a stray crumb from her lower lip. “Just like you always are!”
He fed her another bite.
Then another.
Between mouthfuls she leaned in—lips brushing his wrist, pressing small, reverent kisses along his forearm, then the sensitive inside of his elbow. Each one made his pulse kick harder beneath her mouth.
“You’re naked,” she leaned in and whispered, lips curving.
“You’re half-naked,” he countered, voice carrying something softer something softer.
She hummed—pleased—and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his thigh. Her tongue flicked out—just a tease—tasting the faint salt of his skin.
He groaned low in his throat, hand sliding into her hair, fingers threading through the dark strands.
“Eat first,” he said.
She lifted her head, eyes dark and playful.
“Feed me more.”
He arched a brow.
She smiled—slow, wicked, utterly shameless.
He picked up a forkful of eggs—soft, creamy, still steaming—and held it to her lips.
She opened for him—slow, deliberate—taking the bite with a soft moan that vibrated against the metal.
Her tongue curled around the fork as she pulled back, eyes never leaving his.
“You’re distracting, the way you eat,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave… she was doing it the same point she’d curled her tongue on his cock.
“That’s the point.” She licked a trace of egg from the corner of her mouth and smiled—slow, wicked, utterly shameless.
The sun climbed higher, painting her skin in warm honey.
It traced the elegant line of her shoulders, the dip of her waist, the faint goosebumps rising along her thighs.
She shifted onto her knees—sheets sliding down her hips completely—bare ass and pussy now fully exposed to the light.
She reached for the coffee mug.
He caught her hand before she could take it.
“Careful. It’s hot.”
She arched a brow, eyes glittering. “So are you.”
He leaned in—close enough that his breath ghosted across her lips—but didn’t kiss her.
Just hovered there, letting the heat of his mouth tease hers.
Her breath caught. She chased him when he pulled back, but he shook his head faintly.
“Breakfast,” he reminded her, voice low and commanding.
“You’re very bossy in the morning.”
“You like it.”
Her smile was slow, filthy. “I love it.”
He handed her the mug. She took a careful sip, eyes fluttering closed at the taste. “You even remembered the sugar.”
“I remember everything.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“For who?”
“For me whose still contemplating about giving you my whole world… you’re cheating.” She set the coffee aside and crawled fully into his lap, straddling him loosely.
The tray wobbled on the side table, forgotten for a moment.
He steadied her hips automatically—thumbs brushing the sensitive creases where thigh met hip.
She leaned down and stole a bite of toast straight from his hand. Butter glossed her lower lip. She didn’t wipe it away.
His thumb did.
He dragged it slowly across her mouth, then slipped it between her lips. Her tongue wrapped around it gently—slow, deliberate—sucking softly while her eyes stayed locked on his.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered.
“And you’re pretending not to enjoy this.”
He exhaled through his nose—a half laugh, half surrender. “Sit properly before you knock everything over.”
She shifted—but instead of moving away, she tucked her legs to the side and settled perfectly against his chest and straddling him so well, pussy against his cock… a perfect kiss. Her head rested beneath his chin, hair warm and fragrant against his skin.
He reached for the yogurt and scooped up a spoonful swirled with honey and blueberries.
“Open,” he said.
She did—obedient for once.
The honey clung to the berries, sweet and slow. A small drop slipped onto her collarbone when she swallowed.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His gaze darkened.
She followed it and looked down.
“Oh no~” she said softly, entirely unrepentant.
He set the spoon aside.
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned down and kissed the drop away—lips brushing the delicate hollow of her collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste the sweet honey and the warm salt of her skin.
Her breath hitched—sharp, needy.
“That was unnecessary,” she whispered.
“I disagree.”